The Girls Who Cried Ghost

An exciting breeze tickled Marilyn Castillo’s nose as loose frays of her brown hair danced in the wind, catching a layer of salty dew as the sun rose on the sea’s horizon. She exhaled a long sigh as she watched the small waves break against the side of the great wooden ship, the color of the depths closely resembling the swampy green irises of her young eyes. Just as she was about to close them, a startling scuffle sounded from the deck behind her.

“Oh, the poor girl. She would do better off in an orphanage, you know. If she spends much more time on this dreaded ship, she’ll turn into a sea creature herself!” shrieked the bubbling voice of Mrs. Wayworth, one of the ship’s most prestigious passengers. Marilyn did not have to turn to confirm that Mrs. Wayworth’s lady friends had nodded in agreement—after all, Marilyn could not put up much of a fight against what was said about her. Motherless and left with no choice but to follow her father on his escapades across the sea, the 10-year-old Castillo girl had no hope of a promising future.

After one last glance at the rising sun, Marilyn pushed herself off the rail of the forecastle deck, scurrying down the ladder and landing on the main deck with a thud. She hastily picked up her pail of water before starting down the side of the ship, quickly catching up to Mrs. Wayworth and her entourage.

“Excuse me, madams, could you please—,” Marilyn piped from behind them before tipping the majority of her pail onto the ground at their feet, soaking their finely stitched shoes. The ladies erupted into high-pitched shrieks of disgust, the loudest of all that of Mrs. Wayworth, who grabbed her daughter—Amelia—by the arm and looked gapingly down at her velvet-trimmed flats.

“Oh, dear, excuse me to retrieve a rag from the closet,” Marilyn uttered before turning and rushing off down the side of the ship, her small feet pounding on the wood beneath her. She looked back only once to see Amelia Wayworth watching as she made her escape, a hint of an amused smile dancing on her petite features.

***

The champagne glasses clinked as Marilyn sat yet another newly polished glass onto the rack. Mrs. Wayworth and her entourage had seen to it that Marilyn would be punished—but the Captain, immune to her sporadic behavior, merely shook his head and told her to get back to work.

As she worked her small fingers into the curve of the glass, she couldn’t help but daydream of the coming week’s events. The night of Homecoming—the night before the ship was to arrive at the shore—was the only day Marilyn was to spend working with her father, who could usually be found in the depths of the ship hammering away on something or another.

Oh, and I wonder what stories he will have this time! Marilyn wondered. Now he isn’t the only one with tales of adventure—I can share my own as well!

“How does all that scrubbing not make your hands blister?”

Marilyn let out a yelp of surprise as she flung around to face the intruder, a champagne glass dropping out of her lathered hands and crashing onto the floor. “Oh, Lord,” she muttered, dropping to the ground and picking up the biggest shards of glass.

“A broom would do you well, you know. Cuts on your fingers will do you no good in cleaning those glasses.” Only then did Marilyn look up, confused at the sight of Amelia Wayworth standing in front of her. Her bouncy blonde hair fell about her shoulders, and her petite hands clutched a broom at her side.

“How did you find me in here?” Marilyn asked, taking the broom while eyeing the Wayworth girl suspiciously.

Amelia shrugged, her baby blue irises eying the mess on the floor. “Marilyn, I am here to ask of you a request.”

Marilyn refrained from snorting. “A request? What could I do for you?”

If anything, I should be the one asking for requests, Marilyn thought.

“I want to go on an adventure. You reminded me of the heroines in the books I read, so you must go on adventures, right?”

Marilyn, who uttered a small laugh, began to think. Perhaps Amelia Wayworth is not like her mother. Perhaps, Marilyn had found the opportunity to make her first friend in the 10 years she had been alive.

“You want to go on an adventure?” Marilyn queried. Amelia nodded earnestly. “Well, you can’t go on an adventure dressed like that.”

***

As Amelia looked herself up and down in the mirror, Marilyn expected the worst. I have turned the princess into a deckhand … why did I think this was a good idea? Marilyn thought. Amelia’s violet dress was discarded onto her bed, now replaced by a pair of forest green trousers and a brown blouse. Her curly hair was pulled into a braid down her back, loose ringlets framing her small face. At first, she looked quizzical, spinning to see the back of her outfit, before turning to Marilyn and engulfing her in a hug that emitted a grunt from the sailor’s daughter.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! This is absolutely marvelous, Marilyn!” the girl exclaimed.

“O-Of course,” Marilyn said, letting her arms lay limp as Amelia hugged her. She refrained from shrinking back and was not used to the foreign touch; the last time someone had hugged her had been several years ago.

“What type of adventure shall we go on today?” Amelia asked, eyes wide and bursting with a flame of excitement.

Marilyn took the chance to step back, pretending to cross her arms in thought. Oh, right. I haven’t thought about that.

Marilyn caught the spark of an idea and ran with it, smirking and turning towards the door. “Follow me.”

***

“And then, you will not believe what happened next!” Amelia exclaimed. “Poor Mr. Tutley tripped over the new carpet and spilled the tea all over our esteemed guests! I haven’t seen him since—he is probably in his room perishing from embarrassment! I would be too, by God!”

Marilyn forced a laugh, and only one thought had been going through her head as she looked out from the deck: poor Mr. Tutley most definitely perished, but not from embarrassment.

The deserted deck the young girls sat on protruded from a storage closet and extended somewhat over the water, providing a soft breeze and an unbelievably strong stench of the sea.

“I think I know where we should take our adventure next,” Marilyn said as she bit her nail. “All good explorers deserve a treat after a big discovery; c’mon, I’ll show you the butcher’s shack.”

