Whispers
Jack's
belly roiled queasily with trepidation. He leaned on the railing of
the quarterdeck, alone, staring blankly where the horizon should have
been, had it not been for the fog. It was late afternoon on the last
day of October, nothing remarkable, really, but it was Samhain and
nightfall was coming rapidly, as it did in these latitudes.
The
part of Jack that had its deepest roots in the ancient Celtic lands
of Britain and Hibernia told him things his rational mind did not
give credence to. This was the night when the walls between the
worlds grew thin and he could come face to face with anything or
anyone.
The
fog didn't help matters. It played upon his fears, his insecurities,
spurring his imagination to people the mists with enemies and loved
ones alike. Dead, living, or fates unknown, made little difference;
they would all come out of the swirling mists, whispering to
him.
The crew was uncommon quiet as the light failed, gathered
together in uneasy groups. Even the lanterns did little to ease the
dreariness, their yellow light dimmed and absorbed by the fog. Jack
heard Gibbs and Marty muttering, to themselves or each other he did
not know. A dull thud echoed for an instant as Gibbs dropped his
flask onto the hatch cover; his distinct "It's bad luck, mark my
words," swallowed quickly in the gloom.
Jack shivered suddenly, so violently that his beaded braids clattered, upon hearing a raspy voice singing an old melody in a familiar off-key baritone. The singing was unremarkable, other than it seemed to be somewhere off the port quarter; an impossibility, the nearest landfall leagues distant. His eyes stretched wide, the whites showing like those of a spooked horse as he attempted in vain to pierce through the murk, the hairs on his neck and arms rising involuntarily.
"Well, Jack, it's been a long time." The voice murmured close by his shoulder, a well-known scent of pipe tobacco eddying around his head, accompanied by the brush of a long-tailed coat sliding against his leg.
Jack closed his eyes and gripped the rail so tightly he half-expected to hear the bones cracking, both desperate to believe and afraid at the same time.
"Hello, William."