Why, a little less than a fortnight ago, I happened to wander out onto the Champs Elysees in search of a quiet drink. Happenstance led me into a small tavern, where I sat myself into a dark corner away from the door. While sipping my brandy, I noticed a most unkempt man seated at the bar. He was well into his cups, and was bemoaning the fate of his lost shipmates. Feeling pity for this poor sot, I beckoned him over, and bid him sit down. It looked like this poor creature had gone quite some time without a decent meal, and so I ordered him some meat, and some bread to go with his beverage. He seemed most grateful for this small act of charity, and after toasting my good health numerous times, our conversation seemed to turn back towards his friends, whom he told me had been killed at sea. I asked him to tell me what exactly had happened to cause such fervent lamentation.

He proceeded to spin me a simply hellish tale of primal indiscretion, and most savage ghastly revenge. In spite of the effects of my brandy, his account of the affairs aboard his ship, La Belle Marie, turned my blood cold. I immediately arranged for his next week’s meals to be paid for. He had barely finished toasting me one last time before I had bolted out the door, and headed for home. Needless to say, I was determined to write down this perfectly impure tale while it was still fresh in my memory. I feverishly worked all through the night, and when I was finished, I knew I had something completely sinister, which I must impart unto you, my dear reader as quickly as possible.

This fellow Sebastian told me that being a sailor by trade, he has never felt comfortable having solid ground under his feet for any extended period of time, and having just returned from a voyage to Tahiti was anxious to start his journeys anew. With this in mind, a week after his return, he signed on as a crewman aboard the merchant vessel La Belle Marie. This tour of duty promised to be (or so he thought) a much shorter voyage than his recent excursion to the south seas. It was announced that La Belle Marie would be taking a cargo of luxury goods to New Orleans. The pay was standard, but since Sebastian had never been to any of our colonies in the Americas, and the ship was leaving the next day, the prospect looked like a decent one.

La Belle Marie sailed with the tide early that next morning under the command of Captain Marion Byron, who Sebastian said, was a fine seaman with over twenty years experience captaining a vessel. Byron was a huge barrel-chested man whose skin had the appearance of well-tanned leather from constant exposure to sun, salt, and wind. No matter what part of the ship you were in, you could hear his deep, thunderous voice giving orders on deck. Rumor had it that he only slept three hours a night, and that he could dive into the ocean and give whales directions on how to get to their chosen destination. Under his watchful guidance, La Belle Marie made good time across the Atlantic, and soon found herself safely moored at New Orleans.

The unloading and re-supply of the ship would take some time, and in their off hours, many of the crew went ashore to relieve their need of good food, strong drink, and warm company. To that end, Sebastian found himself along with some of his comrades at a public house where all three could be found in abundance. It did not take long before his friend Claude found himself deeply embroiled in a game of cards. Claude was a true denizen of the gaming table. Even the sweet allure of female companionship could not draw him away from a winning streak. While Claude was busy parting the regular patrons from their funds, Sebastian noticed that Jean was well on his way to finishing his first mug of hot rum punch. Jean was well known for his ability to drink all of his shipmates (with the exception of the massive Captain Byron) under the table with ease. His drink of choice was, as we have seen, hot rum punch, which, since it was quite unavailable aboard ship, usually he made up for its absence at every shore leave. And surely that rascal Louis could not have possibly already found his way into the arms of a beautiful young maiden, but alas it was so. The ladies all found that Louis possessed some intangible charm, which insured that he was never lonely for very long at any port of call.

With his friends deeply occupied, Sebastian settled into a game of billiards with one of the locals, and after a while realized that he indeed had quite a match on his hands. Sebastian had no small skill in this endeavor, but the local he was engaged with promised to be a most worthy and lengthy challenge. When the mind is so engaged in a competitive contest, especially when sums of money are involved, it is said that the players can lose all track of the time they have spent. Much the same way as how hours spent in the embrace of a beautiful woman can seem like the barest of moments. It was just so in this case. For example, while in the second hour of his game, Sebastian took no notice of how his other shipmates all disappeared upstairs, where it was said a man could enjoy the company of a young lady for a short while, provided he could pay the necessary fee.