Amelia scrunched her nose. “That terrible place? I walked past it once, and the odor was enough to send my mother and her ladies off retching.”

“We’re not going there for the meat, just follow me. Do you swear not to tell anyone what I’m about to tell you?” Marilyn asked.

Amelia nodded and sat on her knees, listening intently.

“The butcher has a stash of the greatest taffy on the ship, but I’m one of the only people who knows because we don’t want the Captain or other passengers to find out … promise you won’t tell anyone?”

Maybe this is how I can solidify our friendship! Marilyn thought.

“Do not worry, Marilyn, I have no one to tell. Now let us go and claim our prize!” Amelia jumped to her feet, and together the girls raced back into the body of the ship.

As they turned the corner leading into the corridor of the butcher’s shack, Marilyn planted her feet, causing Amelia to nearly crash into her.

“Hey, what are you—.”

“Shhh!” Marilyn put a finger to her lips and hid behind the wall. Amelia quickly followed after noticing the figure staggering down the hallway away from them.

“What is Captain doing down here?” Amelia whispered. “What purpose does he have in the butcher’s shack, do you think?”

Marilyn’s eyes narrowed as she peeked around the corner. “I don’t know. Come on.”

“Wait! I’m not supposed to be down here without adults; what if he catches us?” Amelia’s eyes went wide as she wrung her small hands together.

“He won’t. Besides, I thought you wanted an adventure,” Marilyn prodded.

The blonde sighed. “I suppose.”

Amelia sleekly followed Marilyn, their feet nearly inaudible on the floorboards. They reached the arch that led into the butcher’s shack, but a glance inside confirmed that Captain had disappeared behind the counter.

Great, Marilyn thought, I hope Butcher isn’t in trouble.

As Marilyn stepped into the arched doorway, Amelia caught her arm.

“If you are too cowardly, I will complete this mission on my own,” Marilyn whispered a bit harsher than she anticipated.

Amelia jutted her chin out. “I am no coward.”

Marilyn nodded and turned back to the shack, creeping up to the counter that blocked off the work area of the butcher. The room was dark and smelt of metallic animal blood and warm meat, but the counter was much too tall for small Marilyn to see over. Once the girls had tiptoed over to the gate leading to the back of the shack, Marilyn laid her hand on the latch. A deep, resonating growl emitted from behind it.

Amelia suppressed a yelp and gripped Marilyn’s hand hard enough to break bones. The sailor girl’s lips pressed into a thin line. Perhaps that was the groan of the boat. Yes—yes I am sure it was. We have not gotten this far only to not see what Captain is up to.

Marilyn opened the gate a few inches, just barely enough for them to peek through. The growls turned to groans as they spotted Captain hunched over something on the ground. A hound? I thought those weren’t permitted on the ship. Their eyes locked onto the scene as Captain fell to his knees—and that is when they realized the growls were coming from the one and only red-haired Captain himself. He shifted to the side, and it was revealed that what he kneeled over what not a bloody dog but …

“Butcher!” Marilyn exclaimed in a whisper. Amelia’s hand flew to Marilyn’s mouth, her eyes remaining glued to the men before them.

Captain’s hand curled up to his face, and as his solid white eyes turned to meet the girls’, he licked a bloody finger with a sufficient slurp. Shaking violently, the girls staggered back, the words of their estranged Captain etched into their very souls. “Oh, my darrrrlings, so kind of you to join us. We were just getting ready for dessert, were we not, Butcher Paul?”

Amelia was the first to bolt, shrieking as she dragged Marilyn along with her. The Captain did not make an effort to pursue them; if he had, they would not have made it to the main deck, where Mrs. and Mr. Wayworth were in deep conversation.

“Mother! Father! Captain has gone mad!” Amelia shrieked, her chest heaving like it never had before. Mr. Wayworth glanced upon the girls in concern, while Mrs. Wayworth merely snarled in disgust.

“You. Get away from my daughter this instant! What have you done with her dress? You have infused her mind with nonsense!” Mrs. Wayworth cried.

“My dear—.”

“Ronald, enough. I shall take Amelia to her quarters and find out exactly what happened. Please, find Captain and inform him of this girl’s scandalous actions.” Mrs. Wayworth grabbed Amelia’s arm fiercely, and as she began to struggle words floated from behind us, silencing us all.

“Now, my fair travelers, what is the matter?” Captain’s voice echoed in the soft ocean breeze. I flung around, my arms held out in defense, as the red-headed Captain looked down on me with a look of puzzlement. B-But no … we saw what we saw. We could not have imagined that, Marilyn thought.

“What is the matter, my child?” He didn’t wait for a response, his eyes trailing from Amelia to Marilyn. “Mr. and Mrs. Wayworth, if you do not mind I would like to speak to these girls privately.”

Amelia, who was moments ago straining to escape her mother’s grasp, clung to her skirt with no intention of letting go. “NO, mother, you mustn’t let him take us!”

Marilyn watched as Mr. Wayworth tore Amelia from her mother, and he got down on his knees in front of her and uttered words no one could hear but Amelia and her father.

There is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, Marilyn thought as she dug her nails into her palms, fighting the urge to run.

Amelia Wayworth and Marilyn Castillo followed their handsome Captain into his quarters, watching as his deep indigo waistcoat swayed as he walked. He let them in before him, guiding them to sit on the tall mahogany chairs that faced his desk before he entered himself. He closed the wooden, windowless door to his chambers … and ensured that the bolts were locked in place.

Two girls, each looking for a friend,

More alone than most,

Until the glass did descend.

They ventured upon the sternpost,

Searching for adventure.

Until the gory sight of death

Ended their time together.

Now the tale shall ever trend:

Just off the Cornwall coast

Was the perilous end

Of the girls who cried ghost.