Captain James Hook and the Curse of Peter Pan

by Jeremiah Kleckner

  “We can’t be in here,” I said.

  “But we are,” Peter said. He looked around the room and smiled, proud with himself for winning the argument.

  “That’s not what I mean, Peter,” I said with growing frustration. “We’re not supposed to be here.”

  Pan didn’t bother responding. He was too busy digging through my father’s trunk. He grabbed a uniform coat and tied it around his neck. He then pulled a short sword from his waistband and swung it wildly about the room.

  I ran to him to take my father’s things back, careful of his blade. I couldn’t let him wreck the whole ship in the name of a good time. Besides, I was sure my father would notice that his uniform was no longer as he left it.

  Pan floated upside down above my father’s desk and lit a candle. The flickering light danced on the navigator’s charts. I didn’t see them in the pitch black, but now they shined like the moon on a clear night.

  “What are those?” Peter asked, noticing that he was no longer the center of my attention. “They look boring.”

  “Far from it,” I said. “This is the route the navigator, Mr. Stevenson, plotted.” Peter looked at me blankly. “These maps show the direction that the ship is going and how it is going to get there.”

  Pan was already looking around for something else to do, so I picked up my father’s sword and told him what the crew learned earlier. “We’re going to capture pirates.”

  “Pirates?” Peter squealed. “What a game that would be.” He repeated this several times as he slashed the air with the sword. “What I wouldn’t give to fight pirates! Who are we catching?” His next swing came too close and our steel clashed. His eyes flashed with wild excitement. I pushed him back and raised my guard.

  “His name is Jesse Labette,” I said, dodging a wild swing. “He is a dreadful pirate who steals whatever he can and kills everyone in his way.”

  “He sounds as bad as the Sheriff we fought the last time we met,” Peter said, referring to the story I told him.

  “Not exactly, Peter,” I corrected. “This time, we’re on the side of the law and we’re not corrupt.” I swung high and thrust low. The sword was heavy in my hands, so he flew between attacks with ease. He’s fast and well-practiced. If I could only ground him, I’d at least have a chance at keeping up. “Also, pirates don’t usually fight head on. They have smaller ships so that they can sail in shallow water and avoid the bigger British ships.”

  “Isn’t it better if he hides?” Peter asked. “It doesn’t seem like much fun if they don’t try to hide first.”

  “I don’t think he feels that he has to hide,” I said. “The crew tells rumors of a massive cannon on the bow. They call it Long Tom. It’s a ship killer.” Peter gasped. He then lowered his sword and looked back at my father’s desk.

  “Those maps still look boring,” he said, “and I want to play captain.”

  The charts called my eyes back to them with each flicker of the candle. I traced my fingers over the course that I memorized the last time I saw them. There were new lines plotted now. One circled around against the current to a gulf on the south side of an island. The other sloped in from the north. The meeting place was marked with a cross. Mr. Stevenson had to be a fool for plotting this trip so carelessly. In seconds, I figured out that the southern course could get to the location much faster sailing with the current and with a more direct route.

  Then I got an idea that was far cleverer than Peter’s.

  “You can,” I said. I told him that as captain, he could order me to make a course correction. “This is part of what the captain does.”

  Pan agreed as long as he was the one giving orders. That was fine by me since I was telling him what orders to give.

  Peter flew around the cabin while I was busy at work. Charting a route was easy. I even found the difference in the amount of time and food that was saved by following this course.

  I was just putting away my father’s things when the door creaked. Peter dove through the window. I ran to the porthole to see him fly into the distance and vanish from sight. The door rattled open. Father didn’t see me at first, but when he did, I was too far from his desk to arouse suspicion.

  Now was not the time for him to see my skills at work. I told him that my condition made me tired and it would be bad form to let the crew to see me that way. With a nod, he sent me off.

  I feigned exhaustion until I was out of his sight. I flew to my bunk and dove under the sheet. In one night, I proved Pan was real, made a fool out of Mr. Stevenson, and left the surprise of a lifetime for father.

