Seven Dead Pirates

by Linda Bailey

  “Hey! You’re home.” Mr. Dearborn closed the book he’d been reading. “Dinner will—”

  “Never mind that.” Lewis’s voice still squeaked, but he didn’t care. “Do you know what they’re doing?”

  “Who?”

  “Those real estate people. They’re going to tear down Shornoway. Put up some resort place with a karaoke bar.”

  For a long time, his dad just stared. Then he folded his hands on his desk. “Oh.”

  “Gift shop, too,” said Lewis, although he wasn’t sure what difference that made.

  “Gift shop,” repeated his dad. “Ah.”

  Was it ah or aw? Mr. Dearborn’s pouchy face had gone even droopier than usual. Lewis was pretty sure it was aw.

  He sat down across from his father, who had taken off his glasses to rub his eyes.

  “Make them stop,” said Lewis. “Please?”

  “Lewis, I—”

  “Why can’t we just stay here?” It was the first time he’d said it. Even to himself.

  His father gave him the saddest smile he’d ever seen. “Lewis, I can’t. It’s your mother’s inheritance. Her choice. And you know the first thing she’d say: how can we afford to keep this place up? I wish …” He shrugged helplessly.

  Lewis nodded. He understood.

  As he struggled to take it in—Shornoway razed to the ground, replaced by a fancy resort—Mrs. Binchy’s voice sang out from the hall. “Lewis? You have a guest, dear.”

  Lewis exchanged confused glances with his father. Then he turned to the doorway.

  Abbie!

  She was standing there with Mrs. Binchy. In one hand, she held a white plastic bag. In the other was a leash that led to a small wire-haired dog at her feet. Black eyes stared back at Lewis.

  “I hope it’s okay.” Abbie glanced past Lewis at Mr. Dearborn. “I found something for you, Lewis, and I had to walk Winston anyhow, so …”

  Lewis didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

  Finally, Mrs. Binchy jumped in. “Of course it’s okay. What a dear girl! This is young Abbie,” she told Mr. Dearborn. “From Lewis’s class at school.”

  Mr. Dearborn looked as amazed as Lewis to see a girl and a dog in his study.

  Abbie reached into the bag. “I found this at the drugstore. I know you wanted a secondhand one, but it didn’t cost much new.” She held out a piece of black cloth with elastic attached.

  Lewis stared, transfixed.

  “It’s an eye patch.” Pulling the elastic over her head, she settled the patch across one eye. “See? For your Uncle Crawford.”

  All eyes focused on the patch. Mr. Dearborn frowned in an effort to understand. Mrs. Binchy adjusted her glasses to get a better look. Then she put her hands on her hips. “Uncle Crawford! Now who might he be, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  It was like sinking into quicksand, thought Lewis.

  “No one,” he bleated. “Nothing.”

  Before Abbie could get him in deeper, he grabbed her arm and pulled her down the hall, heading for the front door. Winston toddled behind.

  Suddenly, voices approached—his mother and the real estate people. Lewis glanced at Abbie, still wearing the eye patch. Panic seized him. He made a sharp turn toward the back staircase, towing his little train behind.

  “Lewis! What are you doing?” Abbie forced him to a halt.

  “Come see my room? Please?” It was the only thing he could think of.

  Moments later, when they were actually there—standing outside Libertalia—he panicked again.

  “Never mind. Bad idea. Let’s go back down.”

  “For Pete’s sake, Lewis! Do you have any idea how weird you’re being?” Abbie turned the knob sharply and stepped into Libertalia.

  He closed his eyes. A long silence followed. So long he grew anxious. He burst through the doorway.

  She was standing in the middle of Libertalia, holding Winston and the eye patch. Stroking the dog’s head, she gazed around at the eight tall walls. “This is some room you’ve got here, Lewis Dearborn. It’s making my skin tingle.”

  “The wind,” said Lewis. “I’ll close—”

  “No, leave it. It’s not the wind. Something else. I’m trying to figure it out.”

  Lewis nodded nervously.

  She put Winston down and began a slow tour of the room. Picking up the bottle, she peeked at the tiny sailor. “How did they get the ship inside? Do you know?”

  He shook his head.

  Behind them, Winston let out a warning growl.

