The Year Without Summer Book Novels & Stories

We fought so badly over it that I completely fell out with my family. During my first year away from home, my mother sent me countless messages. 'Ian, is it cold over there? The temperature dropped recently, so make sure you bundle up.' 'Ian, are you coming home for New Year's? I made all your favorite dishes. Don't stay angry at your father and me anymore.' 'Your dad never says it out loud, but he misses you too.' I saw every single message, but I never replied. At the time, I was too stubborn, too full of pride. I kept thinking that if I didn't go home, then so be it. After all, wherever June was, that was home to me.

What I wanted was to throw down my fork, grab it with my hands, and stuff it into my mouth. The closer it got to the downtown of the city, the stricter the hygiene control was. Gradually, I couldn't find any garbage. It meant there was no food for me. I was almost starving for three days and had to eat leaves to fill my stomach. Under the gaze of the family, I restrained myself and ate slowly. But I still felt Joanna ridiculing me. She used the fork and knife to eat elegantly. Jeffrey saw this scene. He was more disgusted with me. But as Helen asked, he had to take care of me.

Mitchell woke up groggily the next afternoon. The plates of spaghetti on the table had long since clumped together into an unrecognizable mess, and the floor was littered with overturned bottles of alcohol. The stifling summer heat amplified the pungent stench of stale liquor and souring food, creating an unbearable atmosphere. Yet, Mitchell seemed oblivious. He blended into the chaos of his surroundings, his hollow gaze reflecting the disarray within him. Day after day passed like this, a lifeless routine. There was still no news of Heather. Bethany, who had once loudly insisted on involving the police, had fallen strangely silent. Mitchell guessed Vanessa had made some kind of deal with he

--- For the first time, they didn't have to solve anything. --- Save anything. --- Understanding nothing. --- They could simply be. --- In the afternoon, they sat in the library. --- Between the shelves. --- Where the years had once stood. --- Most of the books were still there. --- But one was missing. --- Just one. --- The book titled: --- Those Who Stayed --- It had vanished. --- Months ago. --- No one knew where it had gone. --- And somehow, that didn't bother anyone. --- For some stories wanted to wander on.

His words echoed in my mind: "I can just manipulate those close to her." A chill ran down my spine, as I remembered how I'd met him in the first place. And what led to our enmity... . . . FLASHBACK 1816, England. It was a chilly winter throughout Europe and crops were quickly dying. And with them, the livestock followed, and soon... The people too. Diseases were rampant and the year was soon known as the "year without summer". I made my way through a town square in London, alongside Ravenna. I wore a black tuxedo suit with a black hat over my head, while Ravenna wore a Victorian black dress with white gloves, holding a matching black silk umbrella in her hands.

Christmas was the reading of the book. This Christmas, Don's book was a novel—Norwegian, which was not a coincidence, a novel by the same writer whose essays were in the Norway reading programme. The novel was called The Dark Year, and it was about a man who spent a winter alone in a cabin in the far north of Norway, experiencing the full darkness for the first time. Don had been saving it since September, when he had finished the essays. He had placed it on the shelf above his desk, the designated holding place for the Christmas book, and had not opened it once.

" Something in my head stabbed again. My vision went dark for a split second. I clenched my teeth and forced myself through the wave of dizziness. "What’s wrong?" Mom asked, her tone edged with impatience. "Nothing. Motion sickness." "Dramatic." She let out a cold snort. "Just like your father. A grown man who can’t handle a little discomfort." I closed my eyes and swallowed the metallic taste rising in my throat. In my next life, I won’t come back. The drive lasted five hours. By the time we reached Crestview Heights halfway up the mountain, night had completely fallen. The place was brightly lit, yet eerily silent.

A heat is no joke this year. Well, it's always like this, but then I'd say the same thing next year. Not knowing what to do in the middle of the night, I grab this adventurous novel, The journey to the Centre of the Earth, and try to make my brain tired so as to finally force my body to do the same. At last, I don't remember when I closed my eyes, until I wake up in the morning wishing it were Sunday. Well, one can only wish sometimes. It's already seven-thirty as I move hurriedly around my room.

It made them think twice. Summer blew a lock of hair out of her face. “Here I am without a car to my name.” I grinned. “If you wanted a car all you had to do was ask, Summer.” “No, but I want something of my own, Ezra. I never really picked up my life when I moved here. I had my own apartment. I had a car. Who knows what Estelle did to it.” “Summer—” “Never mind, you wouldn’t get it.” “Why not?”