Captain James Hook and the Curse of Peter Pan

by Jeremiah Kleckner

  “I don’t know if I can,” I told him. “This is like some dream.”

  “You have to say it!”

  If she were still just a light, it would have been easy to doubt her existence. As I stood over her wilted little body, my conviction melted at the edges. The walls of my truth collapsed with thundering silence as a whole world of possibilities opened up to me. She undeniably existed and she was undeniably dying.

  “I do believe in fairies,” I said. A spark burst from her mouth. I repeated it and more sparks flew. I said it a third time and the light exploded around her, lifting her up. He leapt to meet her and I watched as they circled my room in celebration.

  “Is she alright?” I asked. My words stopped Peter and the light cold. He bent over and whispered to Tinkerbell. She responded, but no matter how hard I listened, I could only hear the ringing and chiming of little bells. I stepped closer to better hear her unusual noises.

  “What’s she saying?” I asked. “I don’t understand her.”

  “That’s just how they talk,” Peter explained.

  “Does she still have enough fairy dust to help me fly, too?” I asked. She continued ringing and he began to laugh.

  “She says ‘no’ because you’re an ugly boy and you wouldn’t know a fairy if it flew in and poked you on the nose,” he giggled.

  “She’s a vile little thing, isn’t she?” This time Tinkerbell darted right up to my face and rang loudly. Having been raised by a British Captain and knowing sailors my whole life, I could only imagine what she was saying now.

  “It’s not her fault,” Pan said. “Fairies are so small that they can only feel or think one thing at a time. Right now, she hates you because you killed her.” I turned back to Tinkerbell in time to see her give me the most obscene gesture before she soared through the open window into the night’s sky.

  “That wasn’t very adult of her,” I said, a little insulted.

  “Adults,” Peter said under his breath. “All they want us to do is grow up.”

  “We all must grow up sometime, Peter.”

  “Not me,” he laughed. “I’ll be a boy forever.”

  The word “rubbish” formed on my lips, but I caught myself before it was spoken. Memories of the last time I jumped to judgment rushed through my mind. I could no longer afford the comfort of growing comfortable in my truths.

  “I have to go after Tink,” Peter said as he glided over to the window. “In the mood she’s in, she can get into all sorts of trouble.” He smirked at me as if to hint at yet grander secrets.

  “Are you coming back?” I asked. He puzzled over the question for long moments before finally answering.

  “I don’t know.”

  Peter leapt through the window and was gone in an instant. He left me standing in the mess of a broken ship and shattered glass, but I didn’t mind. Pan made anything possible and I wanted to know all of it.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning I stormed down the stairs, the thunder of my footfalls shook the house around me. While cleaning my room last night, I pieced together a thousand ways to tell my mother about the strange boy who flew into my room. She was a believer. She must have seen them, or something like them, before. My mind raced with wonder at what adventures she could share now that I believed as she did.

  I leapt down the final four steps and raced to the dining room. I burst through the door crying out, “Mother! Mother, your stories are true! Peter Pan can fly!”

  But it wasn’t my mother’s warm laugh that greeted me first. The cold stare of my father stopped me as dead as gunfire. He sat at the head of the table in full uniform, his face reddening slightly.

  “Father,” I breathed. “You’re back days early.” He said nothing. Instead, he nodded at one of the place settings and drew his lips tighter at the corners, instructing me to sit and remain silent. Father’s magic was different than my mother’s in that he could express whole ideas with simple looks.

  As I moved to the table, I noticed the fourth place setting. A hand clasped down on my shoulder before I had a chance to ask who the setting was for.

  “Your father and I were carried away on slightly different business,” a voice said just behind my ear. It was barely above a whisper, but I knew it well. I looked up at a man with lean, sharp features and steel-gray eyes.

  “Mr. Ashley,” my father said, “come and sit with us.”

