Grim Tales: The Curse of the Doubloons

by Linda DeMeulemeester

“This isn’t a fake ship,” says Skeeter. “It’s a real brigantine.”

  “C’mon Skeeter, look around—notice anything unusual about the masts?” Clive sounds sarcastic.

  “There are two masts, square rigged,” Skeeter still sounds confident. “That’s what real brigantines have.”

  “What else is special about the masts? Open your eyes.”

  Skeeter doesn’t answer Clive.

  “You’re sounding like Mr. Morrows again,” I point out, but then it occurs to me that Clive probably thinks this a compliment.

  “Right.” Clive assumes a tone of annoying authority. “Nobody’s manning the masts.”

  Shivers climb my spine when I look up. The sails are swinging and the ropes are sliding all on their own. This ship isn’t bobbing aimlessly on the water. It’s cutting a clear path through the currents.

  “The ride is rigged, not the masts,” says Clive. “It has to be computer operated. And you say you’re not a landlubber.”

  Clive practically tisk-tisks his brother—all he needs is a moustache, and he would be Mr. Morrows.

  “I still know something you don’t know,” Skeeter gets a sly look. “Something you’d like to know.”

  Clive storms away and joins Mitch who is busy kicking at the captain’s door. He hasn’t learned to listen to nine-year-olds.

  He hasn’t had a few hard lessons like you have, says that pesky voice in my head.

  “I believe you,” Sookie says to Skeeter. He leans over and whispers in her ear. Sookie’s eyes widen considerably. I’m more than a little curious to know what Skeeter has said, but I can’t hear through the pounding rain.

  “What’s this?” Mia calls out. She’s tugging at a rusty iron handle on the deck. “Hey, it moved.” She tugs harder at the hatch. “A little help, here, my hands are too slippery from the rain.”

  I quickly join her. The hatch is heavy and my elbow still aches from hitting the railing, but I dig in and together we yank and heave. “It’s coming open,” I say, gulping for breath. Clive and Mitch give up kicking the captain’s door and join us.

  With the boys help we lift up the heavy hatch and look down into the dark depths below. A musty dank smell of old wood, and rot, and worse, drifts up from the hatch.

  8

  Mia begins climbing down the ladder.

  “Careful,” I warn. “We don’t know what’s down there.”

  “A dry place—that’s all I care about.”

  Mia has a point. I climb down the ladder, and the others come fast behind. “Keep the hatch open,” I shout. “Just in case.”

  Torches flicker with guttering light and bathe the hold in an eerie crimson glow.

  “Sure looks authentic down here,” says Mitch as he touches a giant coiled rope that is covered in dry seaweed.

  “And smells authentic, ugh,” Mia wrinkles her nose as she looks at old wooden bunks and hammocks covered in stained, moth-eaten blankets.

  “Whoa, disgusting.” Skeeter has taken a lid off a barrel that’s set in the corner of the ship’s hold.

  I can’t imagine what Skeeter thinks is disgusting and have to see for myself. A sharp stench clogs my nose. I look down into a writhing mass of maggots worming their way in and out of moldy cheese.

  “Dinner anyone?” asks Skeeter with more than a little glee.

  “That’s just not funny.” Mitch slams the lid back down.

  “The water’s wormy too,” complains Sookie, closing the lid off another barrel. “I’m thirsty, Cat. I want a soda or lemonade.”

  “Pirates ate maggoty rotting food and drank sour, worm infested water,” says Skeeter. Then, deepening his voice, he bellows, “Pirates are tough.” He looks smugly at Clive. “It’s what separates us from the landlubbers.”

  “And pirates died from horrible diseases eating and drinking rotten food and water,” Clive tells his brother.

  “I don’t get it,” I say. “What kind of ride is this that they make it so uncomfortable and unsettling?”

  “It’s not a ride at all,” says Skeeter. “This is the real thing.” He and Sookie exchange another one of their secretive looks.

  “What?” Clive taps his foot impatiently.

  I join in. “Skeeter, maybe you should tell us why you think this is the real thing.”

  “Because,” says Skeeter drawing it out to keep our attention.

  “Because why?” I force myself to say kindly.

