Back aboard the For Sale, a tired Brownbeard
looked at his purchase.
“Yes, I am a fool,” he said with a smile. “Well,
let us try it out.”
Brownbeard shook the box. The tiny rocks
within rattled with gentle thuds against the soft felt
lining the box’s inside. Brownbeard gently set the
box down upon the wooden planks of the deck. It
looked pretty in the morning sunlight, but was not
extraordinary in appearance. He opened the top of
the box and peered inside.
“Hmmm, I don’t see anything that looks like
letters or words. I just see a jumble of turquoise
colored pebbles.”
Brownbeard put the lid back on and tried again.
After several seconds of vigorous shaking, he set
the box down and looked.
“Phew! I still don’t see anything.”
Brownbeard tried again and again, but he was
not capable of seeing anything in the box except
rocks. Staring hard with eyes wide open, or
squinting until hardly any light shone through his
lids, he could not see anything but rocks, rocks,
rocks. Rocks.
“Uh, maybe that’s a ‘j’ or a ‘g’. Or is it an ‘f’ or
an ‘r’? How do I make a poem or a song of that?
Oh, I’ll just try something. Fa—fa—uhm—fa-fa-la-
la-ja-ba-la—”
Brownbeard giggled. Whew! Boy! This was
silly. Then, he just went for it.
Fa-Fa La-La Ja-Ba-La,
Simple rhymes go Ta-Da-Da,
Singing songs with nothing there,
Making words with not a care!
Rumbo Rumbo in me tumbo,
Me tummy say it got no gumbo,
Where I go I do not know,
Let sun shine with golden snow!
I see mountains, I see beach,
I’m a gnat, the world my peach,
Fa-Fa La-La Sis-Boom-Bah,
Time to go see Hoo Dee Da!
Let me go with safety speed,
And come right back with all I need,
Waffle-Schmaffle, Hee-Haw-Lauffle,
With mud and smoke I make falafel!
Brownbeard stood and looked at his box of
rocks.
“Wow! How did I get that out of that?” he
wondered.
Brownbeard looked around the For Sale.
Everything seemed normal. The sound of the
waves sloshing against the ship, the sunshine and
shadows—everything seemed just as it had before.
“Obviously, I’m hungry,” said Brownbeard,
thinking about his poem. “I guess now would be a
good time to go visit mom and dad and raid the
cupboard. Brownbeard placed his box in a chest
upon the deck and took off to visit his folks.
* * *
Upon arriving at the small cottage house,
Brownbeard noticed that his dad’s fishing boat
was gone. A little river ran alongside the home of
Brownbeard’s parents. In the mornings, Greybeard
would sail his vessel downstream the five or so
miles out to sea, and in the evenings, back inland
to tie it right up alongside the family home. The
dock led right to the home’s front door.
Brownbeard did not see anyone outside.
The garden alongside the home drank up as
much morning sunlight as the tall trees would
allow. Most of the garden was just a few tiny
sprigs of green beginning to poke through the
neatly formed rows of soil. Part of the garden was
green and lush, though it was not yet spring. There
was rosemary and sage, thyme and oregano. There
was a thick patch of lemon-yellow daffodils
framing the herb patch and offsetting it from the
baby vegetables. Brownbeard stopped to admire
his mother’s work. She was a wonderful gardener
who, from the shade-swamped, rock-ridden earth,
could coax the greenery out with promises of
being grilled or sautéed, simmered or baked to
delicious perfection in some soup, chowder, salad,
or casserole. As if this were the best fate possible
for a vegetable or herb, up each came waiting to
be taken as mere plant, and by the skill of her
hands, be given its proper place as culinary gem in
some edible masterpiece.
“Sea snakes alive! I’m hungry!” said
Brownbeard as he stopped stopping to admire the
garden and went inside.
“Hi, Mom! I’m home!” announced
Brownbeard. There was no answer.
“I wonder if she went out with Dad?” he
wondered. “Or maybe she went into town and we
just missed each other on the trail.
Brownbeard opened a cabinet. Not much in the
way of food was inside.
“Ha! I know!” said Brownbeard with glee. He
pulled out an iron skillet and some utensils. He
got a fire going in the hearth and began boiling
water and heating the skillet. He went out to the
smokehouse and retrieved some delicious bacon.