  “I’d be delighted,” Mr. Ashley responded. Heath Ashley served under my father since he first entered the Royal Navy. Father always spoke highly of him and, whenever Father was home, Heath Ashley was always at the house performing one task or another. Only in the last year did Heath receive a commission to serve as a first officer on a different vessel. We hadn’t seen much of him since then.

  We were already seated when Mother came in from the kitchen, carrying trays of food.

  “Well, I for one am thrilled that you are home,” she said as she took her place at Father’s side. We rose and stood until she was seated, like gentlemen of good form should.

  “You look exhausted, Heath. What have you been doing?” Mother asked.

  “I’ve been searching for the missing boy all night,” he responded. “Dr. Sotheby’s kid.”

  “That’s dreadful,” Mother said. “James, you remember Donald Sotheby from school, the one with the curly hair?” I nodded and recalled that the last time I saw him. He and one of the other boys got into a scrap on the way home. Curly always liked playing jokes on other kids and it must have caught up to him that time.

  “So, how is your commission?” Mother asked Heath after a long pause.

  “It has held many surprises,” he said, “and many rewards.” Father’s eyes widened and tensed at the edges. It was not uncommon to hear them go on for hours about the most trivial details of life at sea. This hush between them unsettled me.

  “Rewards?” Mother asked. She darted a questioning look between Heath and my father.

  “Heath is getting his own command,” Father said. “By this time next month, he’ll be the youngest captain in the fleet.”

  “That’s outstanding,” Mother applauded as her face alighted with joy. “Which ship will you have?”

  “The Champlain,” Heath responded.

  “Isn’t that the ship you are already on?” I asked.

  “Indeed,” Heath said. “The captain I am serving under is being promoted to admiral.” Mother gave Father a puzzled look but didn’t speak. Confused, I said what she was thinking.

  “But, Father, weren’t you supposed to be promoted to admiral after this last voyage?” All three turned to me, but I wasn’t sure why. It was a perfectly fine question.

  “It seems that Heath knew which man to back in this fight,” Father said.

  “You did the right thing stepping aside this time, John,” Heath said. “The King’s Navy will have an Admiral Hoodkins soon enough. Besides, as I recall we both followed his lead on this last, most worthwhile venture.” Father tensed again and fixed his eyes firmly on Ashley.

  “What about you, James?” Heath asked me without once looking in my direction. “You seemed quite excited when you first came down stairs.”

  “What do you mean?” Mother asked, happy to change the subject.

  “Oh, you missed it,” Heath continued with a laugh. “James came running down the stairs shouting ‘You were right, Mother! Your stories are true!’ It was a sight.”

  “I don’t know if this is the right time to talk of bedtime stories, Heath,” Mother said with a cautious look.

  “Nonsense,” he insisted. “Who doesn’t want to hear of dangerous adventures and hidden treasure?”

  “It’s not important now,” I said. There was no part of my father that wanted to hear about flying boys and I was sure that Heath was equally as disinterested in fairies.

  “It seemed of dire importance a few minutes ago,” Heath said. “Tell me, who is this Peter Pan?”

  “He’s just some boy,” I told him.

/>   “Who flies?” Heath goaded.

  “Yes, sir,” I responded after some time. I tried to hold it back, but the words kept coming. “He came into my room last night while I was sleeping. I wouldn’t have heard him if he didn’t wreck the ship I’d built.” Father’s face reddened, then cooled as solid as tempered steel. “He and Tinkerbell…”

  “Who?” Heath asked, amused.

  “His fairy friend,” I responded. “Tinkerbell died because I said I didn’t believe in fairies.” Mother gasped and turned whiter than the linen. Heath let out a bellow while my father just sat there and wrinkled his brow. “But don’t worry, I said that I did believe and she came back to life.”

  “Naturally,” Heath added. Mother gave me a worried smile. Her smiles were usually so inviting, the type that let you know everything would be just fine. This one was different. In fact, the only one who seemed to enjoy the tale was Heath Ashley. His smile was pulled tight across his teeth. It would have been warm if not for the coldness of his eyes.

