A night aboard any ship is always the gloomiest part of any voyage, but none so dreary as it always was on the Flying Dutchman. Captain Jones's sadness and anger cast the ship into a constant state of rainfall when it darkened and he would retreat to his quarters, his peg leg thundering against the rotted planks. After he arrived there, there would be a period where the ship would be filled with the sound of organ pipes screaming throughout the ship, Jones forced to play out his sorrows using the tentacles that had come with his mutation, neither of his hands resembling human's anymore. Bill's room was directly below Jones's, but the music was almost a comfort to him. It both broke the silence of the ship, and it reflected a similar pain within him as well.
He knew it was essential he keep his protectiveness for his son a safeguarded secret; it didn't matter if he was imprisoned to this life now, he had to do what he could to keep William from ever following the same path he had chosen. In a sense, he was also afraid too that his actions would be what doomed Will to a similar fate, or any sort of pain or death that Jones might contrive. He was well aware of the old saying, "the sins of the father are brought unto the son," and he feared that he had sentenced his only child to a similar fate because of what he'd done. He lived everyday in fear of this, but it was something he kept silent and hidden from the others. If Jones ever found out this weakness in him, he knew the Captain would exploit it in whatever way he could. He knew the other members of the crew had no ties to the outside world anymore that their lives revolved around the prospect of what they would gain, the chance to extend their lives. And yet, here Bill was, wishing his own would end. It was a cruel irony that plagued him everyday. But unlike the others, he had a sense of hope that was buried deep within him, something he held onto no matter how grim things appeared.
It was the memories he kept, though they were becoming faint and distant from his corroding mind. He refused to allow any of his current pains or grievances to steal those from him, remembering his wife, of Will's childhood, of some of the last moments he'd had with his family before this life had consumed him. He could still see his wife's smile, hear his son's innocent laughter, even in the darkness of the ship. It was what made him hold onto the little humanity that hadn't died within him, it made him feel alive, if only a little. He knew, if he ever lost his hold on those memories, then all would be lost. And if Jones found out, not only would he find a way to take this from Bill, but he would make sure Will suffered somehow as well.
Bill trudged along the hallways of the ship, keeping his balance as the vessel lurched from side to side. The lanterns would flicker on and off at times, the flames in them aggravated by the motion. He listened as the organ playing eventually came to a climatic stop, when Jones finally allowed his weariness to overcome him. The captain would struggle to wind the music box placed beside him, and then fall asleep listening to the sad and innocent melody that would escape from it. It brought a pang of pain to Bill as well as he listened, hearing the chimes of the music box above the captain's low snoring. It was another memory, of his wife singing the same song to Will when he was young. Time had long since stolen memory of the lyrics to the lullaby, and so he simply hummed it quietly to himself as he paced. Some of the other crew was still awake, in the kitchen drinking down rum and boasting about who had more time of existence than the others. He grimaced, feeling the searing pain as more growths emerged from the flesh of his neck and the side of his head; his transformation was only in its early stages compared to the others, and it was an agonizing one. When it had first happened, he had spent countless nights clawing at whatever surfaced from his skin, but it would simply come back like a disease that would never leave, until he gave up gradually. After all, no amount of willpower or physical resistance would ever halt the transformation he was undergoing…
Bill found himself a small, unused room to rest within, sitting on a rotting bench against the wall and allowing himself to slowly fall asleep. He listened to the tossing of the waves and the sound of the ship as it was submerged under the water; the Captain sometimes forced the ship beneath the water by night when they would slumber. Bill's vision faded and finally subsided altogether as the room filled with water, and a quiet filled the boat as water filled the gears of the music box and silenced it.