He went towards the henhouse. As he walked
through the chicken coop, the hens and the rooster
began to protest as soon as he opened the gate.
The rooster ran towards his feet, pecked and
squawked at him, and then ran away as though he
discovered Brownbeard was a fox.
“Why are you chickens acting so weird?”
Brownbeard asked. “Has it been that long since
you’ve seen me?”
The chickens gathered in a corner of the coop
as far away from Brownbeard as possible,
protesting his presence, but none taking a step his
way. Brownbeard stopped to look behind him to
see if there was something there frightening them.
Just the woods. Everything seemed fine.
Everything except the chickens. Brownbeard went
on into the henhouse and woke a sleeping hen who
screeched in terror as Brownbeard lifted her tail
and quickly removed two eggs. Setting her back
down, the hen stood up and pecked at the air
madly, raving and screaming in fright.
“Yow! Maybe I smell bad!” said Brownbeard.
“Guess I’ll wash up after breakfast.”
Back in the house, Brownbeard got the bacon
going. His stomach began quivering in anticipation
as the wonderful aroma of the sizzling strips filled
the kitchen. Unable to wait for everything to
finish, Brownbeard ate each strip of bacon as it
came done in delicious perfection. After
devouring several pieces, Brownbeard decided it
was time for the eggs. Saving a bit of the boiling
grease, he cracked a couple of eggs into the pan
and savored the soft roar. Just then, the door
behind him opened, and into the kitchen stepped
Brownbeard’s mother.
“Hi, Mom!” said Brownbeard cheerfully.
Brownbeard’s mom stepped cautiously into the
kitchen.
“Hello? Anybody home?” she asked.
“Yes! I’m home Mom!” said Brownbeard.
Brownbeard’s mom walked over to the hearth,
inspected the eggs with eyebrows furrowed in
consternation. Then, without more, she took a pail
of water and dumped it on the cooking eggs and
the fire. There was a sizable and sonorous protest
of hissing steam upon the cold water splashing
down over the scorching skillet and flames.
“Mother! What are you doing?” asked
Brownbeard in astonishment. “It’s just some frying
eggs!”
Mom’s eyes began to grow wide in
astonishment. Her neck craned forward and her
head cocked to one side as though she were
listening to something tiny and hard to hear. “What
voice is that I hear?” she asked.
“It’s me, Mom. It’s me. What’s wrong with
you? Are you losing your hearing?” shouted
Brownbeard.
Now Mom’s eyes bulged with fright and she let
out a banshee scream.
A startled Brownbeard screamed back, “Mom!
Mom! Stop it! It’s me! It’s me, Brownbeard!”
“No! No! That’s not my son’s voice! I know my
son’s voice! Who are you?” Brownbeard’s mom
cried.
“It is me Mom! Look at me!” said Brownbeard.
“Where? Where are you?”
“I’m right here,” said Brownbeard, grabbing his
mom by the shoulders and shaking her.
Mom’s eyes stared blankly somewhere around
Brownbeard’s neck. She let out another scream of
terror and would not stop no matter how hard
Brownbeard shook her. So, Brownbeard decided
after some time to stop shaking his mom. He just
gripped her by the shoulders, begging her to stop
this silly and weird behavior.
“Mom! Look at me! Why won’t you look at
me?” cried a desperate Brownbeard.
“Ahhhh! Let me go! Evil spirit! Let me go!”
Mom wailed.
Brownbeard let go as tears filled his eyes.
“Mom! What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong
with me?”
Mom fled up the stairs still screaming.
Brownbeard followed. Mom slammed the door to
her bedroom shut. Brownbeard knocked on the
door.
“Mom! Please listen! You’ve got to know it’s
me! How can you not know it’s me?”
“I know my son! He doesn’t have a high-
pitched, squeaky little voice that comes from out
of the thin air! Don’t try to fool me you tricky
ghost! Now get out of my house!”
“Mom! Maybe you just don’t feel well. Take a
nap and it will be all better.”
To that, Brownbeard’s mom screamed again
and said some very ugly things. Brownbeard
collapsed against the wall and wept. What was
wrong? How could his own mother not recognize
him? He was not invisible! He had checked his
appearance in his cabin mirror just this morning.
