It was a blue Brownbeard that walked through old
New Ferry. Brownbeard did not care that the old
part of New Ferry was not the best part of town.
Though not the safest or cleanest section, it was a
place with which Brownbeard was familiar. He
had been visiting old New Ferry ever since he was
a young boy, and Brownbeard knew by name
several of the characters who called this part of
town home. But Brownbeard was by no means
safe. At the very least he might be robbed.
Standing by his lonesome on the sidewalk,
under the dim light of a candle burning beside the
Petulant Pelican’s menu, Brownbeard caught a
shadow flick in and then out of his peripheral
vision. He turned to look. Brownbeard thought he
saw something dart into an alley about a block
away. Brownbeard checked his sword and dagger.
He did not want a fight. This person tailing him
might have comrades ready to jump him should he
turn the wrong corner.
The novice pirate captain considered going
into the Petulant Pelican. There, he could always
wait his pursuers out until daylight. He couldn’t
head to his parents’ home without heading through
the darkest part of old New Ferry, and then the
path led through even darker woods. Should a
gang of murderous thugs follow him that far, he
would be beyond help or hope. No, the safest bet
would be to head into the tavern and sit there until
the sun rose.
“Ah, dang!” he hissed. “The tavern probably
closes before sunrise.”
Brownbeard scanned the Pelican’s menu.
There, up at the top of the menu, in plain Olde
English read the hours of the establishment. One
hour past sunset to one hour before sunrise. That
left Brownbeard with one hour to avoid this
shadow in the night while alone on the streets.
Brownbeard glanced back towards the alley. A
tall, thin splotch of black slowly inched its way
towards him. As soon as Brownbeard looked its
way, it froze. But not soon enough. Brownbeard
clearly saw that something was there. An upright
shadow where no shadow should be.
It was very hard to see, but Brownbeard knew that
it was there, and that whatever it was, it was not
good. The hair on the back of Brownbeard’s neck
began to slowly rise to attention. He felt a
presence from the opposite side of the street.
Brownbeard snapped his head in that direction and
saw another tall thin shadow, a twin of the first,
freeze in place as Brownbeard glared at it. As he
stared in fear at the second wraith, the first
continued its approach towards its prey.
Brownbeard pulled on the Petulant Pelican’s door.
He pushed upon the door. The door would not
budge! Brownbeard pounded upon the door.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Hey! Open up! Please! I’
m thirsty! I’ll pay whatever you’d charge me for a
hot chocolate! Please open!”
But there was no answer. Brownbeard turned
and walked square into the middle of the street.
“Should I fight here where someone might hear
my plight and lend a hand?” Brownbeard asked
himself. “Or should I run?”
Brownbeard looked and saw the exact nature
of his dilemma. There was nowhere to run. The
shadows approached from either side of the street,
trapping him in between. They were just a few
yards away. Brownbeard placed one trembling
hand upon his sword, the other upon his dagger.
He was about to draw and make his stand when he
noticed a wee light flicker in a window across the
street from the tavern. Brownbeard raced for the
door next to the window just as the wraiths met
upon the spot his boots had stood. Brownbeard
pushed hard upon the door and said a prayer of
thanks as he fell into a tiny little gift shop, dimly
lit with a few scattered candles. Never removing
his hand from his sword’s handle, Brownbeard
drew himself up to his feet and walked briskly
around a large table laden with all sorts of odds
and ends. With the table between him and the
shop’s entrance, Brownbeard stood trembling,
waiting to see what might follow through the door.
The two shadows stepped into the gift shop.
Dressed head to toe in black blacker than the
blackest of Blackbeard’s belongings, the two
wraiths were visions of dread. From under their
large black hoods, two blanched skulls grinned at
Brownbeard. Brownbeard blinked hoping to dispel
the mirage and awake from the horror. But no!
They were still there.
Of course, Brownbeard was able to rationalize
about the origin of these apparitions before him
while at the same time dancing on the cliff edge of
panic. This was just another “I’m freaking out
under pressure” episode. When the office grind
became too much at Snookie, Pitts, and
Fropenheimer, his mind conjured up nasty
numbers trying to knock his noggin from his neck.
Now that he couldn’t succeed in mustering up a
crew to sail the For Sale, it was skeletons in black!
“Very interesting,” observed Brownbeard.
“The mind is an amazing thing! Oh, and look there!
Their eye sockets are aglow with blood-red flame.
How nice.”
The two monsters began to advance on their
quarry. Brownbeard backed away into a tight
corner of the cluttered shop.
“Can machinations of my mind do me harm?”
asked Brownbeard aloud, directing his question to
his nightmare. “Yes, you sure look menacing
enough.”
Adrenaline pumping, white knuckles gripping
his sword, Brownbeard prepared to do battle one
more time with one of his bad dreams, or one that
another had generously decided to share with him.
