"Cap'n ..."

Not again ... Impatiently, she turned to face the first mate, her lips pursed tightly. "What?"

Twisting his cap between his hands nervously, his lazy eye darted to and fro. "The seas be dangerous tonight, ma'am. I think --"

"You are not paid to think, sailor. You are paid to keep your mouth shut and sail the ship."

Leaning forward, he hissed darkly, "but SHE'S here ..." His sour breath whistled between the gaps in his teeth as he leered anxiously.

"And which "she" is that?" She was growing impatient, though it was partly her own fault for hiring such a filthy crew of drunks on Halloween night. It was the best she could drag together at short notice, and she was beginning to grow weary of their superstitions and ghost stories.

"Marie Noir ..." He took a trembling swig from his hip flask and eyed the horizon. "T'was on this night, a mere decade ago ..." His lazy eye darted once more, then settled on her with a steady gaze.

She knew the legend well, of the crazed Canadian pirate who blew himself up to avoid the noose. "Halloween ghost stories are concocted for disobedient children and the weak of heart. I am neither." She leveled her gaze and fingered her cutlass. "Now, back to work, before I plank you."

With a nod and a bow, he loped back out of sight, through the fog.

Wait ... fog?

She frowned and looked up to see a dark shape creeping up ahead, breaking through the mist no more than a hundred feet away.

"OBSTACLE AHEAD! CHANGE COURSE!" Grabbing the wheel in a panic, she leaned on it with all her weight as the ship lurched with a groan, praying to whatever god she believed in that they could scrape by.

With growing horror, she watched it swing to match their turn.

"Scupper!" Gripping the wheel again, she leaned in the opposite direction, paling as the object up ahead did the same.

A maniacal laugh pealed through the air, the distinct form of a black merchant brig looming through the fog and headed right for them. Clenching her teeth, she closed her eyes tightly and braced for impact, knowing her cutter could barely stand a bump from such a vessel.

And yet it didn't come. Cracking one eye open, she saw that the ship was gone and the coast was once again clear.

Chuckling nervously, she turned to re-adjust the course only to watch in abject horror as the brig plowed straight into a cluster of rocks a half-mile behind them, the explosion causing not even a ripple in the water, the ghostly flames dancing tauntingly amongst the wreckage of the Marie Noir.

Dropping to her knees numbly, she swallowed hard as the fog slowly lifted, her crew limping out of the cabin just in time to see the flames die out, until nothing remained but a haunting memory and the cloying scent of French perfume.