  “The name of the ship is the Barataria, don’t you get it?” Skeeter sounds as annoyed as I feel. “That was the name of a ship Jean Lafitte sailed. Remember what Miss Eliysia said?” Skeeter dances around dramatically. “Yup, I bet the Barataria set sail under a full moon into misty, stormy waters. It never came back and was never seen again.”

  A cold draft has worked its way into the hold, whistling a song. I swear it sounds like that old nursery rhyme, “Four and twenty black birds baked in a pie…”

  Skeeter’s voice drops into a conspirator’s whisper. “This is a phantom ship. What if it has ghosts searching for the lost doubloons?”

  Sookie shakes her head ruefully. “So you see? This isn’t a carnival ride. We’re on a genuine ghost ship.”

  “No such thing,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “Exactly,” but Mitch’s eyes dart as he checks out the shadows of the ship’s hold.

  Skeeter sounds worried now. “Clive, do you think the ghosts saw our gold doubloons we handed over? What if they think we know where the treasure is?”

  “That would be a catastrophe,” says Sookie.

  Clive crouches down beside his brother, and in a more patient voice than I thought he could have, softly says, “If Miss Eliysia and even our gran knows those old ghost stories, everyone in New Orleans does too. That’s why they use those stories to make up the ride. It’s just old legends; we don’t have anything to fear…”

  “Do you hear that?” Mitch cocks his hand to his ear.

  I listen. At first I only hear creaking timber as the ship sways. Then I can make out hornpipes, faint at first, then distant shouts and laughter. So that tune isn’t the wind whistling through the hold—or at least not entirely.

  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye…

  The sounds grow louder. Except the shouts and music are also warped—as if the music and voices are fighting their way up from a watery grave. My arms erupt in goose bumps as another cold draft rips past me.

  “That’s a kid’s rhyme,” says Mitch. “Yet it sounds so eerie. It creeps me out.”

  “Actually the rhyme is a pirate code,” says Clive. He’s staring up at the hatch. Then he looks straight at me and holds my gaze. “Pirates like Blackbeard used that old song as a way to trick people and signal each other when they were out to capture new crew members.”

  “I hate this ride,” says Mia.

  “It. Is. Not. A. Ride.” Skeeter sounds exasperated. Then he reaches in his pack and puts on his pirate bandana and ties it around his forehead. “I know that song. It’s not scary at all.” He dances a jig and begins singing along. “The king was in his counting house, counting out the money.” Skeeter stops and looks at us. “Do you think that’s code for the pirate captain counting his doubloons?”

  “I don’t think you should be listening to that music,” Sookie tells Skeeter. “They make that song sound all wrong.” She clamps her own hands over her ears. “…When down came a blackbird and snapped off her nose.”

  The music gives me icy shivers. A couple of hours ago I would have enjoyed any relief from the humid heat of New Orleans—except this peculiar chill is sapping my energy. It’s like when I went skiing once in frigid weather. At first it was fun, but by the end of the day I couldn’t get warm.

  “I’ve had about enough of this place.” My stomach heaves and I swallow spit. Then I stumble as the ship lurches again. “I could use some fresh air. I think I’m getting seasick.”

  “Yeah, let’s get out of here,” says Clive. He pulls Skeeter’s arm, but his brothe
r shakes him off. Clive grabs Skeeter’s bandana instead and heads for the ladder. Skeeter follows him this time.

  We all scramble up the ladder. Even Mia seems to prefer the rain to this creepy place. I go up last and as I climb out on deck, I notice the rain has stopped. My friends are huddled together and staring straight ahead. No one is saying anything. I move away from the open hatch to get a better look and peer into the gloom. Then I see too.

  This is so not good. It seems we have company.

  9

  Pirates.

  The deck is full of them.

  Grizzled, rough-looking men with long hair, skin tanned brown like cured leather, and craggy, hard faces—they laugh and smile with mouths that reveal gaps from missing teeth. Some are dancing around, and a couple are playing accordions. Some are sitting on a chest and singing as they pass around a brown glass jug, each of them taking gulping swigs that half spill down their shirts.

  Some of their songs have words that I know wouldn’t be allowed on any amusement ride, no matter how scary and realistic.

