And somehow the ghost was all the worse for being in broad daylight. He was bigger, for a start: easily as tall as the Skipper himself, and almost as broad. And the details were even clearer: the pale, pockmarked skin, the glinting eye beside the gleaming patch, the wild black hair knotted with a bizarre collection of beads and bits of bone. The fact that he didn't seem to glow by daylight didn't make him much less terrifying. The long, vicious cutlass, identical to Gilligan's own, certainly didn't.
The Skipper saw the terrified expression on his first mate's face. "Gilligan, little buddy! What is it? You look as though you'd seen a ghost!"
The ghost hissed, gap toothed mouth wide. "Not as dull as he looks, is he, Lord Gilligan?"
"P-p-p...p-p-p..." Gilligan stammered, hands frozen on the jug.
They were all staring at him now. "Professor, what's happening to him?" gasped Ginger.
"What is it, Gilligan?" cried Mary Ann.
"How do you know my name?" whimpered Gilligan.
The Skipper blinked. Gilligan, we've been here four years! Of course she knows your name! What's the matter with you?"
He hunched over the table to put a steadying hand on Gilligan's shoulder. Behind him, the pirate's sword arced high above the Skipper's head. "Here's one less hand on deck, Lord Gilligan!"
Instinctively Gilligan hurled the contents of the pitcher at the ghost's face - and hit the Skipper square amidships. The Skipper sputtered, shaking mango juice from his eyes and bangs. "Gilligan - what's got into you?"
"It's the pirate! Get down, Skipper!" Gilligan screamed, and with manic strength, pushed the Skipper down face first into the banana cream just as the ghostly sword whooshed over them. With the struggling Skipper still shouting muffled threats into his breakfast, Gilligan vaulted onto the table, scattering plates and cups.
The others were all on their feet now. Mrs. Howell clutched her husband. "Thurston, the boy's gone island happy!"
The girls were screaming. "Gilligan, what are you doing!"
The Professor was trying hard to establish some order. "Calm down, everyone! Gilligan! There is nothing there! Come down from that table before you hurt yourself!"
But the apparition was stalking 'round the table now, towards the women. "What rare beauties, milord!" it leered, seeing Ginger and Mary Anne. "I'll drag the wenches by their fine hair back to me ship!"
"You don't touch the girls! Get away from them!" Gilligan fiercely flung a bowl of guava jelly at the phantom. The bowl sailed through the ghost, but the spin on Gilligan's wrist sent the great gob of pink jelly flying into Ginger's hair.
"Ugh! Gilligan! Have you lost your mind?"
"And what might that grand dame and her man be wearin'? Be those diamonds? Be that gold? By the powers, Lord Gilligan, ye've some fancy friends at your board!"
"Look out, Mr. and Mrs. Howell!" Gilligan sprang backwards off the table, landed on the bench, and bent down to whip the table-cloth in the air, sending fruit and dishes flying. Everybody screamed and ducked.
"Now hear this!" the Skipper roared. "Gilligan, calm down and that's an order!"
Gilligan twirled the tablecloth over his head like a matador's cape and heaved it at the ghost, whose pale fingers were caressing Mrs. Howell's necklace. The cloth billowed over the howling Howells as the ghost stepped nimbly backwards.
The Skipper had clambered up onto the bench by now. "Gilligan, I order you to -" But he didn't have Gilligan's balance, and the two sailors yelled as the bench suddenly tipped over backwards, sending them sprawling on their backs.
The ghost leapt up onto the table, laughing cruelly. His greasy black hair swung 'round his scarred face as he hefted his sword. "Har! Who's this swab with the mouth as big as Galway Bay? I'll cut him down to size for ye!"
Gilligan, winded by his backward fall, couldn't move. For a moment he couldn't even see.
"Gilligan, snap out of it!" The Skipper reached across and whacked him with his cap.