  Chapter Nine

  The ship listed to one side and I was thrown off of my bunk. An argument of whispers was followed by a gasp, then the crash of glass on the hardwood floor. I landed on pieces of a broken lantern. The men ran past and over me. Heavy footfalls muffled what was being said. I pulled the glass from my arms as I made my way on deck. Waiting for me was the island I expected, but with a surprise that I didn’t.

  Dawn broke over the mast of a ship in the distance. Her dark masts cut deep gashes into the horizon. Smoke billowed from her sides. The shock of the fall still clouded my head. I realized what was happening only after seeing a black flag, its white skull and crossed cutlasses danced in the wind.

  Pirates.

  My thoughts went to finding William. I made a promise to Emily that I intended to keep. I weaved through the crew as they scrambled to their posts. Like gears in a machine, they worked as one without variation. William was easily found cowering among men. It was a sight that I’d never let him live down. For the first time, I was the one who was strong and fearless.

  In battle, William and I had a job to do. I shook him into the moment and we hurried below deck. Along each side of the ship was a row of cannons. The crew had already lined them on the port side. William and I brought the barrels of gunpowder. We returned with the first barrel when we were fired upon again. The ship rocked as we heard wood splintering above deck.

  “Long Tom will send us all to a watery grave,” Mr. Stevenson cried.

  We loaded and packed the gunpowder. The men placed the cannon balls and lit the fuse. Seconds later, thunder sounded.

  We immediately began loading and packing again. I noticed that the pirate ship was closer. I tried to make my adjustments to the angle of the cannon look like an accident. Mr. Stevenson swatted me away and aimed the cannon in haste. Thunder sounded and the shot missed for the second time.

  Over the hum in my ears, I heard my father shouting orders. Through the hole in the deck I saw his frustration.

  “Where’s Captain Ashley?” he barked at Mr. Jukes. Heath Ashley. Selfishness was one thing, but this was a betrayal that cannot stand. I swore I’d slay him for it, if for nothing else.

  Another two crashes sheared the main deck from the ship and my father was gone.

  There was nothing but sky over me now. The salt spray stung my cuts. I stood alone among prone bodies. Three were dead, two were groaning. William stirred but didn’t get up.

  Everything my father and Mr. Jukes had taught me led to this moment.

  The mast snapped in half and the damage to the hull listed the boat forward and to the left. The pitch of the floor was at twenty-three degrees and rising at the stern. Mr. Stevenson, a man who was useless in life, was now invaluable to me in death as I wedged his body behind the cannon to prevent it from rolling. I righted the upturned barrel and packed the cannon with powder. The ball was heavy with potential.

  Labette’s ship pulled away now. I adjusted the angle of the cannon and lit the fuse. The cannon roared and kindling flew from Labette’s ship.

  My fortune knew no limits as the gun next to me was already packed and loaded. The crackle of the fuse was followed by another roar. I was not given time to fire the third cannon. Distant booms sent me against the hull of the ship and into the warm rising sea. Exhausted, I fell to her willingly.

  Morning

  Chapter Ten

  As storm
clouds gather around the flagship and her captured brigantine, Admiral Charles Price records the life of Captain Hook in vivid detail, as it is recounted. The story of Hook sinking into the sea went beyond the admiral’s patience and pierced his composure.

  “Rubbish,” Admiral Price mutters into his tea. Captain Hook stops mid-breath and turns sharply to meet the admiral’s eyes.

  “I’ve learned to be more careful with that word, Admiral,” Hook cautions, “and the arrogance that goes along with it.”

  The silent moments that pass between them are broken by the entrance of the older crewman carrying two lit candles. In the fading light of the storm, the cell aboard the Triumph is nearly as black as pitch without their gentle flicker.

  “This is hogwash,” the admiral stammers on. “If what you say is true, you’d be dead at sea before even becoming a man.”

