Bill fell as if in slow motion, powerless to do anything to stop the impending belly-flop.

He hit the water hard, the smack knocking the wind out of him, and sank a few feet. He choked and struggled, trying to keep from sinking too far, finally kicking off his too-big boots and kicking hard to lift himself back to the surface.

Finally, his head broke the surface of the cold water, and he spat out a few salty mouthfuls and began to tread water.

Thankfully, he could just make out the landmarks on shore. If he just swam straight toward shore, he'd end up on Whitby beach. He'd swum a mile before on a dare; what was a couple more? He could swim all day if he wanted to.


Two hours later, he was turning blue, all his muscles were locked up tight from the cold, and he barely managed to pull himself onto the sand. The sun would be going down soon.

He looked around, shivering, and saw the lights on in a cottage on the beach...