The Curse
“Stay alert, men,” the captain said on the loudspeaker as they sailed off the coast of Africa. “This place’s a haven for Blue Beard’s pirates.”
Blue Beard pulled Captain Paddock back from the loudspeaker in a chokehold.
“Now, tell me what you did with the Zenyatta booty!” Blue Beard hissed. “And enough with your curse talk! I ain’t buyin’ it!”
Gagging, Paddock grabbed a handful of Blue Beard’s flesh, and squeezed hard. When Blue beard shouted, Paddock dropped to the ground and broke free.
Blue Beard dove out the door of the Captain’s nest. Paddock followed but was too late. His nemesis had already reached the water and was swimming toward shore.
Several men ran to the captain’s headquarters with swords drawn.
“What happened, Captain?” one asked.
Captain Paddock pointed to the water. “Blue Beard was after our loot, again.”
“That scoundrel!” another griped. “Ya better swim away, ya vile dog!”
“Captain, what are we going to do?” another man asked. “This is the third time since we picked up that chest off of Zenyatta that someone has come after it. You think we got spies aboard?”
“No telling.”
“What about the booty, have you got at it yet?”
“I wish I had, but I still have not been able to get the chest open.”
Golt, the newest man picked up in Zenyatta, stepped forward.
“You said that before, Captain. I for one am beginning to doubt it.”
“All are welcome. I’ve said this before. But, if this is the chest that Count Stricker left behind after the raid of Zenyatta’s kingdom, then this may be the work of the snake curse.”
Most of the men stepped back, shaking their heads. The only one who stepped forward was Golt.
“You think you’re on to something here, do you?” the captain teased. The other men smirked at one another, nodding their heads to the captain behind Golt’s back.
“I’ve got nothin’ to lose, and if your lyin’ I’m gonna take your loot, ship, and your men.”
Captain Paddock stepped aside and let Golt lead the way down the steps to his quarters.
Golt ran to the chest.
“You may want to think this out, Golt,” Paddock said.
“Think… about… what?” Golt said, struggling to unlatch the lock.
“The curse, of course,” Captain Paddock said.
Golt removed a knife and wedged it into a seam on the lid. He rammed it in with a few hard blows and had successfully stuck it in the box to the hilt.
“Now, with some slicin’ I’ll peel this open like a skull,” he bragged. “To hell with your curse!”
Captain Paddock leaned against his bureau and dug at the grime under his nails with a knife as Golt proceeded.
“Ain’t you gonna stop me, Captain?” he asked, smiling.
“Oh, no, Golt, I can clearly see you are a clever man not to be denied his fate. Please, continue.”
Golt glared at Paddock. “As soon as I finish with your phony curse, I think I’ll get to workin’ on your pretty little head.”
“Oh, I doubt that, Golt,” The captain said without looking up from his nails.
Golt paused as though he considered whether or not he should take the captain’s abuse. He returned his attention to the chest. As he peeled open the lid, a green-and-red-striped boa latched on to his face and coiled around his body. With each breath Golt took, the snake squeezed tighter until his face had turned utterly blue and blood trickled from his nose and mouth.
“Nice work, Curse,” Captain Paddock said as he leaned over the snake and scooped a handful of jewels. “Nice work, indeed.”