  “Death is only one of many obstacles I have overcome,” Hooks sneers.

  “If you are not going to take this seriously,” Admiral Price cautions, “then I should remind you that these foolish words are recorded as your last.”

  “What’s wrong, Admiral?” Hook mocks. “Have I not sufficiently entertained you in our time together?” He breaks his gaze for a moment to check the time.

  “That watch,” Admiral Price nods. “How did you get it?” Captain Hook looks up and smiles.

  “I’m getting there, Admiral,” Hook says. “Are you in a rush?”

  “Give it to me,” Admiral Price says. He holds his hand out just beyond the bars of the cell.

  “Excuse me?” Hook asks after several stunned seconds.

  “You check it too often for my taste.” He motions for the older crewman to unlock the door. “Get it for me,” the admiral commands. The crewman fumbles with the keys before sliding the gate across with a clang. The crewman starts toward Captain Hook but pauses again and looks back at the admiral and the larger crewman.

  “What are you waiting for?” the admiral scolds.

  “Yes. What indeed?” Captain Hook snaps at the older crewman. “Come and get what the admiral has asked for.” The older crewman storms into the cell and rams the butt of his sword into Hook’s ribs, doubling him over. The larger crewman lifts Hook up and holds him against the bars while the older one retrieves the watch from his pocket. When finished with the assault, the crewman drops Captain Hook to the floor in a heap.

  “Was that all necessary?” Hook says through a bloodied smile.

  “You’ve had it coming,” the larger crewman responds with a smirk.

  “Waiting to do that for some time now, have we?”

  “Aye. Longer than you know, Captain,” the crewman says with a broad grin.

  “Enough,” the admiral interrupts. “If this really is the watch of Jonathan Hoodkins, then you have no rights to it.”

  “I have no rights to my father’s watch?” Hook asks.

  “I challenge your claim to be his son as heartily as I challenge your ravings of meeting this Peter Pan, whatever he is.”

  “Have you ever seen a shade, Admiral?” Hook asks. “One that passes just outside of sight, but when you look for it, it isn’t there? If so, then you, too, have seen Peter Pan.”

  “Madness,” Admiral Price scoffs.

  “Not one for fantasy, are you? Well, if you find it hard to believe what I have said so far,” Captain Hook leads, “wait until you hear of how I returned from death.”

  The Tale of the Island

  Chapter Eleven

  My body was thrown into the current of time and space. In it I rode waves of ethereal matter. I kept my eyes closed to truly feel each movement. The waves took me higher and I floated as if pulled by an unknown source. Finally, I opened my eyes and saw an endless field of stars and streaks of colors so beautiful I began to tear. Then I noticed, flying next to me, was a familiar imp in tattered green clothes.

  “What is going on here, Peter?” I asked. My frustration overran my sense of wonder. “Where am I and what are you doing?” The assault of questions staggered him. He paused for a small eternity before answering.

  “I do this sometimes,” he said at last, “you know, travel with you. Most of the way, anyway.”

  The answer was more confusing than the floating and limitless vision of stars and moons. I searched for a question to help me understand his meaning, but came up with only the most basic response, “Most of the way where?”

  “Heaven,” he replied. “You died.”

  The words hit me like cannon fire. Cannon Fire! Then I remembered. My mind flooded with memories of my final day. I recalled the pirates, the damage, my father taken from me by that betraying Heath Ashley. I had been so drawn in by the feeling of death that I’d forgotten the cause.

  “I don’t get to do this for everyone,” Pan continued, “but I never miss it when one of my friends dies.”

  This statement brought my thoughts to a halt. Once again, I found myself searching for a response. “How many of your friends died?”

  Pan thought for a moment. “All of them.”

  “All of them?” I gasped. “So you have no more friends.”

  “No, I have plenty,” he smiled. “More are born every day.”

  “So you just keep doing this? Wait for new friends to crop up, have your fun, then escort them to hell?”

