The Final Days of Springborough

A pirate cannot be scared, J.J. said to himself, stiffening his chin from quivering as he looked down into the empty vessel of a boat, with the dead man’s legs on it, not wanting any part of this adventure and wishing it would just be done. J.J. knew that if he was going to be the leader of these men, on waters unknown, that he needed to show strength, and curiosity, and fearlessness. This instant was no time to guffaw or wonder what else one should do. He had to stand tall, he had to look down his nose at whatever might spook him, and he had to show guts and resilience.

Whatever floated upon the seas was his and his crews to take! That was the way of the pirates. They owned the waves and the wind and the gulls and the adventure. Pirate Captain Jage would not be deterred by the sights of limp legs on a wayward deck.

“What are ya waiting for, boys? Get down on that ship! Tell me what we’ve got! For Heavens sakes, find food, at least!” J.J. barked, impressed with himself that a syllable didn’t squeak.

“But, Cap’t,” Murray replied, his voice betraying his fear, “what if what killed that man is still down there?”

The men agreed with Murray, nodding their head and looking at Captain Jage, hoping that Murray changed the blonde-headed leader’s mind as well. But, J.J. was curious. He was stubborn. And above all else, he knew he didn’t have to be the first person down on the boat, which made all the difference. He scoffed at Murray, hiding his own thoughts of horror.

“Well, if it’s still down there, whatever it is, we’ll know when the first man gets down there, won’t we? Now, which one of you louts is the bravest man on this boat? Which one of you wants to prove your worth, and get double food provisions for the rest of our journey?”

There’s no better way to convince a pirate to do what you want him to do than to first, challenge his honor and pride, and second, reward his stomach. J.J. knew these things, because Jonathon James was a great captain, despite his age. So therefore three of his men clamored to be the ones to drop down onto the lifeless boat. Juba was first, the one with the biggest belly and hankering for food. The balding pirate threw himself from J.J.’s deck down onto the boat before anyone could get the plank ready. The visiting boat rocked with his weight, and he had to give pause in order to make sure the boat either didn’t capsize or simply throw him from it and into the waters. Once steady, his ever-present smile returned to his face, and he beamed up at all the worrisome pirates looking down to him.

“Does he smell dead?” Murray asked from the safety of the pirate ship.

“He doesn’t smell any worse than you, if you want to know that,” Juba replied, bending to examine the man’s legs. Something distracted Juba as he grew uncommonly quiet, stooping over the legs. In fact, it took so long for Juba to mention anything else that a couple more pirates were already letting their curiosity get the better of them and began to get themselves ready to join Juba on the other vessel. “Cap’t, I think you should come down here and look at this.”

That was the last thing J.J. wanted to do. Examining body-less legs was right at the top of J.J.’s list of things he didn’t want to do just as was eating raw meat, getting hit with steel poles, or being stranded at sea as a storm moved in. The crew looked at J.J. who feigned that he was tired and annoyed at the fact Juba wanted so badly to be on the ship first and now he was asking for a companion. “What do you see, sailor?” J.J. asked, knowing it was the question on all of the pirates minds. “Don’t blubber. The first sailor down needs to prove he’s also the most competent.”

“Well, Jage… sir… Fact is.. I see legs, but… I don’t see any blood.”

The sailors repeated this news to each other in hushed voices, creating a choir of muttering as Jage tried to process the information. The one thing he knew for sure was that, even though he didn’t like the sight of blood, he felt seeing a pair of severed legs without it was just as scary. But, this was an unusual occurrence, and if he didn’t show bravery now in front of his men, he’d lose a little bit of their respect. When you’re as big of a man as Jage the Pirate was, probably the shortest, skinniest, palest boy on the boat, his bravery and smarts was all he had. Take one of them away, and the crew might forget the fact that he had the other.