When Gilligan's vision cleared he saw the pirate standing over him, glaring at his ghostly cutlass. Slowly the phantom lowered it, and his face took on a look of cunning. "So that's the lay of the land, is it? Well then - ye've gained your life for now, milord. But hearken to this! Tonight, when the sun's gone below decks and the moon rises above the yardarm, haul yourself to the clearing by the north cliffs, or not one of your crew will have a head by morning. Ye be warned!" And with a swirling ebb, like grey smoke, the pirate ghost vanished.
The Howells were still hiding under the table cloth. "I say! Is it safe to sound the all clear?" whimpered Thurston.
Ginger was slicking jelly out of her hair. "Oh, I spent all night in curlers - for this!"
Mary Ann and the Professor came around the side of the table, to where the Skipper was hauling Gilligan onto his feet. Gilligan was staring into space where the apparition had stood.
"Gilligan!" The Skipper shook the younger man, but not roughly. "Gilligan, can you hear me? Speak to me!"
"Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum," Gilligan murmured despairingly, and fainted dead away.
************************
By early afternoon the boundless tropical sky was a soft azure, laced with wisps of cloud. In the supply hut the Skipper paced back and forth wringing his hands while the Professor sat pouring over a volume of psychology. The Howells looked on in concern.
"Well, what do you say now, Professor?" the Skipper demanded, voice breaking with worry. "So much for your 'dark night in the jungle' theory!"
"Yes, Professor," agreed Mrs. Howell. "I'm afraid your Indigo notion just won't do."
"Wendigo, Lovey," corrected her husband. "Wen-dee-go."
His wife looked at him in surprise. "Why, Thurston, he went about nine o'clock this morning, during breakfast. You can't have forgotten. Didn't you take your pills this morning, darling?"
"Of course I did, my dear. But I may have to have an extra ration to settle my delicate stomach, after that little display of Gilligan's."
The Skipper was still pacing. "Mrs. Howell may have the wrong word, but she's got the right idea, Professor. Gilligan's problem's got nothing to do with ancient survival instincts. He's seeing ghosts in broad daylight now, when we're all with him! My little buddy's going off his rocker!"
The Professor flipped a page, nodding unhappily. "Yes, I'm afraid I underestimated the extent of Gilligan's neurosis. He's always had a very volatile imagination, but that violent outburst this morning was completely unprecedented. I can't think what could have brought this on!"
The Skipper couldn't bear it. "But what can we do for my little buddy? We can't leave him like this! Who knows when his imaginary ghost will pop up again? He might hurt himself or somebody else at this rate, he's so convinced that ghost is real!"
"By Jove, yes. Gilligan was positively mesmerized!"
"Mesmerized! Oh, Thurston, what a perfectly brilliant idea!" Mrs. Howell turned eagerly to the Professor. "Professor, why couldn't you try hypnosis on poor Gilligan? As I recall, you once hypnotized him into thinking he was Mary Ann, and you weren't even trying!"
The Professor raised his eyebrows and sat back. "Well, Mrs. Howell, you may have something there! However, hypnosis is hardly an exact science. All kinds of variables can influence the outcome."
The Skipper rushed over, grasping at any straw. "Well, gosh, Professor, if it might help Gilligan, what are we waiting for? I'd be glad to lend a hand!"
The Professor raised a hand to calm him. "I appreciate it, Skipper, but I think Gilligan and I ought to be alone during such an experiment. You might prove particularly susceptible to post-hypnotic suggestion yourself."
"And we certainly don't need you thinking you're Mary Ann, Captain," Mr. Howell quipped. "You certainly wouldn't do those delightful shorts of hers justice."
The Skipper looked daggers at the archly smiling millionaire (and so did Mrs. Howell, which quelled the smile), then back at the Professor. "All right, Professor. If you want him alone, you'll get him alone. The girls are looking after him right now. I'll go get him."
As he rushed out, Thurston Howell rose also. "Come along, Lovey. The Professor needs privacy if he's going to knit up poor Gilligan's ravelled sleeve of care."