  Near us I see two men rolling dice, until—in a flash—they start arguing over a roll. One swings his fist at the other’s face. The other guy draws his sword and brandishes it. Mia takes a large step back, and Mitch grabs her arm, so she doesn’t fall down the open hatch.

  “I don’t think the pirates see us,” I say quietly.

  “That’s a good thing,” Mia’s voice quavers.

  Skeeter waves his plastic sword over his head to see if it gets the pirates attention. Clive grabs the sword, “Stop it,” he whispers. Skeeter frowns and takes his sword back.

  For a few shocked minutes we silently stare at the pirate antics while mist curls up from the sides of the ship, and drifts like ragged, ghostly arms reaching toward the sky. I follow the mist and realize the sky has changed. White stars burn huge in the purplish sky. The shredded clouds are orange streaks, as if someone has smeared the sky with burnt pumpkin. The moon hangs in the night sky like a floating giant fire lantern.

  This isn’t New Orleans anymore. This isn’t anywhere in the human realm. A cold dread works its way up from my racing heart. I realize that by boarding this ship, we’ve drifted through the veil that separates us from the Otherworld. So very not good…

  I draw in a gasp when one pirate steps from behind a tall mast and its billowing black sail. He is wearing a velvet jacket. The shirt underneath his coat spills frilly lace over his collar and cuffs. His tricorne hat has a huge feather plume, and his long black hair is neatly combed. He twirls a dapper moustache. He looks exactly like the museum’s wax statue of Jean Lafitte.

  Skeeter waves his plastic sword again, but this time he shouts, “Ahoy matey!”

  The pirates stop whatever they’re doing. In one long, agonizing motion they swing around and face us.

  Oh crap.

  In one quick motion we turn around and race in the other direction.

  “The captain’s cabin,” Sookie gasps. “The keyhole…”

  I’m running and breathing hard, so it takes a second for my oxygen-starved brain to make the connection. The upside-down keyhole—it isn’t to keep ghosts locked inside the cabin, it’s to keep these ghostly phantoms out. “Hurry,” I tell the others.

  The door is still locked but with grim determination, we begin kicking and hammering against it. The door holds.

  Outside the pirates argue on the quarterdeck. “Get those landlubbers.”

  “What’s the hurry, they’ve nowhere to go.”

  “I’m finishing my drink.”

  “I’m winning my game.”

  Lafitte rages at the other pirates. “You heard me, get moving before I keelhaul every one of you that I don’t make walk the plank.”

  My stomach dives to my sneakers as the ghostly pirates slink toward us.

  “If only we had some tools, we could trip the lock,” complains Mitch.

  Once when Sookie accidentally locked herself in the bathroom, my Mom used her credit card to force open the lock. “Here.” I pull the tarot card from my back pocket. “Try this.”

  The pirates march toward us until they’re only a free kick’s distance away. The Tarot card faces outward, death grinning up at us, as Mitch slides the card between the door jam. The thick card doesn’t bend as Mitch forces it up higher. He wiggles the card when it catches and we hear a click. Mitch tugs open the door and we dive in so fast, I fall on my knees. Clive, who practically has to drag Skeeter inside, slams the door shut.

  “We don’t have a key to lock it again,” Clive says. “Is there something we can use to bar the door?”

  “I don’t think you need a key,” says Sookie. “The ghosts shouldn’t be able to pass through just because of the shape of the lock.”

  The pirates are gathering outside the door. They are taunting us.

  “Come join our crew, ye scurvy brats.”

  “You need to be dead to be part of our crew, but we will arrange that.”

  “Are ye the dirty dogs that stole our gold doubloons?”

  “Ar, we’ll make yer pay for that. You won’t wish for death, you’ll wish ye were never born, ha ha.”

  But the pirates don’t burst through the door, so Sookie must be right, the ghost lock is keeping them out. Inside, the cabin is dark except for weak moonlight that filters through a small, dusty portal. The room is smaller than my bedroom. Cobwebs hang from the ceiling and walls and blanket a big wooden desk like a spidery table cloth. A captain’s chair is tipped against the desk. An old chest is jammed in the corner, but it doesn’t look heavy enough for our needs. My allergies kick in, and my nose itches fiercely. Stifling a sneeze, I point to the desk.