  They turned. The dog was in front of the red door. His gray fur bristled, and his mouth was pulled back in a snarl.

  “Heeeey, Winston,” said Abbie. “What’s the matter?”

  The growl rose to a whine. Then a piercing yip.

  “Come here, puppy!” Abbie crouched and held out her arms. “There’s nothing there.”

  Winston ignored her. Barking fiercely, he scratched at the bottom of the door. He turned to Abbie with sharp angry yelps as if to demand, “Open up!”

  “What’s behind there?” Abbie hesitated, then reached for the knob and turned.

  Lewis waited, his heart pounding. The door seemed to be stuck shut. Unless … it was held shut?

  Abbie glanced back at her dog. He was growling again, his whole body trembling as he stared at the door.

  “Wow!” said Abbie. “I’ve never seen him do this. It’s like he’s seeing a ghost.”

  Lewis held his breath. Silent.

  “Hey, that’s funny! Did you know there are stories about this house? My grandma said, when she was a girl, they used to think it was—” She stopped.

  Lewis knew he should make some light, kidding remark. He should say, “Ha-ha. Good joke.” But his voice would betray him, he knew it would. All he could do was blink.

  He was blinking too quickly, he realized. He was turning red, too.

  “Lewis?” Abbie peered at his face, alarmed. Then, “You’re not serious!”

  Lewis still couldn’t speak.

  “Is it true? Your house is haunted?”

  He looked away.

  “I thought …” said Abbie breathlessly. “Everybody thinks it’s just … oh, Lewis.”

  “Let’s go,” he begged suddenly, staring into her eyes and willing himself to stop blinking. “Please?”

  She stood frozen a moment longer, then snatched up the still-growling Winston. They walked down the upstairs hall without a word. But at the top of the staircase, Lewis grabbed Abbie’s arm again.

  “Don’t talk about Uncle Crawford, okay?”

  Her eyes grew huge. “Uncle Crawford is the …?”

  Lewis thought about denying it, or at least shaking his head. But in the strength of her direct gaze, he was helpless. She was reading his thoughts so clearly, they might as well have been billboards.

  He nodded.

  “Okay,” she said. “Okay.”

  Up the stairs came a warbling voice. “Yoo-hoo. Would you kids like a snack?”

  “Coming!” yelled Lewis.

  He turned to ask—

  “I won’t say a word,” said Abbie.

  He had to trust her.

  He had no choice.

  Lewis’s legs felt wobbly as he climbed the stairs to Libertalia that night. The pirates must have heard his whole conversation with Abbie. They must have heard him tell her that Shornoway was haunted. Would they be angry?

  They turned out to be much more interested in the dog.

  “Best to keep dogs out of here, lad,” said Moyle, nodding sagely. “Dogs can feel things what humans miss.”

  “Can’t keep no secret from a dog,” agreed Jonas.

  “Nor from a rat!” added Jack, sniffing at Lewis’s clothing.

  What upset them much more was the news about Shornoway.

  “Nawww!” groaned Crawley, rearing back in disbelief. “We saw them reely-statey people with our own eyes today when they pranced theirselves through this tower. We didn’t like a hair of them, lad, not a hair! And no
w they’re going to tear down Shornoway? A lovely manse like this? Why, it’s practically new!”

  Adam nodded. “I remembers like yesterday when they put in the windows. All these high ones here, and them others downstairs with the stained and leaded glass. Pretty as a cathedral! It were the grandest house on the whole coast.”

  “Still is,” said Bellows loyally. “There ain’t no call to tear it down. Better we tears off the heads of those reely-statey people. That’s what I thinks!”

  “Aye,” growled Jack. “Tear off their heads!”

  “Aye! Aye!” cried the others.

  Lewis couldn’t help being sympathetic, but he felt obliged to step in. “There will be no tearing off of heads. This is the twenty-first century. We don’t do that.”

  “We don’t do that,” imitated Jack in a high, mincy voice.

  Hoping to distract them, Lewis opened Treasure Island. Within minutes, they were transported to distant Southern Seas. The ship had reached the island now, with its thundering surf and its windless, sweltering heat. Reading Robert Louis Stevenson’s words, Lewis was as captivated as the pirates.