“May I help you gentlemen with something?”
The skeletons stopped in their tracks.
Brownbeard and they turned to face a small,
peculiar looking gentleman with twinkling black
eyes and pointy ears that would look fitting on an
elf. He had a bit of a paunch, as though he were
accustomed to eating well.
The two skeletons silently shook their heads in
the negative. Though their teeth were bared in a
permanent grin, it seemed to Brownbeard that they
might be frowning. Or grimacing.
“I’m just looking,” replied Brownbeard.
“Well, look as long as you would like. I keep
the shop open right up until the break of day.”
“Thank-you,” said Brownbeard.
The two bright-eyed skull-men regarded
Brownbeard in silence, like two wolves gazing
upon their dinner, patiently stalking, waiting for
the chance to end the hunt. Brownbeard pretended
to browse through the shop’s items. His two
companions continued to watch him. Brownbeard
looked over at them, but found it hard to stomach
the un-natural glint of their fiery eyes.
The little man who was the proprietor of the
place stood behind a small desk and just smiled at
his would be customers. Perhaps this fellow knew
Brownbeard’s predicament and was willing to help
him by providing a safe haven. For reasons
unknown, the boney devils seemed loath to do
violence to Brownbeard in the shopkeeper’s
presence. An exhausted Brownbeard planned to
stay here until the sun shone.
Brownbeard aimlessly walked around the
place and began to pick up items and look at
them. He’d pick up a piece of jewelry or a book, a
timepiece or a miniature statue. He would look at
the item intently, inspecting it from all sides,
sometimes just studying, sometimes prodding or
pushing or flipping or leafing whatever it was he
happened to hold. Then, Brownbeard would place
the item back down and move on.
The two wraiths would walk to the same spot
Brownbeard had just stood. One of the two would
pick up the item Brownbeard had just examined.
Holding whatever object it happened to be in its
boney claw, the one skeleton would show the item
to its twin. The one skeleton thumbed through a
worn copy of The Meaning of Relativity by Albert
Einstein that Brownbeard had just held, and then
showed it to its partner. The second skeleton
nodded its skull in acknowledgment. Another
time, the one skeleton followed to an item
Brownbeard had been examining and proceeded to
poke buttons and turn dials upon a rather bulky
contraption. This device made a lot of noise and
wind whenever a certain button was pushed and a
certain knob was twisted. The one skeleton
pointed the machine out to its partner. The other
just shrugged its collarbones.
This went on and on, yet Brownbeard had not
looked at even a tiny fraction of all the stuff that
filled the curious little shop. The skeletons kept a
certain distance from Brownbeard so long as the
proprietor kept vigil. Then, in a break from the
routine that had been established, from a table full
of mirrors in varying shapes and sizes, the one
skeleton picked up a particular small mirror and
emitted a low, raspy, wheezing sound.
Brownbeard thought maybe the skeleton was
trying to whistle. It showed the mirror to the other
skeleton, which nodded its head in vigorous
agreement. The one skeleton walked over to the
shop owner and presented the mirror.
“That will be ten, please,” informed the
shopkeeper.
The skeleton pulled out a gold card and
handed it to the little man, who slid the card
through a small box. Nothing happened for a few
minutes as everybody waited. The little man
drummed his pudgy fingers on the counter. The
one skeleton crossed its arms and tapped its
shoeless foot. The other just watched the small
box. Brownbeard watched the three and listened.
The little man looked at the box and furrowed his
eyebrows.
“Sorry, it says it can’t accept your card.”
The one skeleton smacked its skull in
frustration. The other just bowed its skull and
shook it in dismay. The one skeleton searched
through its robes and pulled out some coins. It
urged its partner to do the same. The other
managed to scrounge some coins. They placed the
coins on the counter before the little man.
“Ah, it looks like you’re a bit short,” said the
proprietor. “This is an extraordinary mirror, so I
can’t sell it to you for one farthing less than list
price. But I tell you what. I will hold this mirror
for you one more night.”
The one skeleton let out what must have been
a shriek of disgust. The two black clad grave
dwellers, with a quick glance of their hot eyes
towards Brownbeard, exited the store. There was
still an hour left of night until the cock crowed.
Brownbeard stared after the shutting door,
wondering what had just transpired.
New Ferry. Brownbeard did not care that the old
part of New Ferry was not the best part of town.
Though not the safest or cleanest section, it was a
place with which Brownbeard was familiar. He
had been visiting old New Ferry ever since he was
a young boy, and Brownbeard knew by name
several of the characters who called this part of
town home. But Brownbeard was by no means
safe. At the very least he might be robbed.
