Tentacles

Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.


Kissing Elizabeth was just as good as Jack remembered. Why had he waited all these years? That last time, though it had resulted in his death, was a kiss that ought to go down in history. A kiss for the ages. But the next time he saw her, he knew kissing her was not a good idea. Before going to spend that one day with Will, she had made her goodbyes and when she'd come toward Jack, she'd made a motion to hug or kiss him, he wasn't sure which. He had put up his hands to stop her, "Once was quite enough," he'd said, making a sort of joke of it. Honestly, he hadn't not kissed her because the last time had ended in his death. He had refrained from doing what he so wanted to do, because she had married Will, and as it turned out, Jack was a good man.

But now, Will was gone, and they had both thrown caution to the winds.

Jack wrapped his hands in her hair, and deepened the kiss. She wrapped both her arms around his neck, pulling his head down farther. He lost himself in the sensations, until . . . He felt it.

A looming presence behind him, all around him. Arching tentacles, covered in slimy suckers, aiming toward him. The stench of a thousand rotting corpses.

Breaking away from Elizabeth, he whirled around and saw . . . nothing. He turned back to her and to his horror, saw her melting, transforming from the beautiful, fiery pirate lass that he loved, to a monster, a horrific thing with a face that wasn't a face but a huge gaping mouth, filled with thousands of razor-sharp teeth. He stumbled backward and fell and kept on falling . . .

And woke up in a cold sweat. It was dark in his cabin, and he could feel the rocking motion of his ship underneath him. He was alone.

He sat up and took a few deep breaths. He got up and went over to his table where he'd left his bottle of rum. He downed a long swallow, and tried not to think of the woman he'd left at Shipwreck Cove months earlier. He let out a long sigh, and felt his heartbeat finally starting to slow down. Five years, and he was still having these blasted nightmares. "This," he muttered, "is why the rum is always gone."


Author's Note: This is unlike anything I've ever written before, so I would appreciate any feedback.