Tis that time o Year, yer Hallowean Stories

[Calico Jack]

Tis that time o year when Pirates become fearful of things that go bump in the night.  So lets be having yer Hallowean stories and and any tips to keep the ghosts at bay.

As fer me, I be a big strapping Pirate Cap'n an I be scared of no one dead or alive....Whats that noise, no it can't be......I thought you were dead.....arrrrrrrrgggggh.

[DaveL]

YArrrr...

O'ive got a few stories about Tiddles the Cat that'll make your beard curl...are ye ready for 'em?

[Black Bart]

A blood curdlin haloween tale from the anthology
'Tales of Mystery and Cronangination.'

The Legend of 'The Grog Vampyre'.

Once upon a time the coastal villages of Cornwall were plagued by a terrible beast that roamed at night. The creature's approach was always preceded by the sound of drunken Sea Shanties and it left a trail of beer vouchures where ere it went. There was a terrible slurping noise as it stole all the grog from the village inns and more drunken singing as it staggered back to the sea, satiated with grog!

Then one day a local fisherman, who'd had enough of the beasts antics, decided to try to save the village grog supply. As he sat at the Inn late one night the wailing of Sea Shanties came wafting in from the foggy night. The terrified villagers ran down to the cellar to hide. But the fisherman stayed at his seat, refusing to leave his grog.

The door of the Inn burst open and in lurched a terrifying creature. It looked like the Captain of the Titanic had returned from the deep - pale, flat capped and slavering for grog! 'Where's the drink' demanded the terrifying being - 'Captain Cronan will have his Grog!'

The fisherman quailed in his seat - he also quailed in his underpants - but he was not deterred from his cunning plan. 'Oh terrible creature' said the fisherman, 'afore ye kill me and drink the grog, will ye try this fine ale which we have been saving for Christmas?' With trembling hands the fisherman held out a cask brimming with liquor and bearing a label which read - Tesco's Finest Belgian Ale.

In one movement the beast grabbed the cask and drained the contents. Covering his eyes in terror the fisherman peeped out to see the creature drop the cask and clutch at it's throat; awful gurgling noises came from the creature's mouth, its eyes turned red and steam poured from its nose and ears. The creature gave a last blood curdling cry and ran out into the foggy night - never to be heard of again.

When the villagers came nervously back up from the cellar, they were amazed to see the fisherman still sitting there, sipping his well earned grog. The cask of special ale was on the table and the fisherman carfully peeled off the label to reveal another label beneath which read of course -'Fish Head Stew'!
_________________
It's Pasta Night at The Admiral Benbow!

[The Black Spot]

We'd dropped anchor in Southampton, an I were ashore enjoyin' a few grogs. I got talkin' to a wild eyed old gent 'oo were agitated about summit.

"There be something strange going on," 'ee said. "Something unholy be about."

"What d'ye mean?" I asked.

"People have bin hearin' strange sounds at night. Screaming and wailing. Chains clanking. Howling that sounds like the damned souls o' hell."

"Arrr... tis only noises," I said.

"And they've seen things," said the man. "Terrible looking creatures that prowl around the docks at night. And there's a great roaring creature that the others seem afraid of."

"Arrr... I'll keep me eye out," I said.

That night, I listened out where the old man said, but I could hear nothing - just the usual sounds o' me officers givin' the lazy swabs a bit o' a chivvying up.

Silly old sod.

[Calico Jack]

Twas a cold foggy night and me ship was a long way from home.  We was on our way back from the Indies and we veered to far North and ended up in dense fog off Newfoundland.

The fog was dense and the air was still and we were becalmed. Suddenly out of the still night air came a bloodthirsty scream heelllllllloooooooooohhhhhh.

The crew was agitated, there had long been stories of ships disappearing in these ghostly fogbound seas.

The ship went eerily quiet, you could even hear the water drip off the mainsail and land on the deck.  After a few minutes a deathly voice screamed Jcccccccccckkkk wheerrrrre arrrrrgh yuuuuu.