His voice was not a high-pitched squeak! It
sounded full and deep like the young man he was.
These events were deeply troubling. Brownbeard
sat down in the hallway and bowed his head into
his hands. What should he do?
The morning turned into afternoon, the
afternoon into evening. Brownbeard remained
seated in the hall just outside his parents’
bedroom door. Mom stayed locked inside. As the
shadows grew longer, there was the sound of
tromping feet coming up the dock. Then the front
door opened. Brownbeard’s father Greybeard was
home.
“Honey! I’m home! Where are you? Are you
asleep?” asked Greybeard’s voice from below.
“I’m not coming out until it’s gone!” came the
answer from the other side of the door.
“What did you say? I can’t hear you,” said
Greybeard as he entered the foyer and began
making his way up the stairs towards where
Brownbeard was sitting. Brownbeard slowly stood
up and watched as his dad approached.
“I said I’m not coming out until it’s gone!” said
Mom.
“Until what’s gone, Ethel? What are you talking
about?”
“The evil spirit that’s been harassing me since I
got home from my morning errands!” wailed Mom.
“Evil spirit? Oh Ethel, what did you do? That
wine in the cupboard is only for special occasions
and company,” said Greybeard.
“I haven’t touched any wine! I’m sober,
Greybeard!” shouted Mom.
Greybeard now stood outside the bedroom
door, his nose just inches from Brownbeard’s nose.
“Well, I think the spirit must be gone, because
there is nothing out here,” said Greybeard in a
reassuring tone.
“Can’t you see me, Dad?” asked Brownbeard
quietly.
“What’s that Ethel?” said Greybeard.
“Dad, it’s me,” said Brownbeard.
“Ethel, speak up! Your voice is all soft and
squeaky. What’s the matter with you? Open the
door,” said Greybeard.
“I didn’t say anything,” said Brownbeard’s
mom. “It’s that cursed spirit!”
Brownbeard tapped his dad upon the shoulder.
Turning, Greybeard looked right at him.
“Hi, Dad,” said Brownbeard.
“What’s that?” said Greybeard.
Brownbeard again touched his father gently
upon the shoulder. His dad jumped back. This
time his eyes were wide with fright.
“Aagh! My wife’s not insane. There’s
something in the house!” shouted Greybeard.
“What do you want with us, spirit? Have you an
argument against us? Identify yourself!”
“It’s me Dad! It’s Brownbeard!”
“Liar! My son is not a spirit! And he doesn’t
have the voice of a mouse! Why are you lying!”
said Greybeard angrily.
A large weight fell heavy upon Brownbeard’s
soul. He was very sad and confused.
“I’ll leave you two in peace. I love you both,”
said Brownbeard as he turned and walked towards
the stairs.
Greybeard did not say anything. He stood there
and watched in fright after the sound of invisible
footsteps going downstairs. A sorrowful
Brownbeard looked back. It was now obvious his
mom and dad could not see him, but why this was
so he could not fathom.
Brownbeard walked a long, lonely walk back to
the For Sale in the deep shadow of evening. As he
walked along the wharf, he saw many people, but
they did not see him. He saw a large, tough
looking old salt walking with some mates.
Brownbeard walked right into him so they banged
chest to gut. The large man stepped back in
shock. His mates looked at him curiously.
“What’s the matter, Captain Greentoe?” asked
one of the men.
Captain Greentoe just stared and waved his
hand in the air in front of him.
Brownbeard walked right up to him and
shouted, “What’s the matter, Captain? Don’t you
know the voice of a ghost when it speaks to you?”
Captain Greentoe’s jaw dropped. He
instinctively drew his sword and held it before
him, just inches from Brownbeard’s nose. But his
hand was trembling with fright. Captain
Greentoe’s men all heard the voice of Brownbeard
and stepped back with eyes wide open in
disbelief, swords drawn and pointing in various
directions, not sure where to swing.
Brownbeard snuck between Captain Greentoe
and another man so that he now stood behind
them. With a quick push that was not hard, but
enough to throw him off balance, Brownbeard
struck Captain Greentoe on the back and yelled as
loud and as deep as he could, “Boo!”
Captain Greentoe and his band of rough looking
sea monkeys yelled in fright and ran away down
the dock. Brownbeard laughed. A morose
Brownbeard’s sense of humor was becoming a tad
cruel.
