"I knew this was a mad notion."
"Please, Lord Admiral? Once more?"
The sun was setting at the far side of the bay, flashing orange fire into the darkening sky and bathing the rugged mountains in an unearthly glow. An orange-gold pathway shone over the creaming water, beckoning to another world.
In the clearing on the ridge Gilligan stood side-by-side with the Lord Admiral, cutlass drawn. His ancestor passed a ghostly hand over his face in exasperation, then nodded. "All right, lad. Once more. Now keep your legs bent, so your weight can shift as need be. Keep your wrist firm. Now follow me: en garde!" The Lord Admiral struck the classic stance, left leg straight back, front leg bent to the knee, sword extended.
"En garde!" Gilligan lunged with his cutlass and stomped his right leg down furiously – so furiously that his sneaker slid on the soft earth and he performed a perfect ballet split. "Ow!"
The Lord Admiral groaned. "Just plant your foot, lad! Don't stamp like you're putting out a fire on deck!"
Gilligan grimaced as he painfully dragged his left leg forward to lie parallel with his right. "Oh…I hurt in places where I didn't even know I had places!"
"Balderdash! We've only been at this an hour!" The Lord Admiral looked awfully worried and shook his head. "I tell you, you'd best leave Scallion to me. At this rate you'll not be able to walk, much less fence!"
The young sailor struggled to his feet. "No. I told you, I want to learn this. I'm going to stop him this time!"
"But hang it all, lad - look at the sun! Time and the tide wait for no man. Scallion may return within the hour!"
"Please, Lord Admiral. Give me another chance!"
The Lord Admiral fingered his rapier and sighed. "I'd say you haven't a ghost of a chance, my boy. But as you wish. Let's see the en garde once more."
Gilligan took the stance again, more gently this time, and grinned when he stayed upright. The Lord Admiral nodded encouragingly. "Well done. Now, imagine Scallion stands before you, blade drawn. Give me a remise, followed by a ballestra!"
Gilligan charged forwards, flailing the cutlass about him in wild swaths and yelling like an Apache on the warpath.
"No!" The Lord Admiral shouted. "I said a remise! Not a fleche! Don't run! Stand your ground!"
By now Gilligan had barreled into the jungle and was attacking the foliage. A tangle of vines snaked down and snarled themselves about his rotating limbs until at last he could barely move. The Lord Admiral stalked over, shaking his head. "For pity's sake, lad. It's not a cavalry saber, nor a machete, come to that! You can't just whirl your blade about like a Dutch windmill!" He watched patiently as Gilligan struggled to hack the vines away from his arms and legs. "The cutlass is a sailor's weapon, meant for fighting on shipboard, at close quarters. No room for sprints or sweeping blows! Just short, quick strokes and thrusts. And never, never fight in anger!"
The last of the vines swished to the ground as Gilligan stepped clear of the rustling mass at his feet. "But I am mad at Scallion. He said he was going to hurt my friends! And why would I fight somebody if I wasn't angry with them?"
"I meant don't let your anger master you, lad. Let it be the wind that fills your sails, not the hand that turns your wheel. Keep your temper, and you'll hold your course."
"Aye aye, sir!" Gilligan snapped his hand up in a quick salute and cracked his temple with the cutlass's hilt. "Ow!"
The Lord Admiral sighed. "Thank Providence we haven't got a canon." Suddenly they heard a chorus of calls from the jungle. "Gilligan! Gilligan, where are you?" Both Gilligans looked towards the source.
"Your forecast was spot on, lad. They're coming. Now look alive – no pun intended." And the ghost grinned in spite of himself.
Gilligan and the ghost moved out into the clearing. A moment later the castaways emerged from the jungle, carrying a strange array of gear. They all smiled with relief on seeing their friend. "Gilligan, little buddy! Thank heavens you're all right!"
Gilligan smiled and tried to look nonchalant. "Of course I am, Skipper. Why wouldn't I be?"
"I told them about the crocodiles, Gilligan, and how you stayed to make sure they wouldn't follow us," said Mary Ann.
"Yes," the Professor added, "She said you were going to cut some brush to bar the trail, but the trail was clear when we came up. We were afraid something might have happened to you."
"Oh…" Gilligan tried to think of something. "Uh…well…I never saw the crocodiles again. I thought I might have made a mistake." He glanced back into the bay and spotted the two long, dark shapes in the water. "Look, there, you see? In the water down there? They're just a couple of floating logs, that's all. I guess I scared Mary Ann over nothing. Sorry, Mary Ann."