By the time Sebastian was well into his third hour of billiards, he was ahead one hundred Francs, and was getting ready to deliver the coup de grace. All that remained was one final shot. The eight ball stood there like an enormous black eye, staring at him. It was in perfect position; a pocket hanger was the term often used for this situation. The ball was ready to be buried, and with it, his opponent’s hopes of leaving with any money at all that evening. Sebastian settled himself down, and positioned himself for his shot. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, as all noise from the outside world was shut out. His breathing slowed, and he drew back his cue, knowing that this shot would bring him another hundred Francs, more money than he could hope to make just with his pay as a sailor. Without warning, a blood-curdling shriek pierced through his concentration like a musket ball. He looked up to see his three friends bolting down the stairs! Before he quite knew what was happening, Claude had grabbed him by his arm, and was dragging him out into the street, without the boon of his extra hundred Francs no less! Over his shoulder, Sebastian could see a woman standing in the doorway with blood on her hands. It was she who let out the awful cry, and who was now screaming,

“Murderers!” The woman was gesticulating wildly at Sebastian and his friends as they ran away. She was speaking their native tongue, and in the bedlam of fleeing, Sebastian thought he could hear her scream out a curse at them. His friends were hurrying him down towards the pier where the Belle Marie was docked. Just when he thought his lungs would explode from the surprise and effort of running through town, the four companions reached the ship, still safely moored, awaiting the morning. They slowly climbed aboard and after a few minutes to settle down, Sebastian asked his friends repeatedly what happened. His three shipmates all stared at each other for a long time in what Sebastian knew was a guilty silence. Louis was rinsing his hands in a bucket on deck. Sebastian was sure some evil deed had been committed by his friends that evening, but they all remained as silent as the grave.

Not long after this one sided conversation, and with his friends asleep below, Sebastian still sat on deck. A monument to stupor, he barely noticed the movement on the pier. After a few more minutes of staring off into space, Sebastian noticed someone standing on the dock. It was the screaming woman from the tavern! She was quite young, no more than twenty years old, wearing a plain white blouse, and a patchwork skirt, with many belts running across it, and pouches hanging from the belts. Her dusky hair flowed wildly over her delicate coppery shoulders. Sebastian discovered that he found this strange woman to be quite beautiful in an untamed sort of way. His pleasant image of her however was completely shattered with one gaze at her furious face. Hatred born of hellfire raged in her ebony eyes. She was softly speaking in a language Sebastian had never heard before. In her hand, she produced a large black rat. The creature was squirming in her grip, even though it was completely unaware of the large knife she had in her other hand. Her voice rose a bit as she began to slice into the rat, severing its head with but a few seconds work. As the poor creature’s head thudded onto the dock, with its nose still twitching, the woman began splashing its blood onto the side of the ship. Her voice rose to a fever pitch as she was concluding this ghastly rite. With wild gesticulations, and a great deal of pointing at the ship, and then back in the direction of the tavern, she suddenly fell silent. She drew this intricate looking symbol in the air with her fingers, over and over again. At this point Captain Byron hopped down from the bridge to see what all the shouting had been about. He saw the woman continuing to draw in the air, now accompanying her ethereal artwork with a rhythmic almost droning chant.

“Here you! Woman! Get away from my ship!” The woman however kept on with her chanting. Sebastian had heard tales as a boy of people weaving spells, but he did not realize until much later that this was what he was witnessing. She took no notice of Captain Byron as he drew a pistol out from his belt.

“I warn ya woman... get away from here or I’ll shoot!” The woman would not be moved. Before Sebastian quite realized what had happened, a loud report rent the air, and the woman fell flat on her back. A soft blue smoke was wafting from the barrel of Byron’s pistol as he drew it back and replaced it in his belt. Sebastian ventured a glance down at the stricken woman. She lay on her back with a blackened hole in her chest. Blood ran in a tiny viscous rivulet from her gaping mouth.

“Miserable witch,” Sebastian heard Byron mutter to himself as he made his way back up to the bridge. A witch? Surely not. There was no such thing. Sebastian had heard about many untamed elements afoot in the colonies, but he had never really given them much credence... until now.

“You there! Sailor! Dump that witch’s body into the water, before she stinks up the whole dock!” Sebastian realized after a cursory look about that he was the only sailor on deck, and that this most distasteful order was clearly meant for him. With an almost automatic movement, Sebastian silently moved down the gangway, to where the woman’s crumpled body lay. As he knelt down in order to pick her up a feeling of unnameable dread washed over him as he noticed the almost imperceptible rising and falling of the woman’s blasted chest! She was still alive! Sebastian reached into his pocket and fished out two copper coins. He pressed them into the woman’s hand and silently prayed over her. Upon finishing, he bent low and whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry Mademoiselle... take these for the ferryman.” With a gaze that froze his very soul, the woman locked her dying gaze upon him and in a deliberate choking whisper told him, “You are all dead men.”

