Cumberland Island
by
Emma Carlson Berne
Have you ever been to Cumberland Island, Georgia? Don’t go, if you’re the nervous type, which I am. Also, I am blessed with an active imagination.
Last summer, my best friend Jessica and I were on the ferry to the island (which is accessible only by aforementioned ferry). We were primed for a weekend of backpacking and camping—really, the only thing to do on the island, which is minimally inhabited. The place is a sandy wilderness of live oak trees dripping Spanish moss, giant palmetto shrubs, armadillos, ticks, and ferocious red ants.
So there we were on the ferry, and there was a crazy woman on with us. We knew she was crazy because she was carrying nothing but a plastic grocery bag full of Mountain Dew and pretzels. And she was declaring to anyone listening that she was going camping on the island. Most of the ride, though, she sat in a corner and mumbled to herself.
We were all off-loaded at the island, including the crazy woman, and the ferry chugged away. It was twilight, and there was no way off the island until the next morning. And the whole time we were lugging our packs to the campsite and setting up our tent, I was listening for our crazy friend. Because I’d decided that she was very likely going to come and kill us during the night. Why? Because she was crazy, that’s why.
And because I was at an isolated campsite, two miles from anyone else, except for Jessica, of course. We were in the woods and huge palmetto shrubs surrounded the site, so we couldn’t really see anything except palmetto leaves. And blackness. Or hear anything but the rustling branches over our heads, or occasionally, an armadillo crashing in the underbrush. The armadillos sounded just like human footsteps. So when the crazy woman crept up on me, perhaps, as I was bending over the fire—
Yeah.
Well, you can guess how well I slept.
Oh, and it rained too.
“Don’t worry,” Jessica said in the tent, when I finally confessed my fears. “You have to enter her fantasy and become a part of it before she’d attack you. That’s what Robin says, anyway.” Robin was Jessica’s husband and a psychiatrist, so he must know. But I didn’t feel terribly reassured.
And the thing about being in a tent is that you can’t see who’s creeping up on you. And yet you have no real protection. No locks. A nylon door with a zipper. Which can be easily unzipped from the outside. Or someone with a knife could just stick it right through the side of the tent. How did Margaret Atwood put it? “Butchered like kittens in a sack.” That was the phrase.
When we made our way down to the ferry dock the next day, we didn’t see the crazy woman in with the rest of the waiting group. She didn’t appear when we boarded either. I shivered as the boat pulled away from the shore.
But, of course, it was only my imagination.
Right?
Still Waters by Emma Carlson Berne
Publisher: Simon Pulse (December 20th, 2011)
Reading Level: Young Adult
Paperback: 212 pages
Hannah can't wait to sneak off for a romantic weekend with her boyfriend, Colin. He's leaving for college soon, and Hannah wants their trip to the lake house to be one they'll never forget. But once Hannah and Colin get there, things start to seem a bit… off. They can't find the town on any map. The house they are staying in looks as if someone's been living there, even though it's been deserted for years. And Colin doesn't seem quite himself. As he grows more unstable, Hannah worries about Colin's dark side, and her own safety.
Nothing is as perfect as it seems, and what lies beneath may haunt her forever.
Prize:
- 1 winner will receive a copy of Still Waters.
- You must be at least 13 to enter.
- Name and email must be provided and counts as 1 entry.
- Extra entries are possible and links must be provided.
- Contest is US Only and ends November 14th.
- Once contacted, the winner will have 48 hours to respond.
- The form must be filled out to enter.
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