The castaways craned their necks to look over the edge, and then looked at each other. The Professor raised his eyebrows. "Well, I must say from here I suppose those logs could be mistaken for crocodiles. It's all right, Gilligan. An honest mistake, that's all.
The Skipper frowned. "But then what have you been doing here all by yourself all this time? We were worried about you!"
Gilligan was lost again. He shrugged desperately. "Oh…I don't know. Just thinking, Skipper! I like to come here to sit and think."
"Or just sit," Mr. Howell murmured, a little louder than he meant to.
The Skipper glared back at him for a moment, then back to Gilligan. "Well, anyhow, little buddy, the Professor's got an idea to help you. I think we're going to be able to clear up this ghost business once and for all!"
"Really, Skipper?" He looked at the castaway's gear. "Is that what all that stuff's for?"
"Yes, Gilligan," said the Professor. "I realized that I've been too conventional in my analysis of your dilemma. I'm now proceeding on the hypothesis that your supernatural phenomena may have a basis in fact."
The Lord Admiral looked as baffled as his descendent. Gilligan remembered to ignore him. "What do you mean, Professor?"
"I mean that I must consider the possibility there really are such things as ghosts. After all, as Shakespeare said, 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"
The Lord Admiral was delighted. "You know, lad, I like your scholar chap more and more!"
Gilligan was too flabbergasted to be delighted. "You mean you believe me, Professor? You actually believe me?"
"Yes. And if we're fighting a ghost, we must use the tools of the trade." He indicated Ginger, dressed in her gypsy costume. Beyond them, the Skipper was spiking four tall bamboo poles into the ground. Within the square they enclosed was a small table draped with an orange tablecloth. Mr. Howell set the book and candle on the table, and next to them Mary Ann placed the Minnow's bell and two seashells filled with powder. Mrs. Howell stood by with a large red blanket folded over her arm.
"What are they up to, lad?" said the Lord Admiral. "Looks dashed mysterious."
"What's all this, Professor? Why's Ginger dressed like that?"
Ginger answered for him. "I made a lot of horror movies in Hollywood, Gilligan, and learned a lot about this kind of thing. We've brought the bell, the book and the candle and I'm ready to perform the ceremony."
The Lord Admiral shook his head. "Great heavens. Is the strumpet a witch as well?"
Gilligan tried to elbow the Lord Admiral into silence, but only made contact with a cold mist. 'What ceremony?" he demanded.
"An exorcism," said the Professor.
Both Gilligan and the Lord Admiral gaped in horror. "A what?" they both chorused.
The Professor only heard one of them. "Of course. Ginger knows the ancient rite. She'll perform the chant and if it really is a ghost that's bothering you, this will be certain to get rid of it!"
This time Gilligan forgot himself and did a double take at his ancestor. "But – but why would I want to be rid of him?"
The Professor was puzzled. "Gilligan, you said this pirate ghost has been terrorizing you and threatening us. Don't you want to be rid of him?"
"Well, rid of him, yeah, but not –" he paused. "Professor, are you sure about this?"
"Trust me, Gilligan. Now you just wait here while we set things up."
Gilligan and the Lord Admiral sat back down on the flat rock as the Professor and Ginger went over to the others. They were now flinging the red blanket over the poles to form a canopy and lighting tiki torches nearby for light. The Lord Admiral's brow furrowed. "I don't know what they're playing at, lad, but I doubt your flame haired vixen can perform an exorcism."
"I know," Gilligan whispered. "Lord Admiral, Ginger's a good person. She does these magic tricks for us sometimes, but they're just tricks. Ginger's not a witch; she's a real lady."
The Lord Admiral smiled. "If you say so, lad, I'll fight a duel with any man who says it ain't so. Still, there's skullduggery afoot, I'll be bound. I wonder what they're up to."
Under the canopy, Ginger lit the tall candle in its rum-bottle holder. Mr. Howell presented her the book with great ceremony. "Here you are, Ginger my dear."
"Oh, that's great, Mr. Howell. This'll really do the trick. I—" Ginger stopped as she read the title. "Uh…"
The Skipper saw her reaction. "Ginger? What's wrong?"
"It is a first edition," Mrs. Howell pointed out.
Ginger was still looking at the book in disbelief. "The World's Best Cocktail Recipes?"
