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4
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Jack lay uncomfortably in his bed come night time. He had spent the remainder of the day yelling at his imbecile crew mates, trying to get them to fix the hole in the hull properly. They had completed the job after a few hours, but Jack was not sure of it's stability and predicted that it would fall apart sooner or later.
Sleep came to him slowly and uneasily that night. The first hour of his slumber had been black and empty, but later his waves of sleep began to turn into short, nonsensical dreams which he would forget as soon as a new one started. Following these short, strange dreams came an actual dream. Perhaps, more likely though, a nightmare.
It was a foggy night on the Pearl. Jack was standing at the railing, peering out into the mist of the twilight. The only sound was that of the waves of the ocean gently splashing on the hull of the ship. Jack looked up to the moon, noticing it was full that night. It was rather pretty, its milky yellow-white color. Then the silence was interrupted by the sound of creaking. Jack turned on his heels to see a skeleton at the opposite end of the deck. Jack only saw it for a second, but a second was already far too much. The moon reflected on its decomposing bones in a sickening glow. It began to lurch forward in his direction. Jack gasped and moved backward, trying to get as far apart from the monster as he could. But his footing had failed him and he stumbled. Before he knew it, he was over the rail of the Pearl. He was falling and falling into eternal blackness, arms flailing about, trying to catch hold of something. But there was nothing catch onto. He kept expecting the plunge into the dark, cold waters of the mysterious ocean but the splash was not coming, for he was no longer falling off of the side of the ship, but rather through the blackness of the unknown. He opened his mouth to let out a long scream but then realized, when no sound was coming out of his mouth, that it was useless. His mouth moved, but no sound was released.
Suddenly, there was a large thud and Jack landed on a hard surface. He sat in the dark for a few moments, trying to gather himself, then got up on his knees. He peered around in the darkness, but could see nothing, not even his own self. Then, as if planned, some hundred yards away, a small campfire lit and burned brightly.
Worn out from the fall, Jack slowly began to crawl towards the fire. When he had reached the fire, he basked in its warm glow and heated his cold, clammy body. He turned the palms of his hands upward and saw that they were all dirty from crawling on the ground to the fire.
He began wiping his hands on his clothing, then a strong gust of wind came and blew out the fire. A small whimper escaped from his lips as he sat there, wherever he was, in complete darkness. The fire then came alive again and he let out a long relieved breath. But he was only relieved for a moment, because when he looked up he saw that he was no longer alone. He was circled around the fire by a group of very savage looking beings. They were big, dirty and gritty and carried looks of hatred on their broad, disgusting faces.
They began forward, lurching and dragging their bodies in his direction. He could see some of them holding sharp blades and large stones in their hands. For reasons unknown, Jack looked away from the malevolence closing in on him and looked down at his upturned hands which he had just wiped off.
As he looked at his hands, he saw that they were still dirty and the wipe had done nothing. So he wiped them once more and looked at them again. But when he saw them they were still the same and he realized that it was not dirt on his hands, but ink inscriptions.
One hand had one word... the other hand had another... The same words the flies had spelled out for him on the mountain. Jack felt a wave of nausea come over him and it was becoming hard for him to keep balance. He swayed back and forth, then collapsed on his back on the ground. As his back hit the ground, he began falling in the tunnel of nothingness once more. He fell until he landed on a different surface. He was now sitting in a chair inside a small room. His hands and feet were tied down to his seat and his mouth was gagged with a dusty cloth.
He struggled around, then became tired so he gave up. He tried to scream, but the sound was only muffled nonsense. The door of the room creaked open, the same creak as he had heard on the deck of the Pearl, and a dark figure slowly crept through the doorway. It approached Jack, came right up to him and placed a chillingly cold hand on his shoulder. Jack looked to the figure's free hand and saw a shiny gleam of metal. There was no mistaking it, it was a razor.
He turned his head up quickly in terror to face his captor, so frightened that sweat was dripping from his forehead and rolling down his face. He recognized the captor as noneother than the horrifying Captain Barbossa whom he could have sworn was dead. Barbossa lifted the hand holding the razor up, gazed at it thoughtfully, then smiled at Jack. Jack wriggled in his entrapment and let out cramped and muffled screams, but it was too late to escape. Barbossa was bringing the razor to Jack's throat.
With one swift motion, Barbossa slid the razor's sharp edge across the tender flesh of Jack's throat, slicing it open immediately and almost effortlessly. The crimson blood began to rush from the laceration, soaking Jack's lifeless body with its thick, syrupy texture... Barbossa threw back his head and let out a long wave of maniacal laughter as Jack's body hung limp, tied up to the chair.
Laughing and laughing... limp body... blood everywhere...
Jack quickly sprung from his pillow, sitting up in bed. He was breathing hard and sweating from every pore on his body. He took a moment to calm himself down from the nightmare which he had just experienced, then lay himself down on his back once again. He stared up at the ceiling, still panting, and felt his neck just to be sure that it was a dream.
As terrifying as the dream might have seemed, this had not been his first encounter with that monstrosity. After his defeat of Barbossa, he'd had the dream recurring for the longest of times. He thought it would never go away. But eventually, the dream began coming less and less and soon enough he had forgotten all about the whole nasty old thing. But now it was back. And he knew exactly why. It was because of the mountain climb. Seeing those terrible words again had provoked his mind to start up the reoccurrence once more. And now, night after night, he'd have to watch himself die at the hands of his worst enemy and there was nothing he could do about it.
He'd have to watch himself die.