When Stars Fall

Chapter 9 - Be Careful What You Wish For

 At Cannibal Cove...

Clouds moved sluggishly across the night sky, and the wind drove them on like sheep. The light of the large main moon and its two small secondary moons cast a silvery glow on the dark Neversea. The light shimmered like a cluster of beautiful gems on the white-crowned waves.

Gurgling waves trundled flat against the white powder beach of Cannibal Cove, nestling over the cooled sand and drenching it with salt water. The excellent wet left darker stains on the shredded bones, crushed further and further by tides until nothing remained of the dead but shimmering white sand. It was beautiful to look at, as it was presented in an almost white dress during the day.

Boot prints formed deeper hollows here and there on the beach, but they were barely noticeable among the scattered shells, smaller rocks, and clumps of seaweed and seagrass that the sea had washed up. Palm trees waved their green fronds in the gentle breeze not far from the beach, casting jagged shadows on the white beach. The waves swallowed up all sounds, even those of the forest, like a bulwark that stood there close together. They rolled thunderously forward, only to retreat with a gurgling sound. Everything here seemed peaceful and harmonious ... but appearances were deceptive.

On this beach he could call home for many years, a man walked alone between collapsed tents and charred wooden huts. The pitiful remains of the pirate camp were no more than ruins, after first Pan in his wrath and then the natives had ravaged here. Scraps of canvas fluttered in the wind; crates lay overturned and broken open in the sand. The fireplaces, by whose warming flames the crew had sat many an evening, had grown cold, scattered, and black coals scattered as far as he could see among shells and driftwood.

The Jolly Roger, once the great pride of its captain, swayed in the bay's waves. The two masts still stretched toward the sky, but the black sails had been cut to shreds, many portholes smashed in, and the galleon ran aground at an angle. Ropes now billowed, groaning in the evening breeze, making the ship seem eerie and ghostly in the oppressive mood of the place. Death lay like an invisible, black veil over this place.

"All alone is Smee now ... no one is here anymore ..." his soft voice murmured into the evening breeze. The man with the red-knitted cap and white hair looked at the sand that swallowed his footsteps and traced his footsteps behind him.

"All gone ... All dead ... No more captain for old Smee ..."

The gaunt pirate casually stepped over the remains of a fallen palm trunk. The worn shirt, long ago white, now stained brownish, as if dipped in the coffee brew, no longer had sleeves but merely showed fringed edges in the appropriate places. The leather, knee-length trousers were dark brown and no less affected, as were the boots, whose buckle fastening had become dull over the years and had acquired some rust-red stains.
The sun-tanned skin was caramel-brown, littered with dry wrinkles and some scabby patches, and large, slightly protruding eyes with soft-blue irises darted from one spot to another, lost in thought and without aim. In addition, the formerly red drops of blood stained his clothes, which had taken on a disgusting brown color in the meantime. His captain struck a great blow again a significant arch-enemy a few days ago. They had stolen the forest goblin his treasures. However, the changeling's treasures were not goblets of silver or chests of gold. No ...

"Shouldn't have stolen ..." the man babbled, plagued by the dark memories. They had wanted a mother, had wished she would stay—dark souls, and yet that spark that never died - not even in a Captain Hook. Victory had been so close, the captain so cunning. But then it got out of hand ... and now there was no crew, no captain. No darling children, no lost ones ... just blood, silence, and so much anger. He had felt sorry for the poor boy.