The crew were scared out of their wits and some of them dived over the side where they perished in the icy seas.

Suddenly through the swirling mists an old creaking ship came into view and on the deck was a crinkly old woman whose face was as ugly as anything we had ever seen before.  At the sight of this apparition my chef plunged a knife into his heart and the First Mate led the exodus over the side.

Suddenly in a voice as old as the seas she spoke "Jack you will freeze in this cold foggy weather, look I have brought you a coat"

Suddenly I recognised the old woman and muttered two words of acknowledgement.

"Thanks Mum"

[Black Bart]

Another tale fearfully lifted from the long lost anthology:
Tales of Mystery and Cronangination!

A man lost on the moors of Cornwall staggered into an old inn, desperate for a tankard of ale.

The man handed over his money and the landlord poured the man a brimming mug of ale. He was just about to take a mouthful when a cry went up...the werewolves are comin, the werewolves are comin...quick, if ye value yer lives, down into the cellar!

Everyone got into the cellar and the heavy trap door was bolted down.  When the all clear was announced, the man returned to the bar only to find his Tankard empty. He payed for another drink and, dying of thirst, lifted the beer to his lips...again the cry went up: the werewolves are comin, the werewolves are comin...quick, if ye value yer lives, down into the cellar!

Down into the cellar everyone went and just as before, when the man returned to the bar his beer had gone.  Just a minute, thought the man, I'm a stranger in these parts and I think I'm being taken for a ride ere. He ordered a another beer and sure enough, just as he raised his tankard the cry went up again: the werewolves are comin, the werewolves are comin...quick, if ye value yer lives, down into the cellar! 

The landlord urged the man to take refuge in the cellar as before but the man refused, 'I'm not falling for that one again' he said, 'I'm going to sit here and drink my beer.' 'Don't be a fool man,' said the landlord, 'the werewolves will be here in a minute, for god's sake save yourself!' But the man wouldn't be persuaded.  He watched everyone disapear down into the cellar. He heared the bolt sliding to. He lifted his Tankard, smiling to himself...then the werewolves burst in, drank his beer and ate him!

[The Black Spot]

The Terror of the Screaming Skull

We'd dropped anchor in North Africa, an' me men took some shore leave an' explored one o' the local bazaars. They all brought back tinkets an' exotic parrots an' strange brews, but Pinky Lewis 'ad something wrapped up in a piece o' sackcloth.

"Arrrr Pinky," sez I. "What has ye there then?"

"Tis summit a bit special, Cap'n," he sez. "Tis the skull of Mad Jack Flynn."

I'd heard o' Mad Jack of course - 'oo adn't? The most evil, fearsome brigand 'oo ever sailed the seas. And that were 'is good points.

Pinky unwrapped the skull an handed it to me. I'd seen Mad Jack once - 'ee were a right ugly one. An' the bit that were left o' him weren't all that nice either. It were a big, squarish skull, wi' a huge craggy jaw that contained teeth that 'ad been filed into points. The eye sockets looked too small, an' they were partially hidden by the heavy brow.

I passed the 'orrible thing back to Pinky. "What are ye goin' to do with it?" I asked.

"I might keep a few bits an' pieces in it," said Pinky. "I thought it'd look nice on me bedside table."

I shook me 'ead an went back to me cabin.

That night I were awoken by a commotion outside me cabin. I went out an' found me crew on the deck in their nightshirts.

"What be this?" sez I.

"Cap'n," they wailed. "Tis the ghost o' Mad Jack come to kill us all. His skull's come to life!"

I went with them below deck, an held me lantern high above me head. There, on the table next to the end hammock were the skull. We all went nearer to it.

"Seems quiet t' me ," I sez.

"Listen Cap'n..."

We all listened, an then I heard it. A sort o' rustlin noise comin' from the skull. It got louder, an then the skull began to move in small, jerky movements.

