"Now, Ginger, come on!"

Arms tightly crossed, Ginger stalked away from the Skipper as fast as her heels would allow. Behind them sunlight rippled on the waters of the lagoon and sparkled in the lagoon's little waterfall.

The Skipper followed her. "Now Ginger, just listen to me for a moment, will you? I didn't mean any harm by that gutting fish remark. I told him that a long time ago. He was just a naïve boy. For heaven's sakes, he still is! And you've got to admit, Ginger, you've used your charms on him more than once, especially when Mr. Howell wanted something out of him."

Ginger stood still, tapping her foot. She didn't quite meet the Skipper's eyes.

"Besides…it'd have to be something pretty dramatic to keep a man from thinking about you! Especially if he's anywhere near you!"

Now Ginger was fighting to stifle a smile, but couldn't quite manage it.

"And besides, Gilligan's sick. He's in real trouble. You've gone above and beyond the call of duty for him in the past – I know you have. We haven't got time to bicker now, Ginger. Please. We're the only hope he's got."

A moment later, a surprised and delighted Skipper found his arms full of beautiful movie star. "Oh, he's going to be all right, Skipper! Don't worry! We'll think of something!"

"Ahem…it would appear that all's quiet on the Western Front. Either that, or the Captain and Ginger are rehearsing the "don't leave me, Rhett" scene from Gone With the Wind." Thurston Howell came sauntering up the beach, his wife on his arm and the Professor following behind. "We ran into the Professor and heard that the two of you had a bit of a set to at camp. All forgiven and forgotten now?"

Ginger laughed, disengaging herself. "All forgiven and forgotten, Mr. Howell."

"Say – we're all here…then what did you do with Gilligan?" the Skipper asked, suddenly concerned.

"Oh, don't be alarmed, Captain," said Mrs. Howell. "Mary Ann's looking after him."

"How did he seem?"

"The signs are encouraging," answered the Professor. "He confessed that he could no longer see the strange apparitions. However, that may just be temporary. But the Howells and I have been discussing a plan that just might put Gilligan's ghosts to rest for good."

The Skipper beamed. "That's great, Professor! Let's hear it!"

"Oh, it's all so divinely clever!" chuckled Mrs. Howell. "All based on the power of suggestion! And of course, your acting, Ginger dear."

"My acting?"

"Precisely," said the Professor. "Since Gilligan's so determined to believe in ghosts, we'll humour him. We'll get rid of them in the obvious way: through an exorcism!"

The Skipper and Ginger looked at each other, then back at the Professor. "Wow," said the Skipper, scratching his head. "I knew you were a professor, but I never knew you were a priest too!"

"Of course I'm not, Skipper. But Ginger has appeared in many horror movies. Surely one of them must have involved some such ceremony!"

Flustered, Ginger searched her memory. "Well, I'm not sure. Let me see…wait! Wait, yes there was! It was about a ghost in an old castle! I made that picture a long time ago, though…"

"You'll be fine, Ginger! What do we need?"

The castaways huddled forward, giggling and whispering eagerly. "Oh, Thurston!" Mrs. Howell cried. "This is going to be such fun!"

********************

Gilligan and Mary Ann emerged from the dense jungle onto a clearing on a high ridge that fronted a stunning bay. The pair shaded their eyes as they looked out over the cerulean blue water as a warm sea-breeze gently ruffled their hair. Gilligan pointed across to where the tall, ribbed range of mountains sloped down to the dazzling white sand. Soft mist curled over the rippling green heights, while deep in the mighty fissures glinted hints of crystal waterfalls.

"Wow. Mary Ann, did you ever dream any place on earth could be so beautiful?"

Mary Ann looked up at the passion in her friend's voice, and saw that it was reflected in his eyes. He was gazing at the vista before them like a pilgrim at a shrine.

"I can never get over the island, you know," he murmured, half to himself. "It's like it's got a soul of its own. Just look at this bay – look at the colours! Did you ever see colours like that before? It feels like I can smell them, taste them, almost touch them. And the island's got moods too. They can change with the waves, the light, the mist, the wind….it's hard to explain." He pushed his cap up over his eyes, smiling self-consciously. "Gee – listen to me go on. You're gonna think I mess up those rescues on purpose!"

Mary Ann smiled and shook her head. "Gilligan, I don't think that. Nobody does."

"Because it isn't true, Mary Ann," he persisted, almost as though she hadn't spoken. "I miss home just as much as everybody else. But… I've never felt more alive than I feel here. Sometimes I think we were meant to come here. It was fate."

Mary Ann looked at him as though she had never seen him before. "Gosh. I never knew you were a philosopher, Gilligan. Or a poet." She took a deep breath and breathed in the heady perfume of plumeria and hibiscus. "And you're right. It is beautiful!" They walked to the edge and looked down the steep, treacherous slope that ended in a narrow, sandy cul-de sac. "Oh, will you look at those huge flowers right there below us! They must have bloomed like that in the Garden of Eden!" She started down the rocks to pick some.

"Be careful, Mary Ann!" Gilligan called out, when suddenly a voice as malevolent as a storm turned his stomach. "So - that strutting poppinjay left ye and your doxy on your own, did he? Such a jintleman. And such a fool."

