A Spirited Gift

The ghostly presence was nothing more than my old storm knee acting up. I indulged in a banana, put my plate and glass in the sink and headed back to my room for a few more hours of sleep.

I saw a flashlight beam headed toward the bar area and wondered who was up drinking at this time of the morning. Kevin had shooed all of the drinkers out of there last night with a warning about touching any more unopened bottles.  There’d been some grumbling, but the bar patrons had cleared out. I suspected one of the drinkers had probably come back for a late-night snack slightly different than mine.

But when I got to the bar, the room was empty, quiet. I was sure I’d seen a flashlight headed this way. Maybe whoever was holding it had changed their mind and gone back to bed. Which was where I was headed. I yawned and turned to leave.

It was then that I heard the chuckle. There was no other word for it—it was a chuckle. It seemed to come from behind the bar. I approached the long wood slab carefully, thinking the late-night drinker was hiding there. Probably David or Barker.

But as I reached the bar, a light that had nothing to do with any modern-day convenience like a flashlight bloomed in a strange iridescent way. I watched as the light coalesced into a form. And the form was chuckling.

“If this be yer rum, ye be cheated, girl.”

So much for believing my ghostly friend wasn’t real.

Chapter 15

The ghost, if that’s what it was, stood about six feet tall, had thick, shaggy black hair and a mustache. He wore a red coat and a tricorn hat.

Without really thinking, I remarked, “I know you! You’re Rafe Masterson, the pirate.”

He lifted a bottle, shaking out the lace at his wrist. “It’s about time. I thought I would have to introduce myself. You all but walked into me at that blasted archive of foolishness you call a museum. Why the blazes have you kept all that bilge?”

“If we hadn’t, I wouldn’t know who you are,” I reminded him. “I’ve seen your portrait a hundred times. You look exactly the same.”

“Ye see what ye wish.” He shrugged and poured rum into the glass on the bar. “I promise you, I don’t look at all like this fantasy you’ve created. A man doesn’t age well in the grave.”

I almost laughed. It struck me as funny that I was talking to a pirate ghost. Especially the ghost of this pirate—the scourge of Duck, the man whose curse still lived with us. The dread Rafe Masterson.

He drank the rum he’d poured and smacked his lips. “Almost like drinking mother’s milk. Why the blazes do ye water it down? In my day, men would string up a tavern keeper who served slop like this.”

“It’s not watered down,” I explained. “This is probably just different—more refined than what you’re used to.”

“Well, I don’t plan to be here long enough to learn the ins and outs of this godforsaken time.” He set the glass down on the bar with a decided thud. “What the hell do you want of me, girl? Why have you bothered my sleep?”

“Me?” I did laugh now. “You’ve been following me around. Why are you here?”

“Why? Because you called me. Why else would I be here?”

“I didn’t call you—I was calling my mother. Maybe you can leave now and get her for me.” Talking to a ghost wasn’t as hard as I’d expected. Or maybe I was dreaming. I couldn’t tell.

“Yer mum, huh? She must be related. That must mean you’re related, girl. What’s your name?”

“My name is Dae O’Donnell. I’m mayor of Duck, and I assure you, my mother wasn’t related to you.”

“O‘Donnell, eh?” He stroked his chin and peered off into the dark. “I knew an O’Donnell—Lewes O’Donnell. As fine a pirate as I ever sailed with. But no relation. What’s your grandmother’s maiden name?”

I thought back. “Her name was Eleanore Bellamy.”

“Bellamy! Why didn’t you say so? That was me mum’s name before she married that scoundrel Robert Masterson. He left us to fend for ourselves when I was four. We be kin, my dear. No wonder you raised me—fooling around with the dark arts. You’d better be careful or you’ll feel the noose around your neck, or worse. They say the fire is a bad way to go. Not that hanging is any fun.”

I didn’t believe him—didn’t want to believe him. We weren’t related. There were probably dozens of Bellamys. It was ridiculous. Gramps wasn’t related to a pirate either. “I didn’t raise you from the dead, Mr. Pirate Masterson.” I stumbled over my words. “And if I did it was a mistake. Please go back to your grave or wherever now.”

“So yer mum is dead, eh?” He continued as though he hadn’t heard me. “Murdered, was she? That’s why you’re trying to raise her?”

“No.” I choked a little on the explanation. “She drove off a bridge and died in the water, they say. Her body was never found.”

He nodded. “And you had unspoken things between you. I see.”

“Then you see why you can’t help me,” I said. “Go back home now. Leave me alone.”

“Dae?” Kevin’s voice got my attention and I looked away from the bar. “Can’t sleep?”