“So, it is true. I am a ghost! How did this
happen? Am I dead? I don’t remember dying.
When did it happen?”
Back aboard the For Sale, a physically and
emotionally worn out Brownbeard wrapped
himself in a blanket, and lay on the deck watching
the stars. He did not know where to go now. But if
he was a ghost, that certainly gave him some
advantages for his new career. Maybe he did not
need a crew. After all, he had just scared silly a
bunch of tough and dirty sailors all by himself.
This was a useful ability for a pirate, especially
for a pirate working alone.
Ah! But where to go now? What to do?
Brownbeard thought about the strange box he had
bought. He pushed himself up, went to the chest
he had placed it in, and pulled the box out.
Brownbeard ran his fingertip back and forth along
one of its six longer edges, feeling its silky
covering. He contemplated throwing it overboard
as it seemed rather useless. But maybe that was
not a good idea. Maybe it took time for the box to
warm up. Brownbeard lay back down underneath
his blanket, one arm out over his chest, box resting
in the crook of his elbow like a teddy bear.
Drifting off to sleep, Brownbeard knew one thing
for sure. He was weighing anchor at the first light
of day. Crew or no crew, it was time to be a pirate.
* * *
At the midpoint between sunset and sunrise,
two tall visitors in black noiselessly drifted up to
the edge of the wharf where the For Sale rocked
gently. They watched and listened as Brownbeard
snored peacefully on the deck. One of the
creatures seemed readying to fly across the gap
and board the ship when the second grabbed its
boney arm. The second creature pointed to the
box that rested in the arm of the sleeping
Brownbeard. The first being smashed a clenched
fist into its open skeletal palm in frustration. The
second shook its head in admonishment to the first
and made earnest hand gestures to its partner.
Slowly, the first skeleton began to nod its skull as
the second made its point. With eyes aflame, the
two watched Brownbeard for a little while longer.
But soon tiring of this watch, still hours before
sunrise, the two visitors in black departed the For
Sale and disappeared into the night.
looked at his purchase.
“Yes, I am a fool,” he said with a smile. “Well,
let us try it out.”
Brownbeard shook the box. The tiny rocks
within rattled with gentle thuds against the soft felt
lining the box’s inside. Brownbeard gently set the
box down upon the wooden planks of the deck. It
looked pretty in the morning sunlight, but was not
extraordinary in appearance. He opened the top of
the box and peered inside.
“Hmmm, I don’t see anything that looks like
letters or words. I just see a jumble of turquoise
colored pebbles.”
Brownbeard put the lid back on and tried again.
After several seconds of vigorous shaking, he set
the box down and looked.
“Phew! I still don’t see anything.”
Brownbeard tried again and again, but he was
not capable of seeing anything in the box except
rocks. Staring hard with eyes wide open, or
squinting until hardly any light shone through his
lids, he could not see anything but rocks, rocks,
rocks. Rocks.
“Uh, maybe that’s a ‘j’ or a ‘g’. Or is it an ‘f’ or
an ‘r’? How do I make a poem or a song of that?
Oh, I’ll just try something. Fa—fa—uhm—fa-fa-la-
la-ja-ba-la—”
Brownbeard giggled. Whew! Boy! This was
silly. Then, he just went for it.
Fa-Fa La-La Ja-Ba-La,
Simple rhymes go Ta-Da-Da,
Singing songs with nothing there,
Making words with not a care!
Rumbo Rumbo in me tumbo,
Me tummy say it got no gumbo,
Where I go I do not know,
Let sun shine with golden snow!
I see mountains, I see beach,
I’m a gnat, the world my peach,
Fa-Fa La-La Sis-Boom-Bah,
Time to go see Hoo Dee Da!
Let me go with safety speed,
And come right back with all I need,
Waffle-Schmaffle, Hee-Haw-Lauffle,
With mud and smoke I make falafel!
Brownbeard stood and looked at his box of
rocks.
“Wow! How did I get that out of that?” he
wondered.
Brownbeard looked around the For Sale.
Everything seemed normal. The sound of the
waves sloshing against the ship, the sunshine and
shadows—everything seemed just as it had before.