Horrified, Gilligan saw the grim, grey, ghastly figure of the pirate ghost looming just beyond Mary Ann. The ghostly cutlass flashed out as the apparition moved towards Mary Ann with sickening speed. "Ye can't see me, darlin'. But I can see ye!"

"Mary Ann!" Gilligan shouted, lunging forward. Startled, she turned too quickly and lost her footing. She screamed as her feet skittered down on the rocks, but Gilligan seized one of her outstretched hands and yanked her towards him with such force that she snapped back like a yoyo, spinning into his arms. He held onto her, dragging her back from the slick rocks and the inexorably advancing pirate. "Keep back, Mary Ann! Keep back!"

"Gilligan!" she gasped, surprised at his strength, and assumed it was born of the fear that she would fall. "I'm all right now! We're far enough back from the rocks. We're safe!"

"Not by a long shot, me darlin', " snarled the buccaneer, stalking up the rocks. "I don't fancy this world bein' populated with a new damned generation of Gilligans. Better nip it in the bud, as they say."

Gilligan swallowed, unconsciously tightening his grip on Mary Ann, and kept moving backwards. "Mary Ann, we've got to get far away from here! Now!"

"Why?" she whispered, a little apprehensive now.

The fear in her voice chilled Gilligan more than the pirate ever could - because it was directed at himself. The pirate realized it too. "Ha-har! Aye! Tell her why, matey. I dare ye!"
Gilligan's eyes blazed. Then inspiration struck as he spotted two huge logs floating in the water down below. "Look! There's crocodiles down there, Mary Ann! They might come after us any minute!"

"Oh!" There were crocodiles on the island – Ginger and the Professor had seen them."Oh, my gosh! Let's get out of here!"

They turned and started sprinting furiously towards the jungle when the ghost called after them. "Ha! Think you're cunning, do ye? D'ye think you can outrun me?"

Gilligan remembered the speed with which the phantom could move and skidded to a halt, dragging Mary Ann to a stop as well. "Why are you stopping?"

He turned back, drawing his own cutlass. "You keep going, Mary Ann. I'll hold them off!"

Panting, she stared at him, horrified. "Gilligan, I'm not going to leave you here!"

The ghost was moving up the trail towards them with the slow, lithe grace of a jungle predator. Even the plants seemed to shiver as he passed them. Gilligan stood braced with Mary Ann behind him and the cutlass brandished in front of him. "Mary Ann, you've gotta go now! Please! Before--"

And suddenly they both felt a cold miasma sweep through them, like the first cold whip of air before a storm. They gasped and shuddered, disoriented, as Gilligan heard a welcome voice call out, "Scallion, you damned half-snuff! You've no sense of occasion, have you?"

And there between the two castaways and the pirate appeared the Lord Admiral, gathering solidity like an image in calming water. He looked back over his shoulder and flashed an apologetic grin at Gilligan. "My apologies, lad. Didn't realize anything was amiss until I heard you shouting." He turned back to the pirate, who was cursing bitterly. "Watch your language, sir! There's a lady present!"

"She can no more hear me than she can ye, ye puffed up sea squab! What's this to do with ye any road? Let the sprat fight his own battles!"

"I will, Scallion, and I'll wager my Dutch pistols he'll show his metal! But with foes of this world, not of the next!" He turned back to Gilligan. "Get the lass out of here. I'll deal with Scallion."

It was a hard call. Ghost though the Lord Admiral was, Gilligan was loathe to abandon a shipmate. But the passengers came first: that was what the Skipper had always drilled into him. And Mary Ann…Gilligan stood up, deliberately relaxing his stance. "Wait a second, Mary Ann. I don't see them. Maybe we outran them."

Mary Ann scanned the track with nervous eyes, clutching his shoulders. "I think you're right! I don't see them either. Oh, Gilligan, if it hadn't been for you!"

"She's putty in your hands, my boy!" sang the Lord Admiral, and he flew at the pirate, sword whirling. "Defend yourself, sir!"

The air soon rang with the sound of zinging blades – except that only Gilligan could hear it. "Mary Ann, I still want you go on back to camp."

"Why? Why aren't you coming too?"

"Uh…I'm going to use my cutlass to cut some brush and lay it across the trail. That way the crocodiles won't be able to follow it back to our camp. You run on ahead and tell the others what I'm doing, otherwise they'll worry." Mary Ann was looking rather worried herself; Gilligan forced a smile and patted her arm. "I'll be okay, Mary Ann. If the crocodiles come, I'll run. You know nobody runs faster than me."

"That's for sartain sure, ye coward!" sneered Scallion, in the midst of trading sword-blows with the Lord Admiral. "Never stand and fight, do ye? Jist up and run like a hare at the very sight of danger!"

"Hold hard, sir!" The Lord Admiral's lightning parry blocked blow after blow. "He's no coward. Did you not see him face you a moment ago?"

"I saw the back of him first," snarled Scallion.

Gilligan tried not to betray any reaction to Scallion's words. "Go on, Mary Ann. I don't think I could survive another one of the Skipper's bear hugs if he thinks I've gotten lost again."

"Okay." There was just the tiniest hint of a giggle. A small but surprisingly strong brown hand held his for an instant, then released him as Mary Ann dashed off down the trail. When he was certain she was gone, Gilligan spun, cutlass raised.