Disclaimer: Neither of us own Pirates of the Caribbean, unfortunately.

Author's Note: Sanari and I just thought we'd have a little fun with this. It was and idea that started off just as a joke, and ended up turning into a seriously good idea. Thanks to all those that read and review ! You'll get cookies !

Chapter One

Jacklyn Norrington, sat bored in the library. She couldn't go home to her parents house, because every time she was there, she felt like she was being watched. She didn't fancy that thought much, and she felt that she needed to get away. She bored leafed through some of the old news papers. The one she was reading was from July 1834. The headline read :

Warrington Manor House built on site of the 1723 Smithy Fire.

Jacklyn, aka, Jacky, looked at the headline in surprise. The Warrington Manor House was where her parents and her had shortly before moved into. So there had been a fire there. That was interesting. Bored, she started reading about how the house was built, and how the fire started. Apparently it was on a July day, much like this day, in 1723. The forge had for no particular reason, exploded. Becoming more and more interested in the history of the site of her house, turned back to the shelves. She looked through the dates till she found the one she was looking for, dated July 12th, 1723; the day after the fire.

Reading along, she soon discovered information that she was sure the original family that had the manor built, did not know. Where her home now stood, there was once a Blacksmith's Shoppe, supposedly the best in the Caribbean. Pirates and Navy alike carried weapons made by the infamous William Turner, the Blacksmith who had turned pirate to save his lover and his best friend, and all before the age of 23. However, when the forge had exploded, and the fire erupted, consuming the Shoppe, young Mr. Turner's life had also been claimed, as well as the forge donkey, Theo's. The old newspaper, if one could call it that, showed an ink sketching of the charred remains of both the Smithy, and the grizzly remains of what had been Theo. However, the location of the body of Mr. Turner, was a mystery. The next morning they had found his body around the back of his Shoppe. Someone either had moved him, out of respect for the dead, a friend perhaps, or he had tried to escape himself. Jacklyn learned of what happened to Mr. Turner's fiancée, Elizabeth Swann. Jacklyn recognized the name. Miss. Swann, who had been due to marry William Turner not a fortnight later, went into grieving, and grieved for several years. By the time she reached the age of 26, and was well passed her prime, she had married James Norrington, and bore him 3 children. However, surly her heart was not with his. So that is why she recognized the name...Elizabeth Swann had married James Norrington...they were Jacklyn's great-great-great-great-great grandparents...

Jacklyn shivered at the thought of why she was in the library in the first place; she always felt watched. Sometimes, late at night, while she slept, she felt the distinct feeling of something wet on her cheek; nudging her. She always passed it off as her calico cat, Carli, sniffing her; the cat had the knack of doing that when Jacklyn was reading on the couch. But, the cat never came into her room.

In that house she was always afraid of the mirrors. She had always been superstitious; never once playing games like Candyman, or Bloody Mary. So, that couldn't be why she was afraid of them.

When she moved out to go abroad for College, she was never once afraid of the dorm mirrors. In fact, she never felt watched. Well, except for the constant stalkers of the boy dormitory. She never even though of her parents house while at College. Now, it was summer vacation and she had no where to go; but, back to her parents house.

Whenever coming home she always delayed her arrival somehow. Like now, sitting in the library. She wasn't here to just read; she was avoiding her parent's house. Her duffle bags and suitcases in her car.

Beside Jacklyn, lay another newspaper, this one from 1880. Its headline read :

Daughter of Eliot Norrington Institutionalized

Reading on, Jacklyn discovered her great-great-great aunt, Pearl Norrington, had been committed to a mental institution, after telling over of seeing the figure of a young man, dressed in charred finery, lingering in the mirrors of the Warrington Manor. She described him as being roughly 5'11" , with a slim build. She told tales of him slipping into her room in the night, when the moon was full and filtering in through her curtains, and sitting beside her, watching her sleep. She claimed to feel his still warm hand stroke her cheek, before softly bidding her good-night. Then the stories changed, to Pearl feeling a wet muzzle on her cheek, nudging and sniffing her, she would open her eyes, and see a donkey. Thought to be a lunatic, which she most likely was, Pearl Norrington was locked away into a asylum, so that the general public would not have to deal with her Ghost stories any more.