With this, Sebastian carried the woman to the edge of the dock and cast her into the water. He watched with a sickened feeling as the last of her life bubbled pitifully to the surface and disappeared forever.

“If you’re quite done with the funeral service Monsieur, would you kindly get your ass back on board?” Byron thundered from the bridge as Sebastian slowly made his way back to the ship.

In spite of the knowledge that he would be spending the day loading molasses and other material on board for the trip back to France, Sebastian found it impossible to sleep. The gentle rocking of the ship did nothing to temper his fear of what he had seen that night. And always in the back of his mind was the thought that he was now a crewman aboard a cursed vessel. He lay awake in his bunk for the remainder of the night cursing the day he set foot aboard La Belle Marie.

Over the next two days Sebastian found himself with little time to dwell on the strange things he had witnessed. He was kept constantly busy loading the ship for its return voyage. Despite his fatigue, his work never faltered as he was spurred on by the idea that the faster he worked the sooner he would be returning home. On the morning of the third day of loading, the crew had completed their work, and La Belle Marie set sail with the evening tide.

After only a few hours away from land, the wind began to pick up, and the gentle sprinkle of rain could be seen moistening the deck. Within minutes the crew found themselves battling a fearsome tempest. Waves crashed over the bow, threatening with every impact to send some unlucky soul overboard. The ship being laden down with cargo and of impressive size to start with rode the storm out reasonably well, but the wind was howling and swirling now, and Captain Byron was leaving nothing to chance. The sails were hauled in, lest they tear, leaving the ship no means of propulsion, and extra men were placed at every station to combat any unforeseen disaster. Great forks of lightning lit up the sky, quickly followed by crackling rumbles of thunder. Some of the men crossed themselves as it seemed that the full fury of the storm was determined to sit itself down upon the quarterdeck.

As the deluge continued to lash the deck, an unearthly glow appeared in the upper masts of the ship. St. Elmo’s Fire it was called. Some thought the Fire meant that there was a ghost or some other spirit on board, but most men took it as a general harbinger of evil things to come. Worried glances were exchanged and whispered prayers became lost in the constant din of the storm. Suddenly, rising above the ceaseless bluster of the weather, high pitched screams of terror could be heard on deck. The crew all looked at each other, only to realize that the awful sound had not emanated from any of their mouths. The fearful cries were coming from above them. The men looked up and saw in the green glow of St. Elmo’s Fire, a distinct shape, blue in color floating gently toward the crow’s nest. More screaming as the shape slowly but surely settled itself in the small confines of the lookout post. A much darker shape was seen falling toward them all. The screams echoed louder as it descended, and in mere seconds it crashed onto the deck with a sickening crack.

Sebastian slowly crept toward the stilled form of one of his shipmates. The man’s back was bent at a most unnatural angle. The body was face-down, and blood was issuing forth from the ears, only to be quickly washed away by the gallons of cloud water being dumped onto the ship. With trembling hand, Sebastian readied himself for the worst as he slowly turned the dead sailor over. He soon realized that nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. The man’s features were frozen in an expression of abject terror. The eyes bulged from the sockets, and the mouth was wide open in a silent, horrible scream. His hair was as white as shark’s teeth and just as rigid. It was only after some moments that Sebastian recognized that the horrified visage belonged to his friend Jean. The death was ruled by the Captain as being an accident, that after a close call with lightning, and too much liquor, Jean fell from the rigging and died, but for all intents and purposes, to Sebastian, Jean looked like a man who had literally been scared to death.

Late into the night, the storm had finally abated, and the crew settled in for some much needed rest. Try as he might, Sebastian could not get his friend’s frightened countenance out of his mind. What had he seen up there last night? What was the blue form atop the masts? In attempting to banish thoughts of Jean, Sebastian turned his thoughts to the woman he saw Byron murder. Had she really placed a curse on the ship? Were they all doomed because of whatever crime his friends had perpetrated in the tavern? All these thoughts whirled through his mind as he fitfully tossed and turned in his bunk. With a final image of the blood on the side of the ship in his mind, mercifully, sleep finally overtook Sebastian.

The next day was dull and overcast. The sea was calm, and the men could be heard whispering to each other about the previous night’s “accident”. All in all they were brooding over some unseen evil that they were sure was lurking on board, waiting to materialize out of the night and claim another victim. Most of the crew barely focused on the day’s labors, much to the constant irritation of the booming Captain Byron. Afternoon passed into evening, and after mess, the watch was to be changed. As it might be imagined, no man wished to volunteer for duty in the crow’s nest. Byron, cursing and howling grabbed his Quartermaster, and ordered him to choose a man by lot. Grabbing a deck of playing cards from his cabin, the Quartermaster shuffled, and fanned the deck out onto a table. He bade each man in his turn to come forth and choose a card with the understanding that the man with the lowest card would be assigned to the crow’s nest.