Standing by his lonesome on the sidewalk,
under the dim light of a candle burning beside the
Petulant Pelican’s menu, Brownbeard caught a
shadow flick in and then out of his peripheral
vision. He turned to look. Brownbeard thought he
saw something dart into an alley about a block
away. Brownbeard checked his sword and dagger.
He did not want a fight. This person tailing him
might have comrades ready to jump him should he
turn the wrong corner.
The novice pirate captain considered going
into the Petulant Pelican. There, he could always
wait his pursuers out until daylight. He couldn’t
head to his parents’ home without heading through
the darkest part of old New Ferry, and then the
path led through even darker woods. Should a
gang of murderous thugs follow him that far, he
would be beyond help or hope. No, the safest bet
would be to head into the tavern and sit there until
the sun rose.
“Ah, dang!” he hissed. “The tavern probably
closes before sunrise.”
Brownbeard scanned the Pelican’s menu.
There, up at the top of the menu, in plain Olde
English read the hours of the establishment. One
hour past sunset to one hour before sunrise. That
left Brownbeard with one hour to avoid this
shadow in the night while alone on the streets.
Brownbeard glanced back towards the alley. A
tall, thin splotch of black slowly inched its way
towards him. As soon as Brownbeard looked its
way, it froze. But not soon enough. Brownbeard
clearly saw that something was there. An upright
shadow where no shadow should be.
It was very hard to see, but Brownbeard knew that
it was there, and that whatever it was, it was not
good. The hair on the back of Brownbeard’s neck
began to slowly rise to attention. He felt a
presence from the opposite side of the street.
Brownbeard snapped his head in that direction and
saw another tall thin shadow, a twin of the first,
freeze in place as Brownbeard glared at it. As he
stared in fear at the second wraith, the first
continued its approach towards its prey.
Brownbeard pulled on the Petulant Pelican’s door.
He pushed upon the door. The door would not
budge! Brownbeard pounded upon the door.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Hey! Open up! Please! I’
m thirsty! I’ll pay whatever you’d charge me for a
hot chocolate! Please open!”
But there was no answer. Brownbeard turned
and walked square into the middle of the street.
“Should I fight here where someone might hear
my plight and lend a hand?” Brownbeard asked
himself. “Or should I run?”
Brownbeard looked and saw the exact nature
of his dilemma. There was nowhere to run. The
shadows approached from either side of the street,
trapping him in between. They were just a few
yards away. Brownbeard placed one trembling
hand upon his sword, the other upon his dagger.
He was about to draw and make his stand when he
noticed a wee light flicker in a window across the
street from the tavern. Brownbeard raced for the
door next to the window just as the wraiths met
upon the spot his boots had stood. Brownbeard
pushed hard upon the door and said a prayer of
thanks as he fell into a tiny little gift shop, dimly
lit with a few scattered candles. Never removing
his hand from his sword’s handle, Brownbeard
drew himself up to his feet and walked briskly
around a large table laden with all sorts of odds
and ends. With the table between him and the
shop’s entrance, Brownbeard stood trembling,
waiting to see what might follow through the door.
The two shadows stepped into the gift shop.
Dressed head to toe in black blacker than the
blackest of Blackbeard’s belongings, the two
wraiths were visions of dread. From under their
large black hoods, two blanched skulls grinned at
Brownbeard. Brownbeard blinked hoping to dispel
the mirage and awake from the horror. But no!
They were still there.
Of course, Brownbeard was able to rationalize
about the origin of these apparitions before him
while at the same time dancing on the cliff edge of
panic. This was just another “I’m freaking out
under pressure” episode. When the office grind
became too much at Snookie, Pitts, and
Fropenheimer, his mind conjured up nasty
numbers trying to knock his noggin from his neck.
Now that he couldn’t succeed in mustering up a
crew to sail the For Sale, it was skeletons in black!
“Very interesting,” observed Brownbeard.
“The mind is an amazing thing! Oh, and look there!
Their eye sockets are aglow with blood-red flame.
How nice.”
The two monsters began to advance on their
quarry. Brownbeard backed away into a tight
corner of the cluttered shop.
“Can machinations of my mind do me harm?”
asked Brownbeard aloud, directing his question to
his nightmare. “Yes, you sure look menacing
enough.”
Adrenaline pumping, white knuckles gripping
his sword, Brownbeard prepared to do battle one
more time with one of his bad dreams, or one that
another had generously decided to share with him.
“May I help you gentlemen with something?”
The skeletons stopped in their tracks.
Brownbeard and they turned to face a small,
peculiar looking gentleman with twinkling black
eyes and pointy ears that would look fitting on an
elf. He had a bit of a paunch, as though he were
accustomed to eating well.
The two skeletons silently shook their heads in
the negative. Though their teeth were bared in a
permanent grin, it seemed to Brownbeard that they
might be frowning. Or grimacing.