Jacklyn sighed, pushing the papers away; she needed to get her mind off of all this. She remembered her mother had sent her the pictures she developed from the last time they were together. Christmas Week. She smiled, she hadn't had time to look at them before because of all her finals. She reached into the backpack she always kept with her. Pulling out a plastic zipp-lock baggy with the pictures. She un zipped it and pulled them out. Most of them were pictures of her relatives. But, one stood out the most to her; not because it was out of the ordinary, but, because it was a picture of her whole family in front of the old house. She looked at the women in the middle. Tears came to her eyes. The woman in the middle was a grandmother, Anne; she had died of a heart attack only days after this picture was taken. Something about the house caught her eye. In a corner window was a man. She blinked, she could see his face. But, that face seemed so familiar.

Realization dawned on her.

"Bowbow" she spoke softly.

The man had been Bowbow; her imaginary friend when she was younger.

She laughed softly; remembering the times her mother walked in on her playing with Bowbow. One time her mother had seen a floating truck; and, another she saw her daughter being tossed up into the air. Much like a father would do to his own daughter. And yet, no one else had be in the room other than little Jacklyn.

Bowbow had been silent all the while that he played with Jacklyn. He smiled and tickled her like a loving father-figure would do, but when Jacklyn had turned 5 or maybe 6, she had started to drift away from her beloved imaginary friend, Bowbow…and soon, Bowbow came no more to play with little Jacklyn, and Jacklyn grew up to be a normal young woman.

However, this photo, showed Bowbow…how could that be ? He was just and imaginary friend after all, unless Jacklyn was truly losing her mind and becoming just as paranoid as Pearl Norrington had, than that would explain why Bowbow was looking from the window. She looked closer, taking a magnifying glass off of the desk in front of her. She steadied it and pulled it back, looking at the image of the man. He held the curtain back, only slightly, and he seemed to watch the happy family with a sad expression. But the Bowbow she knew had always been happy and loved to laugh, or, what she assumed was laughing. Jacklyn could see him shake with laughter, yet could never hear him.

The librarian came up to Jacklyn and told her the library was closing.

Jacklyn stood up; putting the books and old papers away; putting the picture back into her back she packed up and left for her car. Getting into the front seat she revved the engine and pulled out of the library. She drove down a small winding road. It would take an hour on the dirt road to reach her parents house.

While driving, she was constantly trying to come up with ideas to avoid going there.

"Maybe I can take a tour of Fort Charles…"

Jacklyn's mind raced as she drove down the twisting road. It was old, and had not be used in nigh on 50 years or more…except by her. Deep in the luscious forest that stretched to the right and left of her car, and old sign made of wood, now badly decomposed due to the elements, hung down. Hanging from the bottom of the sign by rotting rope, the same as what held the sign to the bow of the tree above, was a human skull. In the cranium of the skull, there was an unpleasant wound, that of a gun shot. The sign above read, in red paint…or at least Jacklyn hoped that it was red paint and not human blood:

Pyrates ye be warned

Jacklyn shivered to herself; every time she saw that sign, it chilled her down to her bones. Maybe it was in her blood, to be warned by that sign, or maybe it was just the human skull that hung there, half its jaw unconnected from the upper jaw, and just swinging there slightly in the warm Caribbean breeze. Than again, a blood warning seemed more likely to her. Her great-great-great-great-great grandmother had been a pirate in her days, she had sailed with her lover and with the infamous Captain Sparrow; her great-great-great-great-great grandfather, Commodore James Norrington…had been a pirate hunter.

