The Sailor's Curse

By Cora Lea and Scarlett Contreras-Montesano

Once when I was younger, I was sent to see an old sailor named John S. Aster who everyone said buried his own brother alive. So I certainly took my time to get there. When I did though, I noticed that something seemed off about the place.

The cabin windows were filled with old bones, and there were shelves filled with green fluids. I could feel a breeze brush past my arm, even though there were walls all around me.  The floorboards were creaky and slanted, and I watched as an old ratted book slid across the ground. 

I peeked around a curtain and noticed that the man himself was about a foot and a half shorter than me and had long bony fingers. His skin looked like wrinkly cinnamon, and he had a long braided beard that hung down to his ankles. His eyes were pitch black, or what I thought, for they were covered by glasses that were as smoky as a fireplace. His jet black rain boots and long baggy pants seemed like they hadn’t been cleaned in half a decade. 

When I entered, he slowly crept over to me and said, ¨Charlie Del-Rose is it? Listen to me young lady, I can tell that you’re a sailor, but if you value your soul don’t go out to sea again. The spirits of the underworld are making a sacrifice and you were chosen for it.¨ His voice was low and warning.  I believed him. After all, he was a wise old man that lived by himself in the middle of the creepy but shockingly magical woods. 

The next morning I went out on a sail. Everything was normal, just like I suspected. Everything was fine until I was pulled underwater by a force. I tried to get back up but I kept getting sent further and further down into the black rumbling sea. Waves were crashing all around me and I saw an elm tree, inviting and beautiful, then nothing. Everything blacked out.
 

The ELM

VT

YWP Instructor

More by The ELM