One by one each crewman pulled card from the table. When the draw was finished the Quartermaster ordered that each man’s card be shown. He slowly walked through the hold examining each man’s card, taking note until he finally stood before the sailor who had drawn the two of clubs. Sebastian turned his frightened eyes up to the Quartermaster as he held out the card emblazoned with what to Sebastian looked like two ebony eyes that seemed to stare right through to the core of his quivering soul. The hold became deadly silent as all eyes were fixed on him. Most faces held looks of relief, but a few wore masks of pity as the Quartermaster clapped Sebastian on the back advising,

“Don’t worry son, the sooner ya get up there, the sooner ya come down.” Only after the consolation was met with silence did the Quartermaster realize that he had laid bare the exact fear of every man in the hold, especially the unlucky barer of the two of clubs. With a steadying hand, the Quartermaster guided Sebastian out of the hold and up onto the deck amidships.

“Okay son, up ya go.” Slowly but surely, Sebastian made his way up the rigging. As the climb progressed, the wind began to blow with a bit more bluster, but not nearly as much that Byron would let loose if he took any more time reaching his post. Finally, Sebastian reached the relative safety of the crow’s nest. He immediately sat down for a few moments to get his heart back to beating at a normal pace, which in itself proved more difficult than the climb. While examining the small space that would be his home for the next 10 hours or less, he spied a small flask on the floor. He knew in a moment that this was Jean’s brandy bottle. After a silent apology to his friend, he picked it up, and to his delight found it to be over three quarters full. His delight however, turned to a slowly building dread, as he realized that there was no possible way that Jean had been intoxicated enough to fall. It was well known that Jean could drink a distillery dry and still walk upright.

Time crawled by, and with no sun to act as a timepiece Sebastian had no idea how long he had been up in the lookout. He also was not sure exactly what the point of having someone at the lookout post in the dark was anyway, even the eyes of a hawk could never penetrate this night’s inky darkness. Thankfully he had the flask to keep him company. He drank slowly reminding himself to leave enough time for the effects to wear off, lest he take the a much faster route to the deck than he originally planned. Normally the brandy had a pleasant warming effect, but on this night it seemed to not help the cold at all. In spite of the chill wind, he could feel himself slowly dozing off, and in that most peaceful state between slumber and wakefulness, Sebastian dreamed that he heard a sweet woman’s voice whispering his name. His eyes snapped open and his mind rushed back to reality. Once again though he heard the inviting woman’s voice cooing his name. He looked at the flask, and wondered just what sort of liquid Jean had put in here.

The voice continued its lilting invitation. Sebastian looked all around, and realized to his horror that he was no longer alone at the lookout. A chill raced down his spine as he saw the next mast over encapsulated in a soft blue glow. A more distinct shape within that azure aura began to manifest itself into a form that was vaguely human. Sebastian noted with singular dread that the translucent form was slowly moving closer to him. Every impulse of his mind told him to run, but he well knew that to plummet to the deck from this height meant certain death. Sweat burst from every pore on his body as the shape moved closer... ever closer. He noticed that it had the form and features of a woman, and not just any woman. This was the woman whom he himself had deposited into the briny deep not two nights before.

Her ghostly hair plumed out in all directions as if she was still reposing beneath the waves. The lithe shape of her form was still plainly visible, marred only by an emptiness in her chest where the Captain’s musket ball had entered her corporeal form. To Sebastian she seemed to move as if she were gracefully swimming through the night air, like a sort of celestial mermaid. Her features still held the inherit beauty that she possessed in life, but with a much more peaceful air about them. He fancied that she was even smiling at him as she crept close enough to touch.

Sebastian stared in wide eyed amazement, as this beauty from beyond the grave reached out a hand towards him. In it she clutched two small objects. Two small ghostly copper coins... the very coins that Sebastian had given to her. With a solemn, breathy voice, she spoke to him, “From the Ferryman Monsieur.” She opened her hand and the two coins slowly floated downward. Sebastian followed them all the way down to the deck, where upon touching, the coins were absorbed by another pale blue aura. Sebastian gasped as a second female ghost materialized on deck! The sailors who were on duty ran hither and thither, screaming in terror at this new spectral invader.