Jacklyn parked her car in a small parking lot outside of Fort Charles. Being the descendant of one of the most famous Commodores turned Admiral, she was allowed into the fort any time she wanted.

She looked up at the battlement. She froze. A soldier walked across the battlement, bayonet on shoulder; then, disappeared into nothing.

She shook her head with a shiver walking to the entrance. She nodded to the security guard who was a friend of her family. He opened the gate and let her in.

She nodded her thanks and walked it; with a click the gates closed behind her. She walked to the center. The gallows. They were blocked off with a small chain link fence. The gallows were covered in gunshots and some blood. She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling faint. In her mind she was a montage of countless hangings. She opened her eyes quickly and stepped away from the gallows. As many times as she has been here; that, has never happened.

She looked up as she felt it starting to rain. She walked back to the gates. The security guard letting her out.

By the time she got back to her car, the rain was pouring down, hard. This was coming off of a hurricane somewhere near one of the neighboring islands. As much as she hated it, Jacklyn knew she had to get home before the weather got any worse. Before the roads would wash out. Port Royale, was and still was to this day, at least in the place she lived, kept the way it had once been. The dirt roads where never paved, for they functioned just as well as any other road on the island, so what was the point in fixing them. They weren't broken.

It was a thrill to think about how many people, and pirates had walked these very roads, but now was no time to think about that, what with the heavy rain clinking off of her car. Sighing she hurriedly turned the engine over and turned the heater on to keep warm as she started to pull out of the Fort Charles parking lot.

As much as she hated the idea of being home, where she always felt watched, in this weather, it was the safest place to be. She drove as quickly as the severe weather would allow; wanted to be home before the roads washed out. If she stayed in the middle of no where, she could be trapped in the middle of no where for as little as 3 hours, up to 6 days, depending on how fast this hurricane was moving, and how close it be to Port Royale. Shivering, she turned the heater up and let the warm air calm her shivering body. That was one thing about the Caribbean that she hated. Hurricanes came in from time to time, and then if you got wet, you'd be soaked, and chilled down to the bone.

Must be why they wore all those layers back then

She thought to herself, as she finally calmed down.

Jacklyn pulled up into the Warrington Manor drive way. Parking, she pulled the emergency break, to stop any movement of her car that the rain and hurricane's flooding might cause. She hurried leapt out of her car and ran to the cover of the overhang of the balcony, which overlooked the front door; acting as an awning of sorts. She fished around in her bag for her keys; the front door key shouldn't be to hard to find; the lock hadn't been changed since 1834, when the house was built. She pulled out an old fashioned silver key, on a large iron ring, she slipped it into the lock and turned it; the lock clicked, letting her in. Four of these keys had been made for the original owners, two for the children.

She walked inside and peeled off her wet jacket, and wrung out her dark brown hair, slightly lightened by the sun. She looked around, and immediately felt slightly tense, someone was watching. Maybe she was just paranoid. She looked around again and called out

"Mom ? Dad !"

No one answered, proving again that she was home alone. Jacklyn sighed, she hated having the house to herself, it made her uneasy. She rubbed the back of her neck and walked into the large dining room. On the table was a steaming cup of hot chocolate, with a letter written next to it. Picking up the note, Jacklyn read to herself:

The weather has become quiet fierce and I thought that this might keep you warm. I saw you coming from down the street.

She shivered, and not from the cold. The letter sent a chill down her spine…there was no one here but her, and the hand writing she did not recognize. It was free and flowing; it was beautiful, but it wasn't that of anyone she knew.

One thing that was off; was that the note was being written as she read it.

Dear Jacklyn,

Your parents left for the weekend for higher grounds. They will not be back for a few days. Because it has been cold; and, raining non stop they have used up all the wood. I suggest you change into drier clothes

W.E.J.T B.B

" Double-you, Eee, Jay, Tea? … Bee-Bee … Bee-Bee."

Jacklyn gasped,

"BOWBOW!"