Jesse B. Carlisle
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Stories (4/0)
A Baker’s Dozen Faberge Eggs
As the Flying Dutchman approached the central courtyard of the Russian Gatchina palace, Captain Hook trained his spyglass upon a central window above the fountain and focused it on the grand table displaying the collection of Faberge eggs. “That there’s our target mates.” he shouted. The ship landed in the center of the courtyard, on either side palace guards rushed to man rows of cannons that lined the walls facing the sides of the ship. “Drop anchor.” Captain Kidd was heard to say. The massive anchor dropped from the side of the ship digging deep into the finely trimmed lawn of the courtyard. By this time the palace guards on either side of the ship were loading gunpowder and cannon balls into the lines of cannons trained on the mysterious interloping vessel. “Man the cannons.” Jack Sparrow shouted at the crew. Several skeleton crew members jumped into the gold-framed seats attached to the cannons in the gun rooms. Atop each cannon there were small gold framed cages with tiny whale oil lamps in one corner and a hovering pixie chained to the opposite corner. The pixies looked on in fright anticipating the battle to come. A dull silence drifted across the courtyard as a bird of prey circled above. The bird narrowed it’s gaze and spotted the skeletons manning the ship. In it’s confusion it let out a screech breaking the calm. On one side of the ship a Russian commander shouted “Fire!” On the other side his counterpart shouted the identical command. Rows of cannons on either side of the ship unleashed cannon ball after cannon ball at the ship as musketeers knelt and fired their long guns, quickly replaced by backups standing behind them. The cannon balls struck the sides of the pixie dush covered ship and cracked like walnuts then fill to the ground doing no harm. Long John Silver held high his sword and shouted “All right me hearties, it’s a fight they be want’n, attack.” One of the skeleton crew members in the gun room shouted “You heard the Captain. Fire!” The cannon gunners swung round on their seats and pressed the triggers on the steering wheel like handles mounted on the backs of the cannons. The whale oil lamps flared and the pixies responded in terror hopelessly struggling to avoid the glow and heat of the flames. As they did pixie dust fell into funnels mounted on the base of their small cages. That caused the cannon balls to shoot from the cannons in blinding speed sparkling and followed by trailing streaks of lightning. The balls landed in the midst of the palace cannoneers sending cannons and guard flying in all directions. When the rows of the palace defenses had been shattered the Jolly Roger shouted “Ok maties, to the palace and fetch me them eggs.” On either side of the ghost ship planks were lowered and teams of skeleton crews charged off the ship and headed forward towards the central palace where they rounded the great fountain and charged their way into the main palace entrance. They ran through the main entrance way and charged up each side of the symmetrical staircase. Captain Hook on one side and Blackbeard on the other sweeping aside all guards that attempted to stand in their way. They divided and charged around the balcony that ringed the main entrance way meeting at the entrance of the central display room where the priceless treasure awaited. Blackbeard took a musket handgun from his belt and aimed it at the double doorway then fired. A small bolt of lightning run from it exploding the doors leaving only splinters where they had stood. Central in the room was the grand display table with over a dozen Faberge eggs on various styled mounts. In fount of the table were the palace’s last line of defense, sword welding elite palace guards with the mad monk Rasputin in the center waving a tall staff in the air. “By the power of the ancient forces you will not pass.” He shouted. Captain Hook and Blackbeard traded looks at each other. Captain Hook shouted “There be our treasure mates, charge.” The elite palace guard engaged in a sword fight with the skeleton crewmen. However, their metal swords were no match for the pixie dust enhanced swords and shields used by the pirate crew. The only one left standing was Rasputin in his long dark robe and staff. “He be mine.” Stated Captain Hook as he replaced his sword in his belt. He and Rasputin circled each other preparing to strike. Rasputin let fly blow after blow from his long staff. Captain Hook fended off each blow with his razor shape golden hook. Captain Hook charged and parried sending Rasputin stumbling back towards the large central window overlooking the courtyard. Rasputin attempted another blow from his staff. Captain Hook dodged then stepped on the staff pinning it to the floor. Rasputin looked up into the empty eye sockets of Captain Hook’s skull. “Got ye.” Was the last thing he heard before feeling himself being lifted by hand and hook and thrown headfirst through the window. The captain’s hook had snagged on Rasputin’s long robe and it remained behind as Rasputin landed in the fountain below with nothing but his shame and long underwear. As the Captain freed his hook of the wayward garment, he shouted “Collect me them golden eggs, a long voyage back to Treasure Island we have. And be lively about it.”
By Jesse B. Carlisle3 years ago in Fiction
The Flying Dutchman
Captain Jack Sparrow sat on the deck of the Flying Dutchman running his favorite sharpening stone along his cutlass. The activity would have brought a smile to his lips and a twinkle to his eyes, had he lips or eyes. You know, I be enjoying times like these, the calm before the storm ye might say. Enjoy it while ye may. We raise from these here waters and take to the sky with the coming moon. The voice came from the Jolly Roger bodiless skull and cross bones mounted on the main deck of the ghost ship. Sing us a song me lovely he asked of the Wooden Lady mounted on the bow of the ship. She started to sing a beautiful siren's song that filled the air and drifted throw out the lower decks. The skeletal crew stopped what they were doing to take notice. Even the pixies responded captivated by the haunting melody.
By Jesse B. Carlisle3 years ago in Futurism
The Flying Dutchman
Four of the five ships Captains sat back around the map table in the Captain’s mess as a tear shaped bottle of rum made it’s way back and forth exploring the tables boundaries. Who be manning the wheel on this here excursion asked Captain Hook as he reached a skinless arm capped with a hook for the wayward bottle. It be Long John Silver and he’s about to take’er in to the nether regions. Just yee be rememberin them ghosties ain’t real and can do yee no harm. You yourself be remembering my dear fellow, said the skeleton of Bluebeard as he ran his skinless fingers down his long blue tinted beard. The skeleton of Captain Jack Sparrow seat back and put his skinless feet up on the table as he raised a golden goblet high in the air as to toast and said, Here’s to Moby Dick, long may he soar, horror of the nether regions. Right then the sound of clockwork began to make it’s way into the room. They all looked at each other and rose to their skeletal feet. Each of them armed with a distinct sword and each of them wearing their fancy pirate’s hat that distinguished them from the riff raff of the crew. One by one they emerged from the galley to the main deck of the Flying Dutchman. Airborne ghostship of legend. They were just in time to see the great clockwork mechanism raise from the main hatch exposing lower decks. It sparkled and glowed with pixie dust and the whale oil lamps that frightened the small metallic butterfly like being that powered it. As it spun, it’s glow increased and before the ship, the clouds begun to form a funnel to the nether region. The captain and crew tightened their grips on their swords, in spite of their knowledge that the phantoms they where about to encounter were as harmless a gusts of air. Knowing that fact would be lost in the nether region, only returning upon exit into the new time zone that lay on it’s other side.
By Jesse B. Carlisle3 years ago in Futurism