June 10th,1698
If my motherwould allow, surely, I would live on the sea. I awake each day withvigor, eager to meet my small ship and sail the sea. If I did notbring back a basket of fish each day, I am certain Mother wouldhave something to say. She misses me around the house and the farm,that much I know. So, I promised her I would stay home today andhelp her. Perhaps I shall sneak out after supper and go for a quietmoonlight sail.
The nextfew pages were blank, aside from the random rust-colored stains that stuck some ofthem together. Whatever was spilled so many centuries ago, itsoaked through the paper and was left that way. I tried to pry someof the pages apart, to see if there were words trapped within, butthere was nothing. Then I realized… the stains. It wasblood.
Ifast-forwarded through the journal, past the blots of blood to findthe next journal entry. If there were any at all. Finally, I foundthe messy ink scratches of an entry. The same writing as Henry’sbut sloppier, quicker. As if they were written in haste or withoutcare. I then noted the date. Just the very next day after the lastentry.
June 11th,1698
I should not have left. I should have listened to Mother. Shecaught me leaving the house after supper when the sun had set, andthe moon shone over the waves just down from our farm. She told meit was dangerous, and I did not heed her warning. I told her Iwould only sail out a few yards. I promised.
But fate had different plans for me. For I had not evenreached my boat before I met two strangers on the beach. I thoughtthey may have been from our neighboring farm, but I wassadly mistaken.
They werepirates.
The man wassilent as the female approached me, her sword drawn and hanging byher side. When I realized what they were, I begged for my life.Told them I had nothing for them to take. But the woman, Maria iswhat her male companion called her, forced me to lead them back tomy home.
I did as I wastold, frozen by fear. I assumed they would raid my home and rob myfamily, then retreat to their ship and sail away. I had notimagined how everything would end that night, how my life would betaken away from me.
She made mewatch as she sliced my parent’s throats, her male partner holdingme in place. I had wet myself numerous times and vomited at hisfeet, but he did not sway. It felt like an eternity as I stoodthere, unable to move or leave or even touch my parents who lay atmy feet in a pool of their own blood as Maria raided my home. Shefilled a gunny sack and tossed it over her shoulder before orderingher partner, Eric, to bring me along. He protested, but sheinsisted. His grip loosened on my arms enough for me to break awayand fall at my parent’s bodies, to touch them once more before thepirates carried me away. I wrapped myself around my mother’s torsoand cried like a small child as Eric pulled at my feet.
I don’t know whether to be grateful at the sparing of my lifeor wish for death as I sit here on their ship, locked in a room.This journal, soaked in the blood of my mother, is the only thingI possessfrom my old life, only by the simple coincidencethat I had it tucked into my jacket pocket.
I wassurprised by the warm stream of tears that ran down my cheeks. Ihadn’t expected that at all. I closed the journal but then reopenedit to assess the hardened brown pages with a new pair of eyes. This was Henry’sjournal, and the pages held the blood of his mom. What abittersweet token to have kept. I was certain, then, that the chestwas definitely that of a pirate.
Iskipped ahead to try and find out whatever happened of young Henry.
July 17th,1698
My days here on the Burning Ghost have been a series ofunfortunate events. Each day brings with it a new form of torture.Eric wants nothing to do with me, for that I am thankful. But hiswife, Maria, the heathen, thinks of me as a plaything. Shedrags me along on raids, forces me to watch while she relentlesslytakes lives, leaving a trail of blood and ash in thewaters.
I have becomenumb to the sights I behold. No longer affected by the unspeakableacts that play out before me. But that displeases Maria. She wishesme to be disgusted, to be damaged. She delights in the tears that Ished.
This eveningmarks the seventh time she has released me from her quarters, afterforcing me into her bed. She has taken everything from me. Mymother and father, my home, my life.
And now myinnocence.
But that allshall end tonight. The words I now write shall be my last, andMaria will lose her toy. Ending this never-ending train oftorture.
Finally, Ishall be reunited with my family.
The sound ofthe front door creaking open pierced through the quiet house and Iquickly tied the twine around Henry’s journal before making my wayback out to the living area. Aunt Mary was there, trays of food inhand and a smile on her face. It quickly faded, though, when shesaw that I’d been crying.
She slid theheavy trays on the kitchen island top and came over to me. “What’sthe matter, m’love?” Mary then saw the jacket I sported. “And,w-what on Earth are you wearing?”
“Oh… apirate’s jacket?” I replied and pulled Henry’s journal out fromunder my arm. “And I was just reading this book. It’s some kind ofjournal from a boy who was kidnapped by pirates. They killed hisparents. One was even a female. Maria or something.”
Aunt Marygrabbed the trays of food from the kitchen island, brought themover to the table and sat down. She then nodded. “Ah, yes, MariaCobham,” she told me.
I was takenaback at the name. “Wait, you mean -”
“Oh,yes, Dianna dear.” She began scooping random bits of food onto aplate and handed it to me. “Didn’t you know? Where your mother’sobsession came from?”
“Maria Cobham?”
