...horror-ful.? I lay on the beach, enjoying my success. It had been a while since I has been able to just sit down, enjoy a little sun, and continue on my book. Fir weeks, I had been planning this vacation. For weeks, I had been attempting to decide where I should go. When I has first decided on travelling tropical, I had been thinking of places to go, great monuments to see, perhaps have a little fun at a theme park or try to find a popular beach to surf on some rays or catch a little sun. However, as I searched the internet for beaches to enjoy or proper times to hit the lines at Disney World, my thoughts strayed to the computer file that was stored in my hardware. I had been working on this book for so long, and had been concentrating on so much other things, like my other job, that I had completely forgotten my book.
I resolved to work on my book on a quiet beach, still getting a nice tan on the beach, and, under the influence of the hypnotic sound of the waves, to complete my book. Unfortunately, as I had searched the internet for a small, unpopulated beach, I had not been able to find a location that met my needs: a little sun, some nice ocean waves, and, most difficult, a deserted beach. In the end, I had found this nice location, deserted for the sole purpose that the locals claimed it haunted. I scoffed at the mention of a haunting, and figured the setting would be perfect for my book, the second in a series of horrors.
As I had arrived at the particular area, I enjoyed no small satisfaction at the sight of a nice, small beach, completely deserted. Only one mile away sat the village of the superstitious locals, whom had so kindly marked the beach perilous, thus clearing it for me. I had set out my equipment, pulled out my laptop, plugged it into my solar battery, and relaxed.
I began to type the story of young Neal Harris, a young tourist, travelling on a tropical vacation to boast of to his friends. I typed of how he arrived at a beach, termed by locals “The Beach of the Damned,” and, not heeding the warnings of all whom he met, camped out on the beach. At night, he heard an eerie wailing, as of an ethereal chorus singing a mournful melody. I had a lot of fun writing the song. It went:

Forever lost, unknown, forlorn
We can do naught but weep.
We lived but from us life was torn;
We joined the dead in sleep.

We lie under a sandy grave
Our bodies rotting deep
We drag fools down ‘til light they crave
And join the dead in sleep.

Death’s cruel agents take thee now,
They take thy life to keep.
We are Death’s agents; hasten thou
To join the dead in sleep.

As Neal heard this song, skeletons of the dead burst from the sand and dragged him down under the sand, in an intensely violent and graphic manner. I finished typing this, and smiled. So far, the day was going swell. I felt content to lie down and take a nap; Just a quick one, nothing too long, as I did not want to spend the night on the beach.
I woke up, and, unable to see, determined that my ‘quickie’ had ended up taking well in to the night. The burning feeling on my chest told me that my sunscreen was not quite as long lasting as it said it was.
already caught a misspelling... XD in the first paragraph, I switched for to fir... *facepalm*
@XenonVortex
Thanks, Xenon, but I'm not trying to have a big description of the book he/she's writing (don't you love that? the narrator can be either gender, and I plan for it to stay that way!), just saying what happens.

Also, to any in the interest of helping, my plan is to have the narrator die because of ghosts, ghouls etc., as the story he/she writes is a foreshadowing of true events about to happen to him/her. (can't believe I didn't put that in the original post... XD)
@XenonVortex
Finished, just gonna post what I did =) It's great.

. I picked up my laptop and, after saving my work, turned off the system, as the solar battery it was plugged into was quite useless at night, and the battery would just run down. I looked at my watch, and to my surprise saw that it was 2:00 AM. I couldn’t remember the last time I had fallen asleep in midafternoon and stayed asleep well into the night.
As I started packing up to drive to the cottage rented in the nearby village, I heard mournful noise sounding as if it were coming from the peaceful waves. I glanced over at the water, and, not noticing anything unusual, put the noise off as from a whale, or from some other such creature. As I started walking toward the rented Dune Buggy parked 500 feet away from where I had worked, I heard the noise again. I was disturbed, because it was precisely the sound I had imagined for the melody I had written, but without lyrics. Uneasily, I set my equipment down on the...
sand at my feet and walked slowly toward the water. The waves were no longer peaceful, but churning, as at a boil. I touched the water, expecting it to be scalding, but was surprised to find it cool.
Confused, I relaxed slightly, and let the cold water run over my feet. The water seemed normal, just bubbling, and slimy. Slimy? I glanced at my feet, and was horrified to see a hand resting on my foot, a cold, dead, fleshless hand. I screamed as the hand suddenly clenched and grabbed my foot. I started trying to pull away, and the hand broke from whatever must have been keeping it still, for I could leave the water, but the hand was still attached to my foot. As I kneeled down to pry the fingers from my ankle, movement caught the corner of my eye, and I turned to see what was moving. I screamed again, for approaching me was the body the hand must have belonged to, crawling forward, very much dead but very much alive. Around it were several other bodies, all moaning that mournful tune,..
All crawling toward me with the same intent, to drag me down into the depths to be forever lost, unknown, forlorn. I started running away from the beach, ignoring the slowly tightening grasp of the hand I had left on my leg. Whirling around to run for the Buggy, I let out a cry, for in my way were the bodies of more dead beings, which had snuck around me while I was observing the churning ocean. I made a lunge toward them, in an attempt to go through them and get the Buggy, hang my equipment, but they grasped onto me and with strength that betrayed the lack of muscles, they lifted me and slowly carried me toward the ocean. I beat at them with my fists, kicked at them with my feet, but they could feel no pain greater than the pain of eternal death, and continued unhindered.
They carried me toward the water. First to go in were my feet, then my legs, then my torso. The water, which had seemed pleasantly cool to me in that first frightened touch, now seemed icy cold to me, cold as ice..
cold as death. Next me abdomen plunged into the depths, and a shiver wrenched my body in that icy water, but no matter how hard I attempted to escape the clutches of the dead, there was no escape, no end to the nightmare. My chest, my neck, my face went under, and I took one last look through the water to try and see the land above, but the darkness of the sky prevented any glimpse of the peaceful, untroubled land. I tried to hold my breath as long as I could, but darkness rimmed my vision in the end, and the air escaped my lips as blackness took a hold of my vision.

Satisfied with the end of the story, the author relaxed on the chair and took in a breath of fresh air, completely joyful at the prospect of earning another amount of money, attitude at odds with the story just completed. The author glanced at the beach, imagining the complete minute chance of any such event occurring. The author yawned, stretched the fingers that had cramped on the keys, and settled down for a nap. ...
Maybe just a quickie.