Six castaways were seated around the communal table. Cooked fish sat before them, and the smell of it filled the warm evening air. The setting sun doused the world in red.
Ginger was resting her head on one hand, and the other was tapping the table in a quick, impatient rhythm. Mary Ann was swinging her legs, feeling the warm sand between her toes. Mr. Howell was staring blankly at his watch. Mrs. Howell was studying one of the many rings encircling her fingers. She wiped at a nonexistent smudge as the Professor quietly turned a page in the book he was reading. The Skipper, fiddling with his Captain's hat, sighed loudly, and then everything was quiet.
And then, footsteps. Hurried footsteps through the jungle.
"Finally," the Skipper grumbled, not bothering to conceal his annoyance. He turned around to face the still-unseen source of the noise. "Hurry it up, Gilligan!" he called. "We're waiting for you!" The Skipper turned back around to the table once he saw the familiar flash of red and white approaching.
The sound of footsteps died away before Gilligan made it to the table. There was another noise in its place - panting. The Skipper still did not turn around, assuming Gilligan to be catching his breath. He probably had run the whole way, realizing how late he was for dinner. So the Skipper stayed facing the table. He did not turn back around until Mary Ann gasped, wide eyes staring behind him, where Gilligan was.
The castaways all followed Mary Ann's gaze. There was Gilligan - a panting, disheveled, panicked Gilligan. His blue eyes were wide and filled with fear, and his clothes were covered in dirt and bits of rock, the way they always were when he came back from exploring in the caves. In his hand, he held a very old and worn piece of parchment.
"Gilligan, little buddy!" the Skipper cried concernedly, getting up and rushing over to his terrified first mate. "What happened? What's wrong?" The other castaways crowded around, too, eager to hear the answer. Gilligan, in response, held up the aged parchment with shaking hands.
"I found this," he explained breathlessly. "In the caves."
"Well, what does it say?" Mr. Howell demanded impatiently, after Gilligan seemed unwilling to continue. But Gilligan only shook his head fervently, holding the parchment out in front of him.
"Somebody else read it," he insisted. "It's the scariest thing I ever read in my life!" A beat of silence descended as the other castaways registered what Gilligan had said. Then came the sighs of relief and the little chuckles.
"Oh, Gilligan," the Skipper scolded lightly, still smiling in relief. "You had us all worried that something serious had happened! You're only freaked out because of a scary story someone wrote!"
"It's not just any scary story, Skipper," Gilligan said, refusing to be calmed down. "Somebody read it!" he insisted again. With a roll of his eyes, the Professor grabbed the parchment.
"If I read it, can we eat dinner?" he asked Gilligan. Gilligan only shrugged.
"You can, if you still have an appetite."
The Professor ignored Gilligan's ominous comment, straightened out the crinkled parchment, and read the following:
For time too long to count, I have known what it is to suffer.
For years too many, I have known what it means to be alone.
I have known darkness.
I have known fear.
I soon will know Death.
This Island has brought down upon me misfortune after misfortune, tragedy after tragedy, and curse after curse.
And therefore, in parting, I shall curse this Island.
Doomed are ye Unfortunates who find yourselves in mine position - trapped upon this wretched Island. Doomed ye will be, with Ten Plagues of mine own dark design.
And with these Plagues, so will ye know suffering, loneliness, darkness, fear.
And so will ye know Death.
The First Plague brings a Storm, such as none before beheld.
Then One Unfortunate soul shall toward Danger be compelled.
Thirdly, ye Unfortunates shall never find the Sun,
And Darkness shall descend on thee, each and every one.
The Fourth Plague shall divide ye as the ground does fall to Hell.
The Fifth will force ye all to wish One Poor Soul farewell.
Sixth, the Sea shall not provide without some Sacrifice.
Then half of ye condemned to fire, half of ye to ice.
Eight shall be the numbered days in which Two Souls must burn.
And with the Ninth Plague ye must see the Awful Storm's return.
With Ten, ye shall be taunted by a Ghostly deadened boat,
And all of ye left Standing shall, by Death, be smote.
A grim silence hung over the castaways when the Professor finished reading. The smiles had all slipped from their faces very early into the reading. Now there were frowns, scowls, worried movements, fearful eyes, and tense positions.
"Now, come on," the Professor began, breaking the unsettling silence. "None of you actually believe this silly thing, do you? I'm sure it was just some previous castaway who liked to write horror stories. It isn't possible for anyone to place a curse on an island, or the people on it." The others looked unconvinced. "Look," the Professor tried again. "All this means is that someone else was on the island before, and was shipwrecked just as we were. Possibly they found a way off the island! In fact, we should look around for more writings. Maybe they kept a journal, or some sort of record of their time here. We could use that to help us figure out how to get off this island!" The Professor was excited now, but the others still looked spooked. He decided to switch tactics. "How about dinner, then?" he said, and he sat back down at the table. The others followed suit, but the Professor was displeased to notice that most only nibbled at their food.
"I see you are all still uneasy," the Professor remarked after dinner, "but truly, these 'Ten Plagues' are simply ridiculous. Nothing of the sort will happen, you'll see. Now I suggest we all get a good night's sleep, and I'm sure we'll all feel more relaxed in the morning. Good night."
...
The Skipper and Gilligan were in their respective hammocks, and the moon was shining brightly in the sky, the yellow-orange light throwing strange shadows on the walls. The Skipper sighed quietly, then spoke up.
"Gilligan? You awake?"
"Yeah," came Gilligan's answering whisper. "I can't sleep. You?"
"Me neither," the Skipper admitted. A moment of silence, and then Gilligan shifted in his hammock, leaning down to look at the Skipper.
"When d'you think the first plague will happen?" The Skipper's response was a swift hat to the head.
"Don't talk like that, Gilligan!" he scolded. But it was too late. Thoughts of the alleged Ten Plagues were already running through his head, but now, after Gilligan's comment, they were firmly stuck there.
The Skipper finally felt his blearily eyes begin to droop closed some time later, and he fell to sleep with the sinister words replaying, once more, in his mind. The First Plague brings a Storm, such as none before beheld….