So, Jage grabbed the railing to the plank and slowly walked its narrow pathway down to the small boat next to his. The sea was getting rougher, the winds picking up, and Jage chanced a look up at the horizon where he saw some weather forming. Great, he thought to himself. Trust that the last day of a journey is always the hardest.

“Murray!” Jage shouted over the waves and the wind, “I want you to keep an eye on them clouds on the horizon. If they’re quick, we must be quicker.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” came the reply.

“What do we have here now, Juba?” J.J. said, bending over the legs. J.J. started his inspection easy, starting his eyes at the man’s feet, which could have been any pirates feet, dirty and blistered from the harsh, wooden deck of a boat. Scanning up, the hairy sun-burnt legs were also common, and so were the shorts, worn through from the salt air, and tattered by the wind. There, all the similarities ended, as where the man’s waistband started, his body would end. Juba leaned his head over to peer into what should have been the sailor’s innards, but instead found a dark, grey mist.

“Look, Captain,” Juba daringly put his hand in the trapped, dark gas. “Jage, I think I could put my hand down to his knee cap. You think this is some kind of trick? Dark magic? Maybe this ain’t a man’s legs after all, but a dummy. One of them store mannequins they dress up to show off clothes for sale.”

“You’re the dummy,” Jage responded, “That’s skin. That’s hair. Them’s nails on them toes. This is a man’s legs, just not a man’s blood or muscle.”

J.J. for all his prior fear was feeling better looking at the legs. His mind was a little clearer staring down at the appendages that didn’t require any vomiting upon looking at them. And just as Juba had said, there was no smell of death emanating from the severed limbs. This was, as it appeared to be, a prop for them to find. How to explain it to the rest of his crew was another question as pirates were prone to fits of superstition.

“Should we take these with us, Cap’t?” Juba asked.

“No. Not at all. Wouldn’t even touch them. Reckon it’s bad luck to be in possession of a dead man’s legs, let alone steal them.”

Juba nodded as the Pirate Captain looked about the boat, at the lack of anything, really, on it. No supplies, no tools, no other crew, no hope for survival. The only thing about this boat was a deck and a small captain quarters where the legs were butted up to the door.

“What happened here?” Jonathon James whispered to himself as he reached out and pushed open the Captain’s door.

There he found the rest of the man.

The man’s head and arms which were attached to a man’s torso were laying underneath the ship’s steering wheel, squirming about with the same black cloud swirling inside of it’s cavernous body. J.J.’s jaw dropped upon the sight, his hands shook and the thoughts in his head turned red with alarm. It took a moment for Juba to take his eyes off the sailor’s legs to notice the rest of him.

But, once seen, Captain Jage couldn’t take his eyes off the upper body.

The sailor was young, perhaps in his twenties, and he laid in the Captain’s quarters as if he was in a field of green wild grass staring up at the clouds. In fact, it didn’t even seem like he noticed the two pirates looking at him. Not until Jage cleared his throat, and the sailor looked over, eyes full of wonder, and maybe fear. The pirates stared at the sailor and the sailor stared back, none of the men making any progress in conversation.

“Captain!” shouted Murray from the other boat. “That storm! She approaches fast!”

At that, the sailor entered a state of panic. He sucked in breath, and, as if realizing he was only half a man, began to swim about underneath the steering wheel. He reached out, grabbing the wheel, and pulling himself up so he could turn over, his chest smacking hard against the wood of the floor. The site of it all was grotesque, much like seeing a large insect on its back, like a cockroach, and only being curious of it, because it seems helpless. But then seeing the same bug turn over and begin to scurry, feeling afraid.

Jage and Juba felt that same fear deep inside as they watched the half-sailor crawl his way to the door, toward the pirates.

“The storm,” the sailor grunted, staring into J.J’s eyes, slapping his hands down on the floor to pull himself closer. “They’re in the storm!”

And just before the sailor reached out to touch Jage’s ars, the young man’s severed body, legs and all, disintegrated into dust on the deck.