  We decide that we’ll just feel better barring the door. We drag the desk away from the wall. We push and shove until we slide it across the cabin, leaving ruts on the deck and stirring up tons of dust. I burst into a series of sneezes.

  “How long can we stay in here?” says Clive.

  The pirates keep chanting as if they heard him. “Yer can’t hide ferever, mate. It’s only a matter of time, and we’ve got lots of it.”

  “This isn’t a safe place,” says Sookie. “It’s a…”

  “Trap,” I finish. “We’re no better off than blackbirds sewn in a pie.”

  10

  Outside the cabin, the phantom pirates continue to jabber and jeer.

  “I vote we stay in here as long as it takes,” says Mitch, “Even if we starve to death.”

  “At least we’ll be dry if it rains again,” says Mia.

  “I want to go home,” says Sookie.

  “I want to play with the pirates,” complains Skeeter.

  I’m wishing for a few seconds of quiet so I can think. Mostly, I’m wishing Jasper had come with us instead of visiting the swamp. He’s the expert on the Otherworld. I’d also welcome Amarjeet’s cool logic.

  You’ve had the most experience with the Otherworld, Cat. You should be able to figure this out, says that pesky voice in my head. These are the things I know about the Otherworld:

  There are rules—weird ones, but rules.

  Time is different between the human realm and the Otherworld—in the twilight world time stretches and snaps back like elastic between past, present, and maybe even future.

  Creatures who visit our world have a time limit because…once the time is up, the door between our worlds snaps shut.

  “Ghost ships,” I tell the group, “could be vessels that get caught between our world and the Otherworld. That is why they appear and disappear.” Sookie nods agreement, but the others look confused. They don’t remember much of their dangerous brushes with the fairy world. They haven’t been marked by the fairies like me, or been drawn to the Otherworld like Sookie.

  Sookie says in a small voice, “Maybe we got the attention of the Otherworld, Cat.”

  At first I think she’s talking about the Mystic Crewe—that they had a part in this. We drew them out from Fairy and they captured us. We should have been more careful
. But then Sookie points to the green in my otherwise brown hair.

  Then I remember, once you’ve been marked by creatures of the Otherworld, if any are about, you get their attention. Automatically my fingers brush the green stripes; the stripes that never wash out.

  “I…I sort of know what you’re talking about,” says Mia, rubbing her head furiously. “But it’s foggy, like a dream.”

  “All I care about is how we escape,” says Mitch.

  “I bet Mardi Gras is a time where the veil is thinnest between our world and the Otherworld,” I say, again wishing Jasper was here to confirm this for me. But it makes sense. When the veil that separates our worlds is thinnest, certain ancient traditions spill over into our modern human realm—it doesn’t seem to matter where you live. There are costumes, like at Halloween and Mardi Gras, and there are nighttime celebrations like bonfires. There are also superstitious stories about things you should or shouldn’t do.

  “Do you remember anything more from those ghost pirate stories your gran used to tell you?” I ask Clive and Skeeter.

  Clive scratches his head, but Skeeter remembers right away. “The pirate ship disappears after all good children are asleep in their beds. But I don’t want the pirates to go, Clive. Skeeter points to the door with his plastic sword. “Those guys don’t scare me. I want to join them!”

  The pirates’ curses make it hard to think. If only they’d lose interest in us. Ignoring Skeeter, Clive says, “Yeah, I remember now. My brother’s right. The ship disappears when the clock strikes twelve and all the children are asleep.”

  I stare out the ship’s portal. The moon is travelling across the sky much faster than it normally does. I check my watch and catch my breath. It’s almost eleven, and I can actually see the hour hand move. We’re definitely on twilight time, and at midnight this ship disappears. So I tell everyone, “Time is running out, and I think we need a plan.”

  Pirates are whooping and hollering outside our door. “Come out, come out, little ones. We want our doubloons.”

  “Stop gabbing and jabbering about,” Lafitte shouts at the pirates. “Those children aren’t the only ones testing my patience. Somebody will be walking the plank before this night is out.”