  “Heaven,” Pan corrected as a shooting star sailed over our heads. “Most children are scared.”

  “I’m not most children,” I lied. I was terrified, but it would be poor form to show it. I stared into the endless gaping darkness between the bright points of light and knew that this trip was not right for me. Not yet, anyway. My mother, William, and Emily needed me.

  “Take me back,” I told him. I took mild amusement in watching his face go pale at the suggestion.

  “We can’t just go back,” Pan stammered. He looked more confused than ever. I pressed the advantage.

  “Like hell you can’t. You fly, disappear, and cross the barrier between heaven and earth. You can surely take me home.” He looked completely dumbfounded now. I feared that I might have reached the limit of his intelligence. My only hope was that he didn’t completely shut down or worse, run off and leave me to float here for a thousand lifetimes.

  “But that’s not where your body is,” he finally said.

  He was right about that. In fact, I had no idea where my body was aside from a coordinate on a map.

  “Then put me back in my body,” I told him, “I’ll get myself home.” His face twisted with indecision. I decided to push him in the direction I wanted him to go. “What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever taken someone back from heaven before?”

  “Well, no,” Pan said, “I haven’t.”

  “Oh, okay. If you don’t think you can do it…”

  “I can do anything!” Pan shouted. “But if you go back, you’ll grow up,” he said with a newfound sadness. “We wouldn’t be able to play anymore.”

  “That’s not a priority for me right now, Peter,” I snapped. “I have important things to do.”

  Pan scowled. “You’re already sounding like a grown up.”

  “I guess dying does that to you,” I told him. And with that, we were on our way through the barrier between death and life.

  Chapter Twelve

  The pillow was coarse and I reached for covers that weren’t there. Waves crashed against my feet, telling me to move. My head throbbed as though it were on fire. My hand felt around my shoulder and touched something rough, wet, and warm. The wound was already scabbed over and caked with sand.

  The cuts on my arms scraped against the sand as I rose to my feet. I placed one foot in front of the other and began to explore my new home. The beach was golden and still. Beyond it, a row of trees guarded a thick forest.

  Only the waves made noise as they gently lapped the shoreline. I stumbled to it to wash my cuts. The salt stung me and I saw what treasures the beach truly held. A bloated uniformed body drifted on the water. Its green skin and gaped expression m
irrored my own shock.

  Bodies of soldiers and pirates floated by me. Some crashed onto the sand while others were gently placed. The sea randomly decided which body got which treatment and there was no discrimination between the two. It didn’t matter whether you lived a life of service to your country or to your own purse; the sea decided your fate and all men ended up face down in the sand eventually.

  William. My wounds made me forget all about him and my promise to Emily. The thought snapped me into action and I began turning bodies. It didn’t occur to me to only turn the smaller ones. In my frantic haste, I flipped everything that washed ashore: a crewman, a pirate, another pirate, Mr. Stevenson.

  When I turned the body of my father, I expected the world to collapse around me but, strangely, it didn’t. I took a moment to examine him. He was missing an arm and most of his rib cage, but the rest of his body held together. I stared at him for untold minutes before I realized that I hadn’t shed a single tear. I knew I should feel something. Grief? No. Pain? No. Loss? Nothing. I dragged him further up shore to tend to him later.

  After an hour of searching, I found William up the shoreline. I stalked to his motionless body. He was laying on a piece of timber. This was a good sign, but I didn’t let it get to me. I had believed several of the men were lying on wood only to find that they had been impaled on the broken boards. As I got closer, I noticed a slight rising and falling in his chest. He was wet and the side of his body was purple and broken, but he was warm to the touch.

  I allowed myself a quick sigh of relief. I pulled William onto the dune to prevent him from being washed away and turned my attention to the next step: survival. Luck was with me, as three barrels of grain and preserved meats washed up on the shore soon after. By the time William woke, I had already gathered wood for a fire.