by Melinda Pouncey
Captain Harrington slept with a pistol at hand for both attackers and mutineers. He ran a tight ship, which caused certain…vexations.
One night he woke to eerie silence. The door flew open and Pete Turley, the latest recipient of the captain’s justice, shambled in. Skin hung in tattered shreds from his purple-mottled body. St Elmo’s fire crackled hellishly about him and his upraised sword. Keel-hauled six days prior, he had been left suspended beneath the ship to rot. And rot he had.
“Someone’s sent me to fetch you, Cap’n,” he slurred through broken teeth. “His name is Davy Jones.”