The Reaper

By Ryu-Gi

Author's Notes: This isn't actually my first Pirates Fic. I did a comedyone a while back but it got deleted. Anyways, I was feeling a bit in teh mood for a quick story tonight, and Pirates of the Caribbean came to mind, so I went for it. I now present this short story of a young boy who stared into the face of death itself...

Death is something that all men face. Each death is special and unique in it's own way. For every man, death puts on a different face, a new outfit of sorts as sort of a celebration of that person's fall into the shadow. For the crew of the Sorrowing Siren, death had the face of a man who was no longer human. One whose very being had been distorted out of rage and sorrow, and had become one with the black abyss of the ocean's depths.

There'd been a battle. A simple pirate skirmish-they had the gold, the others wanted it. Howard's your father, Fanny's your aunt, and the crew of the Sorrowing Siren ended up being sealed in the brig as their ship slowly began to drift ever more downwards to its grim and watery grave.

Garret Balmac had always wanted to see the ocean, and had begged his mother to let him sail with the crew of the siren on their routine sojourn to deliver bank notes back and forth across the Spanish main. He was only 15. As he now clung for dear life, tied to post as the water rose, he remembered his mother's words in his mind.

"Come home safely dear. We'll be waiting for your return…"

"Mama…" Garret chocked as water began to rise above his ankles. Tears began running down his face. He would never see her again…he could hear the crew in other parts of the ship yelling and screaming for their lives as they began to drown, the life-giving air escaping from their lungs.

Garret took a long, deep breath of the salty night air. It was strange how that, in life, air was a brief footnote on the everyday going-on. Now, it was sweet, and if his senses weren't betraying him, he could detect the tiny nuances in the air-the smell of the wet, soaking wood around him, the paint, the salty water, the feel of the Caribbean air…

I'm going to die, he thought. This is how it all ends. With me huffing away at the air, and then have it all taken away from me as the water rushes over my head.

He closed his eyes as the water began to wet his shirt. It wouldn't be long now. He'd make it quick for himself and would start swallowing the water right away. There would be no use delaying the inevitable.

If only he could though…

As the water finally began to rise above his chin, up to his mouth, then nose, to his eyes, wetting his hair, and finally engulfing him as he sank, instinct told him to hold on longer.

No, I'm going to die now, let me die in peace, he thought. But his instinct simply ignored him and he continued to hold onto that last breath. He began to feel cold creeping up on him. Everything was dark now. There was nothing but blackness all around. He closed his eyes, and waited…

But it did not come.

Instead, he suddenly felt the air touch his face again as the water suddenly receded rapidly. He gasped. Air! Beautiful, wonderful air! He took a long draft of it into his very being.

Why was he not dead yet?

Then his answer came, as a nearby lantern that had previously been filled with water suddenly burst into flame as if it had never been wet. A great stench, unlike anything Garret had ever smelt before burned his nostrils. And then…he heard the sound. The sound of what seemed to be footsteps.

Thump. CLUNK. Thump. CLUNK. Thump. CLUNK.

This man must have a peg leg. That would explain the strange pattern of noises. But he'd heard the stories. Peg legs were very common among the sort of folk who were prone to having bits of themselves either being hacked off with a cutlass or blown off by the blast of a canon. PIRATE.

Had the ones who'd attacked them before come back to finish them off? Who could be so cruel? It felt like he'd almost died, then had been brought back just to die a more horrible death. They'd probably slit his throat wide open and let the blood all spill out, painting the sea red with it…

The silhouette of peg-legged one suddenly came into view, atop the steps leading down into the brig. Garret could faintly make out the outline of a large, wide-brimmed hat, a shiny beard, and the peg leg. The pirate seemed to be carrying a cane as well. He began to descend the stairs.

Thump. CLUNK. Thump. CLUNK. Thump. CLUNK

The pirate stopped, and then spoke with a sharp and agressive Welsh accent.

"Do you fear death, boy?"

Garret stammered, trying to regain his ability to talk. He'd almost forgotten the simple joy of being able to vocalize his thoughts and ideas with others.

"W…wh…what, sir?" He could not see his face, only his figure silhouetted in the moonlight.

"Tell me what you cherish most in this world."

Thoughts raced through his mind.

"M…my family sir." He answered. His nose wrinkled. The stench he'd smelled before was now very overpowering. This pirate seemed to have brought it with him.

"And did you love your family?" he asked.

"Y-yes, sir! At times with did have discord, but looking back at it all we always did get along!"

He's going to kill me, thought Garret, he's going to draw out his blunderbuss and put a bullet in my head…

The pirate paused.

"I shall repeat the same question again. Do you fear death?"

Garret gulped.

"Yes, sir…"

"Do you fear those people you call your family being ripped from you as you descend into the abyss?"

"Yes!" screamed Garret, tears falling from his eyes.

"And…" said the pirate, "Do you wish to escape it?"

Garret was suddenly very puzzled. Was he giving him a chance to go free?

"What, sir?"

"Join my crew, boy. Come and serve aboard my ship, and I will postpone this fate that chance has dealt you."

Garret gasped. He was going to spare him!

"Yes! Yes, sir, anything! I just want to see my family again!"

"Beware boy. Are you going to be hasty and give into my offer just like that, without any consideration of the tasks you would be given aboard my ship?"

"I'll do anything! I don't want to die!"

The pirate paused, and chuckled. The sound of his laughter seemed to send chills running up and down his spine.

"Do you know who I am, son?"

"No sir…"

The pirate began to step forwards, and the light of the lantern that had mysteriously re-lighted itself began to reveal the great horror that stood before Garret.

Then pirate was covered in barnacles and coral, and his entire form was dripping with seawater. The peg leg that he had heard before was red, just like the leg of a crab. His right hand was a slimy grayish color, and had only three of what seemed to be tentacles like that of a squid for fingers, one of which was awkwardly long that was wrapped around his cane. His other hand was an enormous claw, like that of a lobster, resembling a hook. And finally, his face. Garret's eyes widened as he saw the pirate's noseless face, and hanging from it a beard made of a moving mass of octopus tentacles. His eyes flashed wildly.

"They say that dead men tell no tales. Ah, but they're wrong. There be aplenty tales to tell. So says I, Davy Jones!"

Garret let out a scream.

His voice was lost to the winds…

Death is something that all men face. Each death is special and unique in it's own way. For every man, death puts on a different face, a new outfit of sorts as sort of a celebration of that person's fall into the shadow. For Garret, the face was of a man that had since long ago thrown away his own humanity, and had become the name feared by all sailors.

Davy Jones, reaper of the seas.

Rest in peace, Garret Balmac.