Creeps by Night: Chills and Thrills

“It must have been lonely,” he managed to gasp.

“Lonely ain’t no word fer it,” Perks said with a shake of his head. “It’s been unsocial as ’ell. I’ve been livin’ a retired and ’omeless life widout even a bloke to play draughts wid!”

Here Seaside saw tears stream down the poor fellow’s cheeks. “You like to play draughts?” he asked, his fright now gone.

The ghost’s eyes brightened with an unearthly light. “It’s been my lifelong ’abit,” he replied, “and even since my late and lamented end it bides by me.” After a moment’s silence a wistful glow appeared in his eyes; he leaned forward and asked: “Matey, you don’t ’appen, let’s say, to play draughts, do you? I’ve the most ’andsome checkerboard on the north beach, beamy and symmetrical.”

Seaside told him that he played a game now and then, whereupon the ghost insisted that they go to the beach and play. Of course this suited the old native, for at least it would mean their getting out of the foul damp air of the jungle. He rose and followed Perks, who drifted among the trees, leaving a ghostly light behind him by which Seaside could with difficulty pick his way. In the course of a half hour they broke through the trees to the clean white outer beach, sparkling with moonlight and swept by a fine breeze from off the sea. Perks stopped before a large slab of coral.

“Ain’t it ’andsome?” he asked. “I marked the squares wid octopus ink, as you can see, and my men are black shells and white ones; only when I makes a king I turns ’im oyer instead of pilin’ one on top of tother, they being too round-like to stand. But I ain’t ’ad a game since my sad end, it bein’ against nature fer a ghost to move the men. Before my decease I played myself.”

“That must have been a tiresome game,” Seaside ventured.

“Strike me pink, but it was awful,” Perks said; “always winning from myself, one way or t’other! It got so discouragin’, never winning a game decisive-like, that I put an end to it all and done away wid myself!”

They sat with the slab between them and started a game, Seaside moving Perks’ men for him. One game after the other he lost to the ghost, sometimes no more than getting a single man to the king row. The night waned, but still they played. Perks became more and more excited over the game; he would scream like a banshee when he won, and an evil glint would come into his eyes when he jumped three men at once or slipped into a saddle between two of Seaside’s men. They were near the end of their twentieth game when dawn broke. Gradually Perks dissolved in the morning light, and his voice became fainter until it was lost in a scarcely audible moan which told Seaside of another game he had lost.

The old native looked up from the checkerboard. The sun was just breaking above the horizon; in the offing lay the Pirara, her boat over the side and not twenty yards from the reef.

Seaside told me there was the devil to pay when he met Captain Andy and tried to explain why he had no birds’ eggs and why he hadn’t been on the reef the evening before. He mentioned something about being delayed by a ghost; but at this the captain flew off the handle, cursing all superstitious sailors to Gehenna and back again. Seaside stood it as long as he could; then slunk forward and told his story to the sailors. They all knew it was true, and sympathized mightily.

But the strange thing was that, as soon as he came on deck the next night to stand his watch, there was Alexander Perks waiting for him, smiling and bowing and lifting his hat and suggesting a game of draughts. The old gentleman had stowed away, slipping into the ship’s boat under cover of daylight!

Seaside broke from his story, turned quickly and said: “All right, Perks, I’m coming.”

A cold shiver ran down my back. There, not six feet away, was a strange misty thing, bowing extravagantly and lifting his hat. I shook myself to dispel the illusion; then turned aft, refusing to glance toward the thing for several moments, for I don’t believe in ghosts and don’t want my convictions shaken by hallucinations. When I did turn, both Seaside and the imaginary Perks were gone.

IV

“Lackadaisy!” the old Pirara groaned while I was putting in my twelve-to-four watch below. “Death comes to old and young alike.”

“What a hackneyed thing to say!” I replied sharply — the old hooker had nearly wakened me. “You might be a little more original.”

“Patience, my son,” she went on, a note of true pathos in her voice. “You should be more considerate of the dying.”

“Dying?”

“Alas, yes; my day has come, and now I find myself so close to Christening Grooves that—”

“Christening Grooves! What’s that?”