Although theocean breeze wasn’t really cold, I still shivered as I slowly mademy way up the old rotting front steps. Inside, the warmth of thewoodstove hugged me, and my body begged to be put to bed. I stokedthe fire and tossed in another log before making my way over to thecouch. The thought of climbing the stairs to a bed made me want tocry so I collapsed on the old, caramel-colored leather sofa. Aheavy knitted blanket fell from the back and I stretched it outover my tired body, happy to stay there forever.
***
Iawoke sometime laterand I moaned in agony as my consciousness clawed its way to thesurface. The heat from the woodstove, just a few feet away, incombination with my hangover from Hell, had left me extremelydehydrated. I attempted to swallow, but my mouth was completelyvoid of any moisture. I needed water. I just didn’t want tomove.
I forced myarm to move and peel the woolen blanket from my aching body. Theair outside of my cocoon was cool in comparison to what was heldbeneath it and I shivered again as I zombie-walked to the kitchenacross the room. I grabbed one of the bottles of water from thefridge and downed it in seconds, my stomach threatening to protestat the sudden influx of wet and cold.
But Iwas fine. It settled, and I drank half of another bottle. My eyesthen darted to the big clock on the wall, a mock ship’s wheel withthe workings of a timepiecein the center, one of Mom’s favorite pieces in the house, andnoted that I’d only slept for two hours. Strangely, it felt likeenough. My body wanted to stay awake then, so I strolled over to mypirate’s chest on the dining room table.
Immediately, I grabbed the cool red jacket, noting itsconvenient size, and slipped it on. It fit like a glove and smelledmusty from its few lifetimes of storage.It deserved to breathe again, I thoughtas I ran my hand down one of the sleeves and smiled. “Don’t youworry, one trip to the dry cleaners and you’ll be my new favoritejacket.” I slipped my hands into the big side pockets, surprised tofind a strange object and pulled it out.
“Oh, noway.”
It was a smallship-in-a-bottle. I always marveled at the intricacy, the tinydetails and impossibility of them. As I brought the bottle closerto my face for a better look, I could see that this one was farmore detailed than any I’d ever seen before. Through the dirtyglass, I could tell that the ship wasn’t the usual ones you find,with the many white sails and long, narrow boat.
No, this wasmost definitely a pirate’s ship. The blackened wood of which it wasconstructed, the large stern with red windows hung on the back likea giant belly, and the three masts each displaying a weatheredsheet were solid proof. The center sail sported burn holes and thefaint markings of a skull.
Then somethingcaught my eye. The fake water which held the ship in place seemedto… move. Maybe I was still waking up, and perhaps it was a trickof the light shining in through the large dining-room window.
I blinked andgave my eyes a rub with my fingers, but it didn’t help. The strangeresin shined like aqua jewels in the setting sun and the wavesappeared to crash against the sides of the ship. Then, a red glowcame from the windows of the stern. I slowly put it down on thetable and noticed my bottle of rum just inches away from my hand. Asane person would look away. A sane person’s stomach would roll atthe very sight of it. But, clearly, from what I just witnessed… Iwas far from sane.
I grabbed itby the neck and downed a huge gulp, surprised that there was stillsome even left after last night. The liquor burned my stomach butnever threatened to come back up. Choosing to ignore theship-in-a-bottle, I glanced in my tiny trunk, pulled out the olddiary I’d found yesterday and made my way over to the bay windowbench seat in my mother’s office.
I took anotherquick swig before I sat down and then tucked the bottle under myarm. My thumb ran over the burned initials once more.
“H.W.Let’s find out who you were and why you have a hauntedship-in-a-bottle, shall we?”
Iunraveled the old twine thatheld it closed and opened the black leather cover, surprised by itssoftness and willingness to bend. The first page read,Henry William White, in a beautifulinked script. A water stain had soaked into the paper and smudgedthe name down across the page, but it was still there, visible.“Well, I guess we know what the initials stand for.” I continuedon, turning the next delicate page.
June 2nd,1698
Today is my sixteenth birthday. I have awaited this day formany years. I awoke this morning to find Mother in the kitchen, shegave me this beautiful handmade journal and began making myfavorite breakfast. Fried bread and eggs covered in molasses. But Icould hardly sit long enough to enjoy it. Today, Father promised Iwould get my own boat and I yearned to touch the sea on myown.
I ran down tothe shore where I knew he would surely be, and found him standingand awaiting my arrival. He smiled and hugged me, then whispered Ilove you. Now that I am a man, there is no need for affirmationsout loud and I was glad he thought so, as well.
He thenpointed to a small boat on the water, just a few yards out. It wastiny, just large enough for myself and my gear, a single sail castto the sky. It was magnificent. And it was mine. I spent all dayout on the water. I had not dropped a single net, nor a line. Isimply laid back and watched the sky as it floated above like amirror image of my beloved sea below me.
I stopped.This was the journal of a young boy. How did it end up in apirate’s chest? Now I wondered if I had it wrong. Perhaps the trunkwasn’t what I thought it was. Maybe it was just a random box thatmy mother collected