“My sister, Monsieur.” As beautiful as the first ghost was, so this ghost was hideous to behold. Even at this distance, Sebastian could see that she bore the look of a woman who had been violently beaten. Her face was an angry, tortured grimace, and her eyes glowed with a fierce red luminescence. He knew at once, that it must have been her that Jean had seen when he made his final descent from the lookout perch. Pistols were fired on deck, but to no avail. This newer more horrible ghost moved with deliberate slowness, and seemed to search the face of each man she passed.

Meanwhile, the phantom next to Sebastian whispered to him, “She is seeking the ones who murdered her, the rest are all food for vermin.” No sooner had she uttered these words, than the deck of La Belle Marie was flooded with rats, hundreds of rats! More screams filled the night as the rats began fervently biting the feet and ankles of the men on deck. Sebastian winced in disgust as one unlucky soul tripped on a coil of rope and was instantly swarmed over by a living cloak of rodents. The door to the Quartermaster’s cabin opened and its occupant came staggering out, his back covered in the ravenous vermin. Sebastian continued watching as the whole of the evening’s watch was being consumed by the rats. Men tried escaping overboard, but bleeding from hundreds of tiny wounds their progress was slow or non-existent before they were finally brought down by the rodent horde.

Hearing the cacophony of chaos on deck, Captain Byron came barreling out of his cabin, only to be descended upon by the ghostly form of the spectral woman who floated near Sebastian. Byron looked up and shrieked in terror as the wraith dug her fingers into his chest. The scream gurgled in the Captain’s throat as the specter slowly drew the life from him. His hair turned chalk white and stood out with utmost rigidity. It was plain to see that the Captain was aging and withering under the touch of the undead. When the ghost finally removed her hand from his chest, a black smoking hole remained. Captain Byron collapsed, his terrified countenance not unlike that of Jean the previous night. The rats snuffled at his decayed form, but instinctively drew away from him, seeming to sense the dark taint left behind by their mistress.

Suddenly, the door of the hold burst open and out from the bedlam bellow emerged Claude and Louis, being herded forth by the second, more hideous phantasm.

“These are the two, sister!” the banshee wailed to her ghostly sibling. Soon both wraiths stood eye to eye with the two panicked men. The rats meanwhile had all remained a deferential distance from the two ghosts.

“It was these two then who inflicted the foul deeds upon you?”

“So,” Sebastian thought to himself, “It was their deeds in the pub that has brought this horror to us all. They have been saved for last so that the dead may exact their vengeance with more satisfaction.” The more comely of the two spirits approached the sailors with the same inviting smile on her face. Without a single word, she thrust one hand into each of the men’s mouths. Both men screamed as the frosty touch of the ghost held them rigidly in place. Her sister then floated up behind the two captives and raised her arms in the air. As one, both men were stripped to the waist, and in the next instant were flogged by unseen scourges. Welts, and then open wounds opened up on each man’s back as the spectral sisters continued the assault. After what to Sebastian seemed like hours, and lash after lash, in agony the men finally expired. Without a word, the ghost released her grip, and the two thoroughly beaten bodies collapsed onto the deck.

The first illumination of the coming dawn could be seen on the horizon. As quickly as the hell had broken loose on board, it suddenly subsided. The rats seemingly disappeared into the darkness, and the two spectral women dematerialized into small wafting wisps of fine blue smoke. Sebastian still shaking, decided to take a final brace from the flask before sliding down the rope to the deck. What this route lacked in security, it made up for in speed. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he surveyed the carnage laid out before him. No less than twenty-five men horribly chewed to death by scores of little mouths. He did not want to observe what horrors lay within the ship’s hold, but he knew that he must. Moving down the stairs, it did not take long to notice that there were the savaged remains of his shipmates down here as well. The rats had left little to chance in their grisly repast.

After saying a prayer of mourning for the dead, Sebastian proceeded to give the bodies of the crew to the ocean. Sebastian knew little or nothing about piloting a ship or navigating, so his one hope lay in rescue. Taking a large metal cooking pot from within the hold, he lit a huge signal fire on deck. After little more than a day, a French navy vessel pulled up along side La Belle Marie and took one very frightened, some said completely mad, sailor aboard. He barely spoke, and when he did open his mouth, he only talked about ghosts and rats, and how the ship was cursed. The captain of the naval vessel salvaged what supplies he could from the hold of the ship, and ordered that it be sunk. Sebastian breathed a soft sigh of relief as he watched La Belle Marie slip beneath the waves, knowing that he would never set foot off of dry land ever again.