  “Enough,” Father said.

  “Oh, John,” Heath said, “let the boy speak. The fairy did survive, after all.”

  “Enough!” Father yelled and slammed his fist against the table. The silence grew to cover the whole room until only the clocks dared to tick onward. If not for their measured beats, I would have sworn that all time had stopped.

  “Perhaps I should be going,” Heath said. Father met his eyes with a look of shame and rage. Heath Ashley strode toward the door, but turned before he left. “Don’t give up on your imagination, James. It’ll make you an amazing scholar, now that your father can afford it.”

  We finished our food in silence. Even though I was not sure what I did wrong, I knew that I should not make matters worse. Considering that I had not had many visitors because of my condition, especially other children my own age, I expected my parents to be elated at the news that I made a new friend. The doctors believed that my fatigue and spells of dizziness were due to my blood’s unusual thickness and color. Wounds healed well but I had to be wary not to push myself to the point of exhaustion, which came quickly. As a result, I spent days at a time letting and gathering my strength.

  “Solitude and staying indoors is unhealthy for a boy of your breeding and intention,” Father said, shattering the uneasy quiet. This was the start of the usual argument. Mother was gentler regarding my condition and rushed to my aid. When discussion was permitted on the subject, she spoke on behalf of tutors and visitation. She didn’t wait for permission to speak this time. She, like I, heard a tone of inevitability in Father’s voice.

  “The boy is ill,” she began. “He needs to stay home to rest.”

  “The boy should only rest for as long as is immediately necessary and attend school like a gentleman,” Father said while waving his hand as if he were batting her words away.

  “After this next voyage, I’ll be promoted to admiral,” he began. “We’ll return to England. I have already registered James at Eton. He will go this fall and be the scholar we have prepared him to be.” Mother stood beside me and pressed my head against her hip. I tried to make myself smaller than that fairy. My failure to disappear was clear when I saw my father examine me.

  “But first, he needs hardening,” he said. “I have room for two cabin boys.” My mother gasped. “He can let on the ship when necessary. There is little running, the work is methodical in pace, and he can study on board.”

  At that, the conversation was over. Father continued to talk, but it was only of how this would unfold, not whether it would. He drafted two letters. One went to my school, the other to his first mate, Mr. Jukes. Mother wept and clasped an old cloth.

  My confusion led to anger. My blood boiled and I bolted through the door. Of all the places in the world, there was only one that brought any comfort to me aside from my room. It was a place that only one other knew about. I had to see Emily. She alone would understand and she alone would know where to find me. She would be there as soon as news of my flight reached her.

  Chapter Four

  My feet pounded the cobblestone for only brief moments. Soon, the soft earth padded my footfalls. There was a lagoon not far from town, that part was no secret. People knew of it, but rarely visited as they were often busy with the responsibilities of maintaining the port. Sometimes swimmers played in the cool glassy water.

  Our spot was just above the lagoon. Cut into the cove was a cliff with a steep drop off into the water. If you squinted, the pale colors of the lagoon that danced in the moonlight were also ablaze in the setting or rising sun. There was no wrong time of day to be there as it was rife with infinite moments of perfection.

  She knew I’d be there. It was our secret place, away from parents and responsibilities. We knew every hidden rock in the tall grass and every soft patch of dirt, where your foot sinks unexpectedly deep. It was the one place where getting older doesn't mean growing up.

  My anger took me again. I kicked rocks and beat the earth with my fists. I ground my heel against the trees and scraped moss with bark. I did everything but cry. I am unsure how long her slight frame stood watching me. It didn’t matter.

  Emily had seen me in every state of being, from my proudest crowing to my most boiling rage. In every instance, she spoke to the matter afflicting me, not my reaction to it. She knew of my condition and visited me, often bringing my daily assignments from classes that I missed. She was always cool, never cold. As the golden-haired daughter of Harrison Jukes, Father’s first officer and longtime friend, it was assumed that we were to be married when the time suited us. It was the one thing that was planned for me to which I had no objection.