It stopped for a moment, an so we all moved closer, 'ardly dain' to breath. Then from the skull came the most unearthly high pitched shriek that I'd ever 'eard. Fer a moment I thought me 'eart ad stopped. The skull shrieked again an me crew fled onto the deck. I produced me cutlass an smashed the skull in 'alf. A handful o' peanuts spilled onto the floor, an a very upset parrot flapped around the room.

Seems that Pinky decided to 'ide his stash of peanuts in the skull, an someone's parrot had climbed in one of the eyeholes to get to 'em.

Took Pinky ages to pay off the crew's dry cleaning bill.

[Black Bart]

The Ghost of Toadfish

YYYAAARRR...I was walking through the cloisters of the monastry t'other night when all the monks were a bed after prayers.  It was ghostly quiet and whether it was the dark ale I'd been sharing with the abbot over a game of quoits, or whether it was the strong cheese I'd eaten with me port, or whether it was the bottle of rum I'd supped with me chicken sandwiches, or whether it was the Amontilado I'd sampled with the librarian, or whether it was the cider I'd been tasing for the quartermaster...I really don't know, but a strange mist seemed to fill the quadrangle and I saw an eerie, unearthly sight!

As I crossed the cloisters close to the statue of 'St James the inebriated', a dark shape emerged from the shaddows. At first the creature mystified me, it had the body of a cat, the legs of a cat and the head of...a cat! But what terrified me was that I'd heared the legend of 'The Ghost of Toadfish' and whosover set eyes on the ghost would be CURSED, CURSED, to suffer eternal pain and suffering!

Next morning I awoke with a murderous headache.  The slightest sound seemed to tear at my brain. My stomach churned and the pain went on and on. I am CURSED, I groaned, I am DOOMED...then someone gave me an aspirin and cured me hangover!

[Black Bart]

YYYAAARRRR, Yawn Yawn, the ghost o Capn Cronan has made it's annual appearance on Haloween...

He be lookin good this year!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[The Black Spot]

A Story for Halloween

Let me tell ye a little story. I first heard this years ago, an I never acted on it. Perhaps ye will; 'tis your choice.

Sail into Alexandria an' ask to see the Kaiter. Most people will pretend that they don't know what ye be talkin' about, but eventually ye will find 'im. Ye will be led to a small windowless room. The Kaiter never leaves this room.

When ye are face to face wi' the Kaiter, look 'im in the eyes an' ask just one question. Say to 'im "Where are the Six?"

'Ee will beg wi' you, an' plead fer you to go away. He will offer you a great deal o' money to leave. Ignore it. Ask 'im the question again. 'Ee will cry and wail an pray to 'is god, but he will be compelled to tell ye. 'Ee will tell ye six locations around the world. Do not, whatever ye do, write them down. Ye must memorise them an' never tell anyone if you value yer soul.

Sail to the six locations. The voyage will be arduous, but the stakes be high now. At each location, ye will meet a man. Sometimes the man will be in a lunatic asylum, sometimes in a place o' worship. The Six be revered an' feared by their neighbours.

Each o' the Six will speak in a strange, gutteral language. But they will only respond t' one question. Say to each "What is the sound?" Each o' them will tell ye a syllable. They will be strange, but do not dare to write them down. Ye must memorise them. Ye must memorise them perfectly. Any mistake will result in yer damnation.

Take yerself to a small island in the Pacific. Land there alone, no member o' the crew is allowed to be with ye. When the moon be full, raise yer arms to the sky.

Now, this now be yer last chance t' stop. If ye proceed now, there be no turnin' back. Ye must speak the six syllables out loud. No, not speak - ye must shout them at the moon.

And here be the risk. The six syllables must be put in the right order. Get all six right, an' all the wealth of the world will be yours. Get'em wrong an' you will suffer terrible agonies as yer physical body be unspeakably rent apart, an yer immortal soul will suffer in toment forever.

Get three right, and yer get a tenner.

[Black Bart]

YYYAAARRR...Anyone seen me pet Scarab beetle?