“Obviously, I’m hungry,” said Brownbeard,
thinking about his poem. “I guess now would be a
good time to go visit mom and dad and raid the
cupboard. Brownbeard placed his box in a chest
upon the deck and took off to visit his folks.
* * *
Upon arriving at the small cottage house,
Brownbeard noticed that his dad’s fishing boat
was gone. A little river ran alongside the home of
Brownbeard’s parents. In the mornings, Greybeard
would sail his vessel downstream the five or so
miles out to sea, and in the evenings, back inland
to tie it right up alongside the family home. The
dock led right to the home’s front door.
Brownbeard did not see anyone outside.
The garden alongside the home drank up as
much morning sunlight as the tall trees would
allow. Most of the garden was just a few tiny
sprigs of green beginning to poke through the
neatly formed rows of soil. Part of the garden was
green and lush, though it was not yet spring. There
was rosemary and sage, thyme and oregano. There
was a thick patch of lemon-yellow daffodils
framing the herb patch and offsetting it from the
baby vegetables. Brownbeard stopped to admire
his mother’s work. She was a wonderful gardener
who, from the shade-swamped, rock-ridden earth,
could coax the greenery out with promises of
being grilled or sautéed, simmered or baked to
delicious perfection in some soup, chowder, salad,
or casserole. As if this were the best fate possible
for a vegetable or herb, up each came waiting to
be taken as mere plant, and by the skill of her
hands, be given its proper place as culinary gem in
some edible masterpiece.
“Sea snakes alive! I’m hungry!” said
Brownbeard as he stopped stopping to admire the
garden and went inside.
“Hi, Mom! I’m home!” announced
Brownbeard. There was no answer.
“I wonder if she went out with Dad?” he
wondered. “Or maybe she went into town and we
just missed each other on the trail.
Brownbeard opened a cabinet. Not much in the
way of food was inside.
“Ha! I know!” said Brownbeard with glee. He
pulled out an iron skillet and some utensils. He
got a fire going in the hearth and began boiling
water and heating the skillet. He went out to the
smokehouse and retrieved some delicious bacon.
He went towards the henhouse. As he walked
through the chicken coop, the hens and the rooster
began to protest as soon as he opened the gate.
The rooster ran towards his feet, pecked and
squawked at him, and then ran away as though he
discovered Brownbeard was a fox.
“Why are you chickens acting so weird?”
Brownbeard asked. “Has it been that long since
you’ve seen me?”
The chickens gathered in a corner of the coop
as far away from Brownbeard as possible,
protesting his presence, but none taking a step his
way. Brownbeard stopped to look behind him to
see if there was something there frightening them.
Just the woods. Everything seemed fine.
Everything except the chickens. Brownbeard went
on into the henhouse and woke a sleeping hen who
screeched in terror as Brownbeard lifted her tail
and quickly removed two eggs. Setting her back
down, the hen stood up and pecked at the air
madly, raving and screaming in fright.
“Yow! Maybe I smell bad!” said Brownbeard.
“Guess I’ll wash up after breakfast.”
Back in the house, Brownbeard got the bacon
going. His stomach began quivering in anticipation
as the wonderful aroma of the sizzling strips filled
the kitchen. Unable to wait for everything to
finish, Brownbeard ate each strip of bacon as it
came done in delicious perfection. After
devouring several pieces, Brownbeard decided it
was time for the eggs. Saving a bit of the boiling
grease, he cracked a couple of eggs into the pan
and savored the soft roar. Just then, the door
behind him opened, and into the kitchen stepped
Brownbeard’s mother.
“Hi, Mom!” said Brownbeard cheerfully.
Brownbeard’s mom stepped cautiously into the
kitchen.
“Hello? Anybody home?” she asked.
“Yes! I’m home Mom!” said Brownbeard.
Brownbeard’s mom walked over to the hearth,
inspected the eggs with eyebrows furrowed in
consternation. Then, without more, she took a pail
of water and dumped it on the cooking eggs and
the fire. There was a sizable and sonorous protest
of hissing steam upon the cold water splashing
down over the scorching skillet and flames.
“Mother! What are you doing?” asked
Brownbeard in astonishment. “It’s just some frying
eggs!”