  But the longer he read, the more he wished it were him on that island. Jim Hawkins had problems, true, but bad as they were, they didn’t seem nearly as complicated as his own. And now he had Abbie to worry about, too—a girl whose main talent was talking! Would she keep his secret?

  And would he have to talk to her now at school?

  He didn’t. The moment Lewis stepped through the doors of Tandy Bay Elementary, shyness enveloped him like an old familiar cloak. His habit of ducking people was so strong that even if Abbie had wanted to talk to him, she wouldn’t have had a chance.

  Lewis watched her, though, especially when she was with friends. Was she telling? If so, surely they’d be staring at him—a boy who had ghosts in his house. But his classmates continued to ignore him.

  For the next week, heavy rain kept Tandy Bay students inside. Lewis hid in the library during breaks. He discovered some new books about pirates in the non-fiction section. One even had a page about Libertalia.

  The rain also saved him from Seth, who came into the library only when he had to. Still, Lewis couldn’t avoid him entirely. One morning, when Ms. Forsley’s back was turned, Seth stuck his foot into the aisle as Lewis passed, sending Lewis crashing onto a small, awkward girl named Charlene. Lewis grabbed Charlene’s shoulder to steady himself, and his face nearly touched hers. The other kids laughed—it must have looked like kissing. Charlene looked ready to cry.

  Abbie passed back a note. Why do you let him?

  Lewis bristled. What did she know, anyway? He was actually getting off easily with Seth these days.

  The library was like a cocoon. He hoped the stormy weather would last. As long as it rained, he could let himself relax—which he did, with the result that he was completely unprepared for what happened next.

  It was early on a Friday morning. Announcements droned through the classroom speaker. Abbie gazed out the window. Lewis, bored, wondered about the painted sticks that held her hair in a knot at the back of her head. Were they chopsticks?

  Suddenly, Abbie stiffened. Her eyes opened wide.

  Lewis followed her gaze to the window. At first, he didn’t see anything. Then, in the lower right corner, he spotted a flash of neon orange.

  A shiver ran through him. He knew that color. Crawley’s new baseball cap!

  No, he thought, closing his eyes. Hearing a gasp behind him, he looked again, in time to see the captain’s ravaged face appear in the classroom window, the peak on his cap dripping with rain. Seeing that he’d caught Lewis’s attention, Crawley winked—which, in his case, meant closing his only working eye. The missing eye was now covered by his new eye patch, which he had adopted with great pleasure after Abbie’s visit.

  Someone near Lewis laughed nervously.

  Ms. Forsley glanced up from her attendance book. “Abbie? Is there a problem?”

  Abbie shook her head. Ms. Forsley returned to her task.

  Glancing out again, Lewis froze in horror. Standing beside Crawley, looking frightened, was Barnaby Bellows. He was drenched to the skin in an undersized yellow sweatshirt, and he clung to the captain’s arm as he squinted through the window. Both pirates were searching for—Lewis suddenly understood—him! Crawley was pointing and speaking. Lewis couldn’t hear the words, but he could guess. Lookee there, Bellows. There’s the lad at his schoolwork. Ain’t he a sight?

  The room filled with whispers and titters as more kids spotted the strangers. Bellows’s size alone was enough to draw gasps, not to mention his skin color. Fear had given his skin an eerie, greenish glow.

  “What’s going on?” Ms. Forsley glanced around, then turned to the window.

  Gone.

  No, thought Lewis, overwhelmed by a feeling of doom. Not gone.

  Still out there.

  Hiding. Waiting.

  He held up his hand.

  Ms. Forsley frowned. “Yes, Lewis?”

  “May I please go to the washroom?”

  She nodded.

  He forced himself to walk to the classroom door. There was a splutter, then a squawk, from the speaker, and the announcements died. Once in the hall, Lewis broke into a run, slowing only when he reached the office. Some kind of commotion was going on inside. He quick-walked past and crashed through the heavy front door. Outside, he bent into a crouch to stay below the windows as he hurried along the front wall. Rain pelted his back and head. Rounding the corner, he saw the pirates—still peeking into his classroom, their backs turned.

  They must have followed him to school. How many classrooms had they peeked into first? Were they the cause of the fuss in the office? He scrambled along the wall, staying low.