  She came to where I was kneeling and placed a still hand on my shoulder, saying nothing. The thick blood in my veins slowed its pounding in my ears enough for me to hear a breeze kiss each leaf, calming me further. Soon, I was calm enough to pull thoughts together and tether them with reason.

  “You came,” I said as my first attempt at civilized conversation. It was meant to sound like a question, but I knew better than to have doubts.

  “You didn’t think I would?”

  “It’s not that, I just didn’t think you’d make it here so quickly,” I told her, still clearing the fog of rage from my head.

  “Billy told me,” she said. Emily’s brother, William, was two years my junior, but healthy and broad of shoulder like Mr. Jukes. Father was often entertained and slightly envious of the tales his first mate would tell of William’s minor disasters. “He heard it from Thomas Darling out in the shipyard. He said that you ran off when you heard that Donald Sotheby went missing.”

  “Well, Thomas Darling shouldn’t run his mouth without knowing the whole story,” I said, a little annoyed. “Something amazing happened.”

  We lay on the rocks overlooking the lagoon as I detailed last night’s adventure with the flying boy and his fairy. I explained my father’s decision and my mother’s tears and her clasping of the old cloth. I told her everything. The whole time, she looked up at the sky and said nothing. While she listened, her face twisted from compassion mixed with loss to one of knowing acceptance.

  “We knew that you would eventually go off to sea like our fathers,” she said.

  “Just not so soon,” I answered, only now becoming aware that she had prepared for this moment far more thoroughly than I had. She said nothing of what I told her about Peter. Whether she believed me or would later investigate my condition to learn if it caused hallucinations, I was certain that she would discuss it with no one. It was at this moment that I resolved not to discuss Pan with anyone else until I could prove that he was real or be sure the secret of our meeting would be kept.

  “Still, there is an advantage to you going this time,” she said after a long pause. The words stung me with surprise. The wound was surely visible as she followed with the explanation. “The other cabin boy is going to be my brother, Billy.”

  It seemed that my father and Mr. Jukes made the decision some tim
e ago that their two sons would serve with them as cabin boys in an effort to develop us into fine sailors and future officers. The story of Peter Pan was Father’s breaking point. The letter he wrote to Harrison Jukes tied William’s fate to mine.

  “You need to promise me that no harm will come to him, James.” She raised her emerald eyes to meet mine, knowing that I couldn’t refuse her while they were upon me. I wondered whether she had already had this same conversation with William, making him watch over me as well. It was a brilliant maneuver and I admired her for it.

  “Of course,” I said. I swore to it in her name. She knew I could be held to my word. It is poor form to go back on an oath and I am nothing if not a gentleman.

  Chapter Five

  The weeks melted into one another as the day of my departure approached. Mother took this opportunity to spend as much time in my room as possible. Every few minutes she found some excuse to polish or straighten something. I didn’t mind her attention.

  The night before I was to ship out under my father’s command, she sat alongside my bed and told me her last story. There was something different, however, something wrong. Usually, her eyes spark ever so slightly before she begins, but that night she seemed lost, as if looking for a path in a dark wood. I decided to light one for her.

  “Can I hear about knights and monsters one last time?” I asked her. She looked at me and the spark lit up her sad eyes.

  “Stories about monsters are easy in this world,” she sighed.

  “I knew it,” I burst. “I knew you believed. We don’t have to tell Father about it though. He wouldn’t understand.”

  “Your father knows about monsters all too well, I’m afraid. He sees them every time he steps onto that ship.”

  “Pirates,” I told her. Father was a renowned pirate-hunter and I’d heard his adventures many times before. Father, Harrison Jukes, and Heath Ashley often sat around the fireplace and terrified us with tales of firefights and narrow escapes. These were the men who lived it, as I would soon, but they were not storytellers. Somehow their adventures paled before Mother’s retellings.