A Weather Eye on the Horizon

A Weather Eye on the Horizon (20)

hey y'all! now that school is FINALLY out (!!!!!!!!) i can upload more. sorry... sooo.. yeah. well, i have other books on here you might wanna read: "Dark Moon" which i haven't uploaded in a while cuz i'm at severe writer's block there :( but i will try this summer! And i'm starting a new book which i haven't put on here yet but i'll tell y'all when i do. In the meantime...... PLEASE comment and tell me what you think! And, of course, vote and fan and stuff. GRACIAS!!!!!!

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Two Days Later

Dear little book,

I cannot rid my mind of that terrible nightmare. Whenever I close my eyes at night I can only see my family drowning and disappearing. I believe today is the twenty-fifth of September. I wish that I could be home soon. I dearly miss my family.

Today I was on deck, off duty. David and I were talking, and somehow the subject of ghosts came up. He asked me if I believe in them. I shrugged. “No, I do not think so,” I told him. “How can you prove they are real?”

His face grew serious. “Every sailor believes in ghosts, Annie. And we know they’re real, too.”

“Have you seen one?” I asked him teasingly.

“Every sailor has,” said a voice behind us, and we turned. Piotr stood there, his face deadly serious, like David’s. “Everyone has ghost tales to tell – if you have time to listen.”

I glanced at David, who had raised an eyebrow. “Do you have any?” I asked curiously. I wanted to hear them. A strange smile spread over David’s face.

“O’ course, mate,” he breathed. “Didn’t I ever tell ye about the ghost ship Scarlet?” I shook my head. He grinned. “Well… let me tell you about it.”

Here’s what he told me:

The year is 1717. It is a stormy night in October and the crew is uneasy. The captain knows this, but he still sails onward, toward one of the darkest places to sail in the entire world: Cape of Good Hope. Its name belays its dark story. For it is the home of the Flying Dutchman, the ghost ship that is cursed to forever sail this earth.

The night grows long; the men grow weary. I stand in the crow’s nest, wiping sleet from my eyes and holding to the railing out of weariness. Lightning strikes all around me, but I stand firm, knowing my death would come quickly if I am hit. A call comes from the deck, possibly someone to relieve me, but I cannot hear because of the howling wind. I fix my eyes forward, straining to see against the whirling wind and slicing rain.

An eerie green light suddenly streams through the thick dark clouds overhead. I cry out and stumble back as the light hits my eyes. Forcing myself upright, I am hurtled forward as the ship rocks wildly, having the wind knocked out of me as I am thrown against the railing. Gasping for breath, but remembering my job, I turn my eyes toward the open sea, and give a gasp of fear. Coming toward our ship is a monstrous ship, easily bigger than ours, and glowing with the green light. The waves splash around it, spraying the ragged crew with saltwater. Their faces are rugged, teeth bared in their mouths. They are a motley but fearful bunch, and my heart nearly stopped beating as I looked upon their faces.

I let out a yell to the crew: “Turn to the shore! Turn to the shore!” They cannot hear me; there is no alternative, I must go down to the deck. Shaking in my soaked clothes, I climb down the ropes, clutching the ropes carefully against the wind and rain, and keeping my eyes away from the phantom ship. I land on the deck with a thump, and immediately slide forward from the ice that has formed. Shivering, I stumble towards where the captain is standing.

“Sir! Turn to the shore!”

He turns, sees me. “What are you doing here, boy?” he roars above the wind. “Back to your post!”

Wordlessly, I point behind me. It might be the stark terror on my face, or the green light that is coming ever closer, but the captain reacts instantly. “ALL HANDS!” he screams. “TURN TOWARDS THE SHORE! And you – boy – tie yourself down somewhere!”

My heart is in my throat, my vision blurring; I cannot breathe, but I struggle back to the mast. I take a rope in my hands and awkwardly tie myself to the mast. Too late I realize I am facing the Dutchman. My eyes fly open at the sight. The ghastly ship is drawing ever nearer; its fearful captain perching on the prow, teeth bared and a cutlass in hand. I can hear his voice tolling like a bell above the wind and storm: “You cannot escape the Dutchman, fools! Fly if you will, but I will find you!”

And he seems to be coming closer and closer to me, and I cannot move, my mouth open in a silent scream… and then the world goes mercifully black, and I can remember no more.

My mouth was hanging open as David finished his tale. He was sitting on the deck, a strange glint in his eyes. I could not speak.

Piotr could. “How much of that is real?” he asked skeptically.

David’s face darkened visibly and the light went out of his eyes. “Tell your story then,” he spat, standing up. “And let’s see how much of it is real.”

The two of them were standing there, eye to eye and glaring. I stepped between them. “I thought it was a wonderful tale, David,” I said quickly. “Weren’t you terrified?”

He looked down at me. “O’ course, mate. Right to the very bone.”

“What happened after that?” I asked. “You can’t end a tale like that.”

He grinned crookedly. “I don’t ken, exactly. It was near Africa, and we landed there in time to escape the Dutchman. All of the crew was shattered and it took us a few days to recover.” He leaned back against the mast, running a hand through his hair, that faraway look coming back in his eyes.

“Did anyone else on this ship see the Dutchman?” I asked cautiously.

He looked over at me. “Yes. The captain, o’ course. And Fitz, and Seppi. Others too.” He glanced at the sun. “I have to go, mate. My shift.”

He strode away, tossing his shoulders in the familiar swagger. I leaned against the mast, my heart still racing at his tale. He really is a great storyteller. I shall have to get him to tell me some more.

Next Day

Dear little book,

I wish I could see a ghost. I am still not sure if I believe in them, of course, but it would certainly be something to talk about when I get home. If I ever get home.

I asked Anne where on a ship would be a good place to see a ghost. She gave me a curious look, but told me that if this ship was haunted, someone probably would have seen a ghost before now, and as no one has, she doubts that it is haunted. She saw the look on my face and laughed.

“Don’t be disappointed, lass,” she said encouragingly. “It’s a good thing that this ship isn’t haunted. Besides, we have far too many cats aboard for it to be haunted.”

I had to agree with her in the aspect. I gather that if a cat is aboard, it keeps away ghosts. I guess our ship must be a powerful one, then, because we have many cats aboard.

                Anne then told me that if I wanted to see a ghost, I might see one at night, on the sea. I shall have to keep my eyes open during my watches from now on. Hopefully I’ll see one.

We have ghost stories on Barbados, of course, everyone does, but I never knew whether to believe them or not. Father said it was all balderdash, and nothing could be further from the truth. Mama told me secretly, though, that she believed she had seen a ghost as a child, in New Spain. In her own bedroom! She said ‘twas a small child, bending over on the floor and acting as if she was looking for something. Mama says that she only saw the child three times, and in an interval of two years.

I wish I could see a ghost.