A Halloween Tale

Captian Fear

Captian Fear

Pirate Master
Israel Hands bones were tired from his long voyage from the colonies. He arrived on Tortuga that morning and was wandering around the streets on his crutch looking for a good place to have a drop of rum. After spending a few hours in the Faithful Bride, he sat on the docks watching the last rays of sunlight sink into the brine.
He wondered if being on Tortuga was against his pardon. He shook of the uneasiness of this thought continued to share at the horizon. He didn't need to be legal just hidden.
"Oi, Walker! Do ye have the grog? Can't spit a good yarn without rum," said a voice.
"Aye, Christophe! Barter this from some Frenchy merchant..."
Walker and Christophe swaggered down the dock. They seemed to be simple tars.
Walker, a broader mate with a flat (perhaps broken?) nose, was the first to notice Israel.
"'Ello old man, care to join us in drink and tale?" he said then gave a laugh. He was already drunk.
"Aye!" said Christophe, a slim, jolly sailor. "Join us, old timer."
Israel chuckled and said, "And what tales are there to be told?"
"Seeing that it's the season, tales of spooks and ghouls will suffice," grinned Walker as he poured rum down his throat.
Christophe chuckled, "Ghost stories..."
"But I warn ye mate," Waler added darkly, "Me mate and I have been known to frighten though of weak nerve..."
The old man looked out into the ocean and gave a thin smile.
"If you come looking for a frigtening story, ye came to the right place..."
 
"I'll start, I'll start..." said Walker. He doused his throat with more rum and paused for effect. "It was two years ago, when I was back in that Cuban fishing village. Me and a few mates were took an old scuttle ship out to sea, trying to grab some late night fish. We put our nets and poles in the water and wait for a bite. After a few hours we hear some laughter from the stern. A splash followed."
Walker paused again to look at the faces of his captive audience.
"Ten more me fall in... all of them laughing there way down to briny deep. I would've join them in Davy Jones' Locker but that creature that took me mates obvisously showed mercy on me."
"W-what creature?" asked Christophe, visibly shaking.
"...A siren," whispered Walker. "It was a siren who drowned me mates and put me in an enchanted slumber." He added hauntedly, "A siren, the enchantress of the deep. A single one could destroy an entire crew's hearts and souls as they sink beneath the waves. And while many have perished... I survived."
There was a moment of silence followed by the chuckling of Israel which grew into a rumbling laughter.
"What's so funny?" asked Walker.
"There was no siren, you daft tar," laughed Israel. "Yer mates were drunk when they fell into the brine. And you... you just passed out and probably awoke with a hangover, ha ha ha!"
Walker blushed, "Naw mate! That tale be true as yer bum leg, cripple!"
Israel gave a warming smile and said, "Pardon me, my friend. Allow young Christophe to entertain us with his tale..."
 
Christophe twiddled his thumbs for a moment before saying, "Oh, I got 'un."
He rolled his shoulders and composed himself into a more somber expression. "I was once walking down the streets of this very island, where we sit this night. I walked past the gambling houses, taverns and brothels towards an old cottage that I ducked into when I was to drunk or tired to make it back to th' ship. So I walk under the dark jungle foiliage, shadows covering the ground before me. Then I hear the growl..."
Christophe look beyond the beach and shuddered.
"I keep walking but take out m'pistol. I suspect some hog got loose. I keep walking 'till I hear the growl again. Then I hear a shout. I see a figure approaching and I call to him, 'Who are ya?'.
"Then he pulls out a large, bloody knife, 'The Butcher!' he replies. I fire a shot and ran away, locking me cottage and staying awake the whole night, just waiting for the bloodied Butcher to come after me. Luckily I'm alive to tell th' tell tale and warn ye of the ghostly butcher that haunts this isle."
Christophe grinned, satisfied with his tale.
Israel clapped his hands and said, "Good job lad. Good job." He trailed off into a laugh.
"Shut it, old man," snapped Christophe.
"Mate, I've been here only a day and even I know of the butcher down the lane. He was more ghostly than your sainted mother! Haha!"
"Oi! Watch yer tounge matey!" said Walker.
"Aye! Tell us your tale then, if ye think yer so frightening!"said Christophe.
"If ye wish lads, if ye wish..." smiled Israel wickedly.
 
Israel took a breath of the air and looked up to the night sky.
"'Twas ten years ago, back in my roving years. I was sailing with a devil of a man. He sailed across the sea, destroying ships and souls. Some of the crew mates believed the soil he walked under became infertile, that only a glare could kill a man, and some of the bolder crewmen believed that he was Davy Jones 'imself..."
Israel trailed off to think more of these rumors. "Ah, but these be just tavern tales, aye?" he added a soft chuckle.
Walker and Christophe repeated the chuckle but with a little less mirth.
"I knew him back when he was just a regular man, like you an' me. He was a privateer. He didn't fight for God and country. He didn't even fight for the pay. No... he just fought for the blood. He liked spilt blood. The way it smelled, the way it glinted under an autumn moon."
"He was none to sane if ye ask me," said Walker with a trembling lip.
Israel's face darkened. "Don't let him hear that..."
"He's here?" gasped Christophe.
"He's listening now but ye don't have to fear yet..." replied Israel as he continued looking into the night. "A few years later, we sailed under the black flag. We were pirates. It was a jolly night on his ship. Me and a few other officers and I were allowed into his cabin as we took drinks of his own special rum. 'Twas good rum, stole it from the cellar of an old Don. It was rich and made us much bolder in the face of our devil-captain. The captain himself allowed himself to show an ounce of merriment. We joked and chatted into the late hours.
"Around midnight he said, 'Gents, do ye fear death?' We all replied yes, what man doesn't? He chuckled and said, 'I don't.'
"We ask him how come? He replies, 'I'm not destined for heaven mates, but I know that even the devil himself can't contain me in the fires of Hades,' he said with a laugh. I raise my glass and said, 'Cheers for our captain! Long live our captain!'"
Israel sighed, wishing he could skip this next part.
 
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