Dead Man’s Island

Dead Man’s Island

Scott Norris

We’ve run aground? No problem. I’m an experienced sailor, I know what to do. We will be back on Albion’s great port before long, exchanging tales with King William before long. Or so I thought. I’ve been a pirate, a privateer, for the past ten years and yet, I had never seen anything like this before.

Our king sent my crew and me on a short trip to “borrow” some gold and wine from an unsuspecting French village, which should have been a simple task. And we were halfway there, that is until a rogue windstorm blew us off course — during my nap, when my first mate was in command — my overconfident first mate, who thinks the Jeniray can outrun any ship or storm. It would not surprise me if he still feels this way.

Before long we realized that with our limited amount of supplies, we would need to be rescued soon or die. The consensus of the crew was to set as many trees ablaze in the morning as possible, and then hope to find a friendly sailor passing by to tow us back home. We immediately made camp as the sun went down.

I tried to sleep that night but couldn’t. Maybe it was fear that kept me awake? Or was it despair creeping in? No, I would later find out, it was the island that was keeping me awake.

My men had taken to naming the place Dead Man’s Island. I tried to talk them out of that name, but my voice was mostly ignored. I also reminded them that we would be rescued soon, but silence was the only response I got. What was it about this island that had bothered my men?

Was it the dry, harsh winds that never seemed to stop? The waves that crashed into rocks? A lack of sailing experience? No, it was none of those things that had my crew unsettled. It was the piles and piles of bones in the central clearing of the island that bothered them. Each skull seemed to stare back at us in fear.

I laid down on my rolled-up jacket and somehow managed to get some sleep that night. I wish however, that I had been able to stay asleep.

A scream woke me up some time later. This was not a mere startled gasp however, this was a scream of terror. The type that someone lets out only when they know that they are about to die. I drew my swords from underneath my jacket and jumped up, ready to fight. There he was. A ghost of a sailor, staring right at me.

Before that night I had not believed in ghosts and yet, there he was. He was dressed like a sailor, yet seemed to be made of a transparent green light. For some reason, he was also still holding weapons. The ghost screamed again and came towards me, faster than a man could run. I turned and ran off myself, only to find my crew waiting in the central clearing.

I immediately asked them what was going on and after a long moment, someone motioned toward the outer edges of the clearing. I realized what was happening. We, experienced privateers of Albion, had been herded onto a mass grave while the ghosts of fallen sailors surrounded us. Each spirit still carried their swords. In spite of the ghosts being a fare distance away, we could still feel their fury and vengeance.

More and more ghosts arrived to confront us. Some took their places at the edge of the clearing, while others screamed out that dreadful, fearful scream I had heard earlier. Like a banshee’s wail. Other spirits taunted us by feigning a charge, their weapons drawn and ready to strike, yet for some reason these ghosts remained still. Hundreds of ghosts had now joined us.

The ghost that I had met earlier found his way in front of me and stared, coldly. Had this ghost been a captain previously and somehow, knew that I was one as well? He raised his swords and the other ghosts joined him, silence fell upon the island. At first he just pointed the weapons at me and stood there, ready to charge forward and attack. I stared back at him. I was scared but I also knew that if I was going to die on this island, it would be while fighting. I looked around to see what the other ghosts were doing and immediately regretted it.

As soon as I turned my head, the lead ghost ran toward us. He gained speed and before I knew it, tried to slash at my right arm and torso. I swung both swords at him in a downward block motion, as the men around me moved into position to contend with this fighter. We all heard the sound of iron swords connecting with more iron. Then, rather than fight the other men, the spirit kept charging. Like the island’s constant wind, he continued past me and my men. The ghost then turned back, faced us, and cried out some sort of command.

I stared at the ghost dumbfounded as one of my men shouted out a warning. I spun around and saw what the danger was. This time another ghost, a woman with two swords drawn and ready for murder, came at us. She caught us by surprise and took the leg of one of my deckhands, who could only drop to one knee and hope the bleeding would subside. As she passed us, she kept swinging her swords but did not hurt anyone else. Like the man before her, she continued past us, just like a gust of wind would do.

The spirits continued their deadly game for what seemed like hours. Each time the lead ghost from earlier would call out a command and a spirit would come at us while charging in a line. If only we had brought some shields with us! My men and I fought hard and learned new ways to deflect the spectral attacks. However, my crew of fifty was now reduced to thirty.

So here I am, with what is left of my crew, while the ghosts are resting. It seems to me that the spirits are preparing for a second and possibly even third wave of attacks. Will we survive? Will I survive? Will the ghosts disappear come sunrise? I do not know. I am grateful for the chance to stop and write this note however, should anyone find this letter. Sailor, if you find this, I beg you, get off of this island immediately and take my writing home to your government! Warn others about this deadly place, this Dead Man’s Island!

Now if you will excuse me, the ghosts are circling up again and screaming. I must rejoin my men and try to hold them off. I can only hope to see my wife and family again.

Respectfully,

Captain Avery Henry, First Privateer to his Majesty King William, the year of our Lord 1019