“I’m just looking,” replied Brownbeard.
“Well, look as long as you would like. I keep
the shop open right up until the break of day.”
“Thank-you,” said Brownbeard.
The two bright-eyed skull-men regarded
Brownbeard in silence, like two wolves gazing
upon their dinner, patiently stalking, waiting for
the chance to end the hunt. Brownbeard pretended
to browse through the shop’s items. His two
companions continued to watch him. Brownbeard
looked over at them, but found it hard to stomach
the un-natural glint of their fiery eyes.
The little man who was the proprietor of the
place stood behind a small desk and just smiled at
his would be customers. Perhaps this fellow knew
Brownbeard’s predicament and was willing to help
him by providing a safe haven. For reasons
unknown, the boney devils seemed loath to do
violence to Brownbeard in the shopkeeper’s
presence. An exhausted Brownbeard planned to
stay here until the sun shone.
Brownbeard aimlessly walked around the
place and began to pick up items and look at
them. He’d pick up a piece of jewelry or a book, a
timepiece or a miniature statue. He would look at
the item intently, inspecting it from all sides,
sometimes just studying, sometimes prodding or
pushing or flipping or leafing whatever it was he
happened to hold. Then, Brownbeard would place
the item back down and move on.
The two wraiths would walk to the same spot
Brownbeard had just stood. One of the two would
pick up the item Brownbeard had just examined.
Holding whatever object it happened to be in its
boney claw, the one skeleton would show the item
to its twin. The one skeleton thumbed through a
worn copy of The Meaning of Relativity by Albert
Einstein that Brownbeard had just held, and then
showed it to its partner. The second skeleton
nodded its skull in acknowledgment. Another
time, the one skeleton followed to an item
Brownbeard had been examining and proceeded to
poke buttons and turn dials upon a rather bulky
contraption. This device made a lot of noise and
wind whenever a certain button was pushed and a
certain knob was twisted. The one skeleton
pointed the machine out to its partner. The other
just shrugged its collarbones.
This went on and on, yet Brownbeard had not
looked at even a tiny fraction of all the stuff that
filled the curious little shop. The skeletons kept a
certain distance from Brownbeard so long as the
proprietor kept vigil. Then, in a break from the
routine that had been established, from a table full
of mirrors in varying shapes and sizes, the one
skeleton picked up a particular small mirror and
emitted a low, raspy, wheezing sound.
Brownbeard thought maybe the skeleton was
trying to whistle. It showed the mirror to the other
skeleton, which nodded its head in vigorous
agreement. The one skeleton walked over to the
shop owner and presented the mirror.
“That will be ten, please,” informed the
shopkeeper.
The skeleton pulled out a gold card and
handed it to the little man, who slid the card
through a small box. Nothing happened for a few
minutes as everybody waited. The little man
drummed his pudgy fingers on the counter. The
one skeleton crossed its arms and tapped its
shoeless foot. The other just watched the small
box. Brownbeard watched the three and listened.
The little man looked at the box and furrowed his
eyebrows.
“Sorry, it says it can’t accept your card.”
The one skeleton smacked its skull in
frustration. The other just bowed its skull and
shook it in dismay. The one skeleton searched
through its robes and pulled out some coins. It
urged its partner to do the same. The other
managed to scrounge some coins. They placed the
coins on the counter before the little man.
“Ah, it looks like you’re a bit short,” said the
proprietor. “This is an extraordinary mirror, so I
can’t sell it to you for one farthing less than list
price. But I tell you what. I will hold this mirror
for you one more night.”
The one skeleton let out what must have been
a shriek of disgust. The two black clad grave
dwellers, with a quick glance of their hot eyes
towards Brownbeard, exited the store. There was
still an hour left of night until the cock crowed.
Brownbeard stared after the shutting door,
wondering what had just transpired.
The Adventures of Short Stubbly Brownbeard
Alan J. Levine
* * *
Chapter Fifteen - Malevolent Machinations
of the Mind
of the Mind
Buy yer hard copy
at . . .
at . . .
Want to support
children's literature?
That's great! But
instead, why don't you
go to the followin'
links to buy yer own
miserable copy of
Brownbeard and
support Pirates
Anonymous? We've
been assisting pirates
with mental health and
hygiene issues since
1633. Brownbeard is
also available to
schools and libraries
through wholesalers
like Follett, Ingram,
and Baker & Taylor.
children's literature?
That's great! But
instead, why don't you
go to the followin'
links to buy yer own
miserable copy of
Brownbeard and
support Pirates
Anonymous? We've
been assisting pirates
with mental health and
hygiene issues since
1633. Brownbeard is
also available to
schools and libraries
through wholesalers
like Follett, Ingram,
and Baker & Taylor.
