Pairing: Jack, Ghost
Word Count: 544
Prompt: Halloween Ghost Story challenge at the Black Pearl forum.
A/N: Another interpretation of how Jack Sparrow got off that infamous deserted island the first time.
~o~
Sea Turtles
A long, pale boat was outlined by the greenish glow upon the horizon; it shimmered in the light of the moon, flashing over the waves near and far. He sat very still as he watched the boat make a slow, silent progression, steadily drawing closer to the shoreline of the godforsaken deserted island he found himself upon.
It was common for men of the sea to see shipwrecks of old sailing boats, piloted by their drowned captains, forever seeking safe harbor. Every now and then, he had seen the ghosts of warrior ships, hobbling to their lost homeland after vicious battles, and on occasion, specters of ghostly tall merchant vessels, with treasure pouring out of gapping holes in their hulls. But not all ghosts of the sea had been sighted in such a way. Rumor had it that some left the ocean to come ashore and haunt the land.
Upon the beach, the sea rolled in never-ending foam. The small boat shook and groaned as it wedged itself within the sand; he could see small, leggy creatures emerging from beneath, sliding from the backs of larger shelled forms.
A shiver went down his spine, for he knew exactly what he was looking at. Jack couldn't help but whistle under his breath; he had never felt the presence of a soul quite like this one.
In the small boat, she sat alone, just yards from him, oars held in unmoving hands. She had hair that covered her like a veil; it gleamed and flickered in the moonlight, yet it hid her smile and a gruesome scar that slivered around her neck.
Jack called out to her, curiously. There was no answer, only the gentle feeling of her presence - the wisp of a forgotten memory. Beneath the veil, her gaze was ferocious; it rang bells in his mind, but he had no idea what it was - who it was. She looked so familiar to him - the spirit of freedom was within her, she was as unpredictable as the morning breeze - and yet he had no idea why.
It felt as if he belonged to her.
With a dim wash of perception, Jack turned his head, and, to his surprise, saw the woman before him, swaying back and forth. She kept her arms tightly to her sides. The air around them fell heavy with the scent of blood.
The woman stood without speaking, listening to her son's heart pounding as the moon came up behind the thunderstorms in mid-horizon.
With every blink, she drew near. That's when he recalled the pistol at his side. Jack drew it and cocked it with nervous fingers, as he came to his feet in a wide stance.
He felt absolutely ridiculous for aiming his pistol at ghost, but he stood with resolve - she didn't have to know that.
She anticipated his fear.
The spirit tilted her head back, too far back for Jack's liking, and proceeded to laugh a sound with no humor in it, the kind of laugh that evoked images of barren wastelands.
Of course, he still had no idea of her fate!
As quickly as she came, her form drifted backwards with a raspy retort. "Sea turtles, my child."