Mom’s eyes began to grow wide in
astonishment. Her neck craned forward and her
head cocked to one side as though she were
listening to something tiny and hard to hear. “What
voice is that I hear?” she asked.
“It’s me, Mom. It’s me. What’s wrong with
you? Are you losing your hearing?” shouted
Brownbeard.
Now Mom’s eyes bulged with fright and she let
out a banshee scream.
A startled Brownbeard screamed back, “Mom!
Mom! Stop it! It’s me! It’s me, Brownbeard!”
“No! No! That’s not my son’s voice! I know my
son’s voice! Who are you?” Brownbeard’s mom
cried.
“It is me Mom! Look at me!” said Brownbeard.
“Where? Where are you?”
“I’m right here,” said Brownbeard, grabbing his
mom by the shoulders and shaking her.
Mom’s eyes stared blankly somewhere around
Brownbeard’s neck. She let out another scream of
terror and would not stop no matter how hard
Brownbeard shook her. So, Brownbeard decided
after some time to stop shaking his mom. He just
gripped her by the shoulders, begging her to stop
this silly and weird behavior.
“Mom! Look at me! Why won’t you look at
me?” cried a desperate Brownbeard.
“Ahhhh! Let me go! Evil spirit! Let me go!”
Mom wailed.
Brownbeard let go as tears filled his eyes.
“Mom! What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong
with me?”
Mom fled up the stairs still screaming.
Brownbeard followed. Mom slammed the door to
her bedroom shut. Brownbeard knocked on the
door.
“Mom! Please listen! You’ve got to know it’s
me! How can you not know it’s me?”
“I know my son! He doesn’t have a high-
pitched, squeaky little voice that comes from out
of the thin air! Don’t try to fool me you tricky
ghost! Now get out of my house!”
“Mom! Maybe you just don’t feel well. Take a
nap and it will be all better.”
To that, Brownbeard’s mom screamed again
and said some very ugly things. Brownbeard
collapsed against the wall and wept. What was
wrong? How could his own mother not recognize
him? He was not invisible! He had checked his
appearance in his cabin mirror just this morning.
His voice was not a high-pitched squeak! It
sounded full and deep like the young man he was.
These events were deeply troubling. Brownbeard
sat down in the hallway and bowed his head into
his hands. What should he do?
The morning turned into afternoon, the
afternoon into evening. Brownbeard remained
seated in the hall just outside his parents’
bedroom door. Mom stayed locked inside. As the
shadows grew longer, there was the sound of
tromping feet coming up the dock. Then the front
door opened. Brownbeard’s father Greybeard was
home.
“Honey! I’m home! Where are you? Are you
asleep?” asked Greybeard’s voice from below.
“I’m not coming out until it’s gone!” came the
answer from the other side of the door.
“What did you say? I can’t hear you,” said
Greybeard as he entered the foyer and began
making his way up the stairs towards where
Brownbeard was sitting. Brownbeard slowly stood
up and watched as his dad approached.
“I said I’m not coming out until it’s gone!” said
Mom.
“Until what’s gone, Ethel? What are you talking
about?”
“The evil spirit that’s been harassing me since I
got home from my morning errands!” wailed Mom.
“Evil spirit? Oh Ethel, what did you do? That
wine in the cupboard is only for special occasions
and company,” said Greybeard.
“I haven’t touched any wine! I’m sober,
Greybeard!” shouted Mom.
Greybeard now stood outside the bedroom
door, his nose just inches from Brownbeard’s nose.
“Well, I think the spirit must be gone, because
there is nothing out here,” said Greybeard in a
reassuring tone.
“Can’t you see me, Dad?” asked Brownbeard
quietly.
“What’s that Ethel?” said Greybeard.
“Dad, it’s me,” said Brownbeard.
“Ethel, speak up! Your voice is all soft and
squeaky. What’s the matter with you? Open the
door,” said Greybeard.
“I didn’t say anything,” said Brownbeard’s
mom. “It’s that cursed spirit!”
Brownbeard tapped his dad upon the shoulder.
Turning, Greybeard looked right at him.
“Hi, Dad,” said Brownbeard.
“What’s that?” said Greybeard.
Brownbeard again touched his father gently
upon the shoulder. His dad jumped back. This
time his eyes were wide with fright.