  When he tapped Bellows’s arm, the pirate let out a yell that could have been heard in Shornoway. “GARRRRRR!”

  “Shhhh!” hissed Lewis, waving both hands. “Be quiet! Captain Crawley, what are you doing here?”

  Crawley joined Lewis in a crouch.

  “Welllll,” he drawled, not the slightest bit concerned, “the boys was getting a mite nervy about leaving, so I thought it best to give them—just one at a time, like—a bit of practice. So as not to be such a shock when we leaves for good.”

  “Shock?” cried Lewis. “Shock? What do you call this?” He waved at his classroom window. Then he glanced over his shoulder, wondering how long it would take for the principal to show up, followed by a posse of teachers.

  “Don’t get yourself in a stir, lad. We’re just testing the waters, so to speak. Trying out these new garments. It’s a grand thing for Bellows here and—”

  “Bellows?” said Lewis incredulously. “This isn’t for Bellows! This is for you, Captain Crawley, because you’re bored with staying home. You’re starting to enjoy being out in the world, aren’t you, now that you’re not so scared anymore? Bellows? Look at him. He’s a wet noodle!”

  Barnaby Bellows, who had indeed been looking wilted and noodle-ish, drew himself up to his full eight feet. “Noodle?” he said.

  Lewis was aware, in his peripheral vision, of faces in the window.

  “Get down,” he begged Bellows. “Please! You shouldn’t be here. Go home!”

  A cloud of stubbornness came over Crawley’s face. He rose and planted his feet firmly in the gravel. Beside him, Bellows crossed arms thick as tree trunks over his chest.

  Ms. Forsley was in the window frame now. She was beckoning.

  “Go!” Lewis told the pirates. “Now! Or …” He searched frantically for a threat. “Or I’ll stop reading Treasure Island. You’ll never know the ending. Ever!”

  Their faces crumpled.

  “Nah!” said Bellows, in disbelief.

  Giddy with power, Lewis rose to his full height. “Go! I mean it. Now!”

  The pirates lingered, uncertain. Then slowly they retreated across the playground, whispering and bumping into one another.

  Lewis forced himself to look at his classroom wi
ndow. They were standing there, watching. Everybody. His whole class.

  He sighed heavily. Then he trudged back to the front door, shivering in his wet clothes. Mrs. Chan, the principal, was in her office, looking agitated. When she spotted Lewis, she called out. He broke into a run. Reaching his classroom, he burst through the door and slid neatly into his desk.

  The only sound was his heart beating.

  “Lewis?” Ms. Forsley’s voice was a few notes higher than normal. “May I speak to you, please?”

  Legs shaky, he walked to her desk.

  “Carry on with your work,” she told the class. Of course, no one so much as shuffled a paper.

  “Lewis, Abbie says that man … one of those men … is your uncle. Visiting from Los Angeles?”

  Lewis glanced at Abbie. He swallowed hard. “Uh, yes.”

  “Well, I don’t know how they do things in Los Angeles, but here in Tandy Bay Elementary, we have rules about school visitors. If your uncle wants to talk to you, Lewis, if there’s some emergency—”

  “No emergency,” Lewis whispered, but with the room so silent, he knew they could all hear. “He just didn’t understand.”

  “I see,” said Ms. Forsley. “But, of course, you understand, Lewis, that you’re not supposed to leave the building without permission.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. He—my uncle—he gets it now.”

  “I see,” said Ms. Forsley again, although it was clear she didn’t see at all. Her face was very pink. If it got any pinker, it would look like his. “Take your seat, Lewis.”

  At that moment, Mrs. Chan popped her head through the door. She was panting, and it took her a moment to speak. “Everything all right here?”

  Ms. Forsley cleared her throat. “Fine. I’ll explain later.”

  Lewis slumped low in his seat, wishing he had the pirates’ gift of invisibility. As Ms. Forsley drew a diagram on the board, he had an itchy feeling, as if dozens of eyes were boring into the back of his head.

  He turned.

  Dozens of eyes were boring. The most obvious were Seth’s. His eyes were bugging out, the whites showing prominently.

  Lewis turned away in a panic. But the thought that followed was simple and clear.

  How could the other kids not stare? After what had just happened? He’d been arguing with two ghosts from the eighteenth century in full view of his entire class. What did he expect?