Notes: The characters aren't mine, but the story is! I've recently fallen in love with Gilligan's Island, and the logical course of action was to start writing fic for it. I've decided to start with a multichapter misadventure that was inspired by (and takes place after) the events in the episode "Ghost-a-Go-Go," and I hope it captures the feel of the series while straying towards a slightly more dramatic vein.

It was a moonless night over the small, tropical island that was the current residence of seven unwilling inhabitants. But it was under this cover of darkness that a small boat, carrying additional—unwelcome—visitors, approached the lagoon of the little island.

"Kill the motor," one of them hissed. "They are light sleepers—at least the skinny one is."

"I still do not see why we are going through this charade," another said, as the motor of the boat went silent. "Your last plan didn't work."

"Then, this time, we will enact a new plan that will work," the first one said. "Hide the boat. I will signal our ship to let them know that we are here. And then… we wait."

He raised a flare gun, aimed it at the sky, and fired. The flare momentarily lit up the sky before the cloak of darkness returned, broken only by the points of the stars above.

The sound and light of the flare had, for the most part, gone unnoticed by the castaways; all but one of them had been sound asleep. Only the young first mate had been awake, idly thinking about his old life in Pennsylvania when he saw the light of the flare through the open window in the hut.

The first mate took a flying leap from his hammock and ran to the window as his feet hit the sandy ground. It was dark now, but there was no mistaking what he had seen—and heard, for he had heard the sound of the flare as well.

"Someone's on the island…!" he said, to no one in particular. "We're gonna be saved! We're gonna be rescued! Skipper! Skipper!"

Awakening the Skipper was remarkably similar to trying to awaken a sleeping dragon; the young first mate was one of the very few people who could do so and live to tell the tale—just barely.

"Skipper!"

The big man flinched in annoyance as the voice persisted.

"What, Gilligan?"

"We're saved! I saw a signal flare!" Gilligan exclaimed. "Just now—through the window! Plain as day!"

The Skipper took one look at the dark sky through the window before glancing back at young friend with an unreadable expression.

"…Wouldja believe… plain as night?" Gilligan offered.

"You were probably dreaming," the captain said, exasperated. He turned away, attempting to fall back asleep—that was, however, until Gilligan's words sunk in. "…Did you say signal flare!?"

"I sure did! I'm gonna go check it out, Skipper—I'll let you know who's out there and when we can leave and all sorts of stuff!"

The first mate practically barreled out of the hut, still talking at a hundred words a minute about rescues and plans as he headed towards the lagoon.

"Gilligan!" the Skipper called. "Gilligan, wait—oof!" His attempts to extricate himself from the hammock ended up with him faceplanting onto the sandy floor of the hut. He sighed, propping his chin up on his hand.

It was going to be another one of those days—and the day hadn't even started yet. But, with a little bit of luck, they could finally get off this island at long last.

Gilligan had screeched to a halt upon reaching the lagoon. He had expected to see people there—or their boats and supplies, at least. But there was no one—the lagoon was completely empty.

"Maybe I was dreaming…" he said, quietly, trying to recall what he had seen. Had he gone to the wrong place? He could have sworn that he had seen the flare go up over the lagoon…

Gilligan's thoughts trailed off as he saw markings on the sand; yes, those were footprints, and the tracks of something large having been dragged ashore—a boat!

The first mate practically jumped for joy, and he ran back the way he had come, calling out to whoever had just arrived as he made his way back towards the huts. Could they hear him? Well, he was shouting as loudly as he could—they'd have to hear him!

"Hello?" he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Hellooooooooo—" Stars filled his vision as he collided with something big and blue—and was knocked back several feet. "Ow! …Skipper?"

"Gilligan, what are you doing?" the captain asked, exasperated again. "I thought you were meeting with the people who arrived!"

"I was gonna, but I can't find 'em!" Gilligan said, shrugging. "But they've got to be here—I saw their footprints in the sand, and they'd dragged a boat with 'em, too! Oh, and, Skipper?"