Howell looked affronted. "Well, if you're chasing up spirits, it's the very thing! There's a recipe in there for a dry martini that—"
"Oh! You two!" snapped the Skipper. "You can't just use any book in an exorcism! It's supposed to be a Bible!"
Mr. Howell tried to bluster. "Oh, dash it all, Ginger. I do wish you'd been more specific!"
"Oh, no," said Mary Ann. "There is mine, Skipper, but it's back at camp! We haven't time to get it!"
The Professor raised his hands to calm them. "Take it easy, everyone. It's not a real exorcism, after all. Ginger, you'll just have to improvise. Come on, everyone, take your places."
With a last despairing look on her face, Ginger fixed the veil over her head, set the book on the table, and tried to look solemn.
"Something wrong over there?" called Gilligan from the rock as he and the Lord Admiral craned their necks to see what the matter was.
"No, Gilligan!" they chorused, wreathed in smiles. "Come on over! We're ready to start!"
Gilligan and the Lord Admiral approached cautiously. When they got closer they noticed that one more item had been added to the table: a rusty telescope. The Lord Admiral stared. "My telescope! What's it doing there?"
Gilligan looked at the Professor. "Professor? Why'd you bring that here?"
"It's all part of Ginger's preparation, Gilligan. Watch."
Ginger took a pinch of pink powder from one of the shells and flicked it at the candle. A heady scent of incense filled the air. "Oh hear me, spirits of Kitchitomie," she intoned, raising her hands. "I conjure you, by the power of the bell, the book and the candle, to hearken to my command!"
The Skipper picked up the ship's bell and tapped it solemnly. The sharp, clear note echoed in the twilight. Gilligan and the Lord Admiral looked at each other, and looked all around.
"The book," commanded Ginger. Mr. Howell held it up and opened it for her. She turned a few pages, frowning ever more as she turned, then composed herself. "I conjure thee by the spirits which I name for all to hear! I name thee, Bloody Mary—"
The Lord Admiral and Gilligan raised their eyebrows, impressed.
"I name thee, Tom Collins—" Ginger swallowed and flipped a page. "I name thee, Harvey Wallbanger—" she grimaced and looked around, trying to remain serious. "Answer my summons and appear!"
The Lord Admiral peered at the book. "I say – ain't that supposed to be a Bible?"
The Professor signaled to Ginger, winked at the others, and surreptitiously pointed to the other shell. Ginger took a pinch of powder and flicked this at the candle, careful to look the other way. Light blazed up and smoke billowed, setting the castaways coughing. The Lord Admiral, the only one who wasn't affected, looked out beyond the canopy and gasped. "By heavens, lad, perhaps she is a witch! But she's supposed to drive out spirits – not conjure them up!"
Gilligan looked and gasped too, instinctively clutching the cutlass tighter. There between the torches, laughing his deep cruel laugh and glowing like a disease ridden swamp, stood the pirate ghost.
Suddenly the castaways all began to look in the direction that Gilligan was looking with expressions of horror on their faces.
"Oh, my! There he is!" cried Mrs. Howell.
"Heavens to Long John Silver, what a dastardly looking fellow!"
"Good heavens! There really are such things as ghosts!"
"Gilligan, little buddy, you were right! I'm sorry I ever doubted you!"
Gilligan stared at them, his face alight with astonishment and joy. "You mean you can see him! You can actually see him? That's great! You see? I wasn't going crazy!"
The pirate stroked his thick, greasy beard, narrowed his one eye, and fixed it on Gilligan. "So, sprat – ye brought your scurvy crew after all. Are ye willing to fight for them? Or are ye going to let that high-born nursemaid there fight for ye again?"
Emboldened, Gilligan hefted the cutlass. "I know how to use this now, Captain! You think you're going to hurt my friends? Over my dead body!"
"That's what I'm afraid of, lad," murmured the Lord Admiral as he clutched his rapier hilt.
The Professor urged the others on in a whisper. "That's it, folks. Keep it up!" He raised his own voice. "Pirate ghost! Gilligan has the power to defeat you. Your days are numbered!"
Gilligan flashed the pirate a look of triumph. "You see?"
The pirate spread his arms. "Why don't ye try to stop me, then? Come on, puppy. Here I am waitin' for ye!"
"Go and get him, Gilligan!" cheered the Skipper.
That was enough. "En garde!" Gilligan charged for the pirate, cutting such wide swaths with the cutlass that the castaways all leapt back in alarm.
"No, lad! Remember, close quarters!" cried the Lord Admiral, but Gilligan ignored him.