“Aagh! My wife’s not insane. There’s
something in the house!” shouted Greybeard.
“What do you want with us, spirit? Have you an
argument against us? Identify yourself!”
“It’s me Dad! It’s Brownbeard!”
“Liar! My son is not a spirit! And he doesn’t
have the voice of a mouse! Why are you lying!”
said Greybeard angrily.
A large weight fell heavy upon Brownbeard’s
soul. He was very sad and confused.
“I’ll leave you two in peace. I love you both,”
said Brownbeard as he turned and walked towards
the stairs.
Greybeard did not say anything. He stood there
and watched in fright after the sound of invisible
footsteps going downstairs. A sorrowful
Brownbeard looked back. It was now obvious his
mom and dad could not see him, but why this was
so he could not fathom.
Brownbeard walked a long, lonely walk back to
the For Sale in the deep shadow of evening. As he
walked along the wharf, he saw many people, but
they did not see him. He saw a large, tough
looking old salt walking with some mates.
Brownbeard walked right into him so they banged
chest to gut. The large man stepped back in
shock. His mates looked at him curiously.
“What’s the matter, Captain Greentoe?” asked
one of the men.
Captain Greentoe just stared and waved his
hand in the air in front of him.
Brownbeard walked right up to him and
shouted, “What’s the matter, Captain? Don’t you
know the voice of a ghost when it speaks to you?”
Captain Greentoe’s jaw dropped. He
instinctively drew his sword and held it before
him, just inches from Brownbeard’s nose. But his
hand was trembling with fright. Captain
Greentoe’s men all heard the voice of Brownbeard
and stepped back with eyes wide open in
disbelief, swords drawn and pointing in various
directions, not sure where to swing.
Brownbeard snuck between Captain Greentoe
and another man so that he now stood behind
them. With a quick push that was not hard, but
enough to throw him off balance, Brownbeard
struck Captain Greentoe on the back and yelled as
loud and as deep as he could, “Boo!”
Captain Greentoe and his band of rough looking
sea monkeys yelled in fright and ran away down
the dock. Brownbeard laughed. A morose
Brownbeard’s sense of humor was becoming a tad
cruel.
“So, it is true. I am a ghost! How did this
happen? Am I dead? I don’t remember dying.
When did it happen?”
Back aboard the For Sale, a physically and
emotionally worn out Brownbeard wrapped
himself in a blanket, and lay on the deck watching
the stars. He did not know where to go now. But if
he was a ghost, that certainly gave him some
advantages for his new career. Maybe he did not
need a crew. After all, he had just scared silly a
bunch of tough and dirty sailors all by himself.
This was a useful ability for a pirate, especially
for a pirate working alone.
Ah! But where to go now? What to do?
Brownbeard thought about the strange box he had
bought. He pushed himself up, went to the chest
he had placed it in, and pulled the box out.
Brownbeard ran his fingertip back and forth along
one of its six longer edges, feeling its silky
covering. He contemplated throwing it overboard
as it seemed rather useless. But maybe that was
not a good idea. Maybe it took time for the box to
warm up. Brownbeard lay back down underneath
his blanket, one arm out over his chest, box resting
in the crook of his elbow like a teddy bear.
Drifting off to sleep, Brownbeard knew one thing
for sure. He was weighing anchor at the first light
of day. Crew or no crew, it was time to be a pirate.
* * *
At the midpoint between sunset and sunrise,
two tall visitors in black noiselessly drifted up to
the edge of the wharf where the For Sale rocked
gently. They watched and listened as Brownbeard
snored peacefully on the deck. One of the
creatures seemed readying to fly across the gap
and board the ship when the second grabbed its
boney arm. The second creature pointed to the
box that rested in the arm of the sleeping
Brownbeard. The first being smashed a clenched
fist into its open skeletal palm in frustration. The
second shook its head in admonishment to the first
and made earnest hand gestures to its partner.
Slowly, the first skeleton began to nod its skull as
the second made its point. With eyes aflame, the
two watched Brownbeard for a little while longer.
But soon tiring of this watch, still hours before
sunrise, the two visitors in black departed the For
Sale and disappeared into the night.
The Adventures of Short Stubbly Brownbeard
Alan J. Levine
* * *
Chapter Seventeen - You Won't See Me
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.