"Yeah?"

"When we're rescued, you oughta consider trying out for the Pittsburgh Steelers. They sure could use a guy like you…"

"Very funny, Gilligan," the Skipper said. "Right now, all I can think of is looking forward to some real food once we get back to the mainland. …Maybe they've even brought some with them!"

This prospect of something other than tropical fruit and fish for breakfast seemed to snap the captain out of his sleepiness; he headed to the lagoon with Gilligan right behind them.

"I already told ya—they're not here," Gilligan said. "But you can see which way they went!"

"Where?" the Skipper asked.

"Right…" the first mate trailed off, staring wide-eyed at the sand.

All of the footprints and the trail of the boat were gone; the sand was utterly devoid of any sign that someone had been here. Gilligan could only stare helplessly as the Skipper folded his arms.

"Well, Gilligan?"

"I, uh… Well… …Oh, but it was there fifteen minutes ago! All of it! Tracks, the lines from the boat, the flare…" He gestured helplessly into the sky, where he had seen the light in the sky. "It's gone now!"

"Gilligan, it was never here," the Skipper said, massaging the bridge of his nose. "There was no flare, there was no boat, and there were no footprints."

"But I wouldn't make it up!" Gilligan protested. "Why would I make up something like this!? We've been on this island for four years; I'd never joke about something like this! …Skipper, you believe me, dont'cha?"

The captain sighed again.

"I know you wouldn't make it up," he assured him. "But it's like you said, Little Buddy—we've been here for four years. After that long, we're all a little rock happy; our minds play tricks on us, making us see and hear the things we want to see and hear."

"You mean wishful thinking?"

"Exactly."

"…So, you're not mad?"

The Skipper rolled his eyes heavenward.

"No," he said. "It's always important to check out a possible rescue, in case it is real. But the next time you see or hear something at three in the morning, can you check and see if it's real before waking me up?"

Gilligan gave a sheepish smile.

"Sure, Skipper. Sorry about that."

The Skipper nodded and yawned loudly as he turned and headed back towards the hut area. Gilligan started to follow him, but suddenly stopped in his tracks. He turned his head towards another direction that also led inland, trying to ignore the rapidly growing feeling of unease. The voice in his head was insistent, convinced that he had seen the flare and the footprints and tracks—and the fact that there was no trace of them now was something to be concerned about.

The Skipper glanced behind him, stopping as he realized that Gilligan's mind was elsewhere.

"Gilligan?" he called.

The first mate glanced back at his captain, and then looked back towards the other direction.

"Skipper?" he asked. "D'you ever have that feeling when you feel that there's something out there that shouldn't be?"

There was something in the way that he said it that caused long-dormant alarm bells to ring in the back of the Skipper's mind. It had been a long, long time since the captain had ever had that feeling, and that previous experience told him not to dismiss it. And even though Gilligan tended to have his head in the clouds a lot, that didn't mean that he was immune to the sixth sense; if anything, Gilligan might be more in tune to something off than the rest of them would be.

"Never mind. …Guess it's kinda silly, huh?" Gilligan asked, taking the captain's silence as a "no."

"Not necessarily," the Skipper said, and the seriousness of his tone of voice was enough to surprise Gilligan. "But if there is something out there, we won't find out anything about 'em—not tonight, after you've been yelling loud enough to let 'em know you're looking for 'em."

"Yeah, I guess not," Gilligan said, looking back towards the other side of the island. "So we just… let 'em stay out there?"

"There's no other choice right now," the Skipper declared. "When it's light out, we'll get the others to help us look around. Then we'll see what's out there. In the meantime, we'll just have to wait it out." He headed back towards their side of the island, pausing again as the first mate still didn't move. "Gilligan!"

The first mate snapped back to reality and followed the Skipper back towards the huts, casting once last glance back in the other direction.