"Ataboy, Gilligan! You can do it!" roared the Skipper.
"By Jove, son, give him a taste of his own medicine!" called Mr. Howell.
Gilligan galloped about the clearing lunging at the pirate. Meanwhile, Scallion kept backing up, laughing, keeping just out of reach. "Come and get me, sprat! Come on!"
"Ha ha! You're afraid to taste the cold steel of my sword!" Gilligan caroled, striking a brief heroic pose before gallivanting into action again.
The Lord Admiral groaned in dismay. "Don't talk, lad, fight! Wherever did you learn such silly posturing?"
"Oh, Gilligan, you're a hero!" cried Mary Ann, clasping her hands and jumping up and down. The Lord Admiral stared at her in horror.
"Stop it, lass! Don't egg him on! Scallion'll fillet him like a salmon!"
Mary Ann acted as though she hadn't heard the Lord Admiral at all. "That's the way, Gilligan!"
"Dear God, lass, don't he mean anything to you? I thought you—" the Lord Admiral stopped as he realized Mary Ann wasn't looking at him. He waved a hand in front of her face. "Lass?" She didn't bat an eyelash. The Lord Admiral's eyes blazed and he turned and dashed to the others, waving at them in succession. Not one took any notice of him. "It's a trick, lad!" he cried. "They're all playacting again! They can't see the scoundrel! Don't listen to them!"
"I'm gonna beat him!" Gilligan shouted, intoxicated with the praise of his friends and the thrill of the battle. He pelted towards the glowing form of the pirate, who stood, weapon sheathed now, arms akimbo.
The Lord Admiral saw where he was heading. "The edge!" he yelled in horror. "Mind the edge, lad! It's right behind him!"
Gilligan saw it just in time and skidded to a stop, his feet shooting out from under him. He lay sprawled in the grass, the cutlass in front of him, as the pirate whipped away with fearful speed and headed for the canopy.
The Lord Admiral closed his eyes in relief. "Thank God," he whispered.
The castaways had also seen Gilligan's near brush with death and stood shocked silent for a moment. The Skipper's eyes were huge. "My gosh, Professor, he nearly went over! Can't we get this thing over with before he hurts himself?"
"Or someone else?" said Mr. Howell.
"Yes! Come on, Ginger, let's move on to the next part. Everyone, keep up the act!"
Ginger flicked a few pages in the book again and held up her hands. "Pirate spirit! Hear me! By the power of the…squeeze of lemon…uh…no, the splash of.. I mean the jigger of… Bacardi, Kahlua and Pina Colada, I conjure you to vanish!" She flung up her hands and threw back her head, craning it backwards slightly to see what Gilligan was doing. The Skipper rang the bell once more.
Gilligan raced back to the canopy and stood poised facing the pirate, cutlass still upraised. The Professor warned the others back. "Go on, everyone," he whispered. "Give him lots of room. We don't know what he'll do now."
The castaways spread backwards, moving out from under the canopy. The Lord Admiral hurried up beside Gilligan. "Lad, listen to me! I tell you they can't see him! They can't see me! Pay them no heed!"
Disconcerted, Gilligan frowned, looking from his ancestor to the pirate and back again. "Why would they lie to me?" he murmured.
"I'll warrant they've the best of intentions, but they're playing right into Scallion's hands! He's trying to goad you into rashness! Remember what I said! Never fight in anger!"
Scallion heard him and looked across to where the castaways were slowly moving apart. He saw Mary Ann getting dangerously close to the edge, and his one eye lit. "Tell me, sprat," he purred, "what's yon pretty little wench like between the sheets?"
The words froze the first mate. "What?" he whispered.
"You've a fine taste in female flesh, sprat, I'll lay to that. I mean to have her warm me berth tonight – whether she be willing or not!"
It took Gilligan a moment to realize what he meant. Then his face twisted in a tigerish snarl. "Why, you—"
The pirate leered. "What are ye going to do, matey? I'm dead, remember?"
"Not dead enough!" Gilligan roared, and took a wild swipe that went right through the ghost. The blow threw Gilligan off balance, sending him spinning past the bamboo poles. He sheared one off in his wild flight, and the canopy sailed down over Ginger and the Skipper. The Skipper, fighting it off, threw the bell away to free his hands.
It sailed through the air, straight towards Mary Ann. She ducked to avoid it, hopping back onto the edge of the ridge. All at once the dead roots beneath her foot broke and crumbled away.
There was a scream, and suddenly there was no Mary Ann.