"Oh, of course, I understand, Thurston. Yes, let's be on our way."
When they reached the door, Mrs. Howell turned back. "I do hope you can help the poor boy, Professor. But there's no need to mend his sleeve in secret, you know. I think knitting is a perfectly acceptable hobby for a gentleman."
"Come along, Lovey!" Her husband steered her out the door as the Professor shook his head in disbelief.
****************
In the girls' hut Gilligan sat up in bed, blindfolded, a thermometer protruding from his lips. Mary Ann sat on a chair nearby with a basin of water and a cloth on her lap while Ginger stood beside her, looking at her watch.
"Mmm hmm imm mmm hmmm," mumbled Gilligan.
"Just a few more seconds, Gilligan," said Ginger. After a few moments she drew the thermometer from his mouth and held it up to the light. "98.6. Well, at least you haven't got a fever."
Mary Ann rested her hand gently on Gilligan's forehead, sliding her warm little hand beneath his dark bangs. He went quite still. "Thank goodness. You gave us such a scare, Gilligan! I guess you won't need this cold compress then," she said, removing her hand and setting the basin and cloth on the floor.
"I need to get rid of this blindfold," said Gilligan, breathing steadily again now that her hand was gone. "I haven't got a headache and I'm not sick. I need to find the Skipper and the Professor!"
Abruptly he flung off the blanket, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. One determined step later and his foot was firmly planted in the basin and skidding across the dirt floor. He flailed, blind, before Mary Ann and Ginger caught him on either side.
"Be careful, Gilligan! You almost went over!" The girls each pulled one of his arms over their shoulders and looped their own arms around his waist.
"Look, girls, I don't care what the Professor says. I'm gonna take this blindfold off now!"
"No! If you do that, you might see that hallucination again!"
"Ginger, he wasn't a hallucination! I don't know why the rest of you couldn't see him, but I know I wasn't imagining things! And anyway, a blindfold wouldn't help. I could still hear him!"
"But you don't hear him now, do you?" asked Mary Ann, more out of concern for her friend than out of any belief in a ghost.
"No. But I'd hear him if he was here, believe me! The way he was yelling this morning! He threatened to drag you girls to his ship by your hair." Gilligan's hands flicked up and his searching fingers tangled in the brunette and crimson tresses. "But it must be okay...you've both still got hair."
Just then, the Skipper came rushing in, breathless with news. "Girls! Gilligan! I--"
He stopped short at the sight of his first mate, blindfolded and led like a casualty of war between two of the loveliest Florence Nightengales a man could wish for. He also noticed Gilligan's hands, still buried in his nurses' hair.
"Well! I don't know whether this is supposed to make you better, Gilligan, but I might try seeing a few ghosts myself if this is the remedy!"
The two women chuckled and released Gilligan as he yanked his blindfold down. "Oh, Skipper, am I glad to see you! Will you please tell them there's nothing wrong with me?"
"I-ep-well…" The Skipper twiddled his fingers for a moment. "Well, I came to tell you that soon everything's going to be all right, little buddy. The Professor's got a plan that's going to solve everything!
The women cheered. "What plan?" demanded Gilligan, half hopeful, half disbelieving.
"He's going to hypnotize you!"
Gilligan looked at the two women and the Skipper, and shrank backwards. "Oh, no, I'm not doing that! I don't want to be Mary Ann again! Running into the girls' hut in nothing but a towel! I was never so embarrassed in my life!"
Mary Ann and Ginger tried to hide their giggles as the Skipper reached out to take Gilligan's arm. "No, no, Gilligan. That was an accident. No, this time the Professor's going to hypnotize you into thinking that your ghost doesn't exist!"
Gilligan sagged, deflated. "Well, what good's that going to do?" he demanded. "That's not going to save us! The Professor should be hypnotizing the ghost into thinking he doesn't exist!"
"Oh, Gilligan, come on!" The Skipper yanked Gilligan's arm and pulled him outdoors in a stumbling run, followed by the eager girls.