A Pirate in Time (Completed)

17

I woke up to an eerily still silence.

The wind had stopped moaning and the woodwork had stopped groaning. I could no longer feel the ship bobbing with the waves like it usually did, nor could I hear the crewmen working away above deck.

Quietly, I slipped out of bed, leaving the children to sleep as I approached the small, circular porthole on the wall closest to me.

The water was as still as glass, and there wasn't a cloud to be seen for miles. It was a strange placidness one did not usually find on the open ocean, and I couldn't help but feel uneasy in its presence.

The predawn light that painted the horizon a slightly lighter shade of blue every morning was just beginning to grace the sky, and with the unnatural weather patterns, I decided to investigate.

I silently slipped on my boots, trying my best not to wake the children, and slid out the door that lead to the outer cabin. Jay was nowhere to be seen, which meant he was probably up top. I decided to find out.

I left the Captain's quarters and wove my way through the narrow hallway. Nets and rigging hung from nails sticking out of cross beams in the ceiling, and crates of stolen cargo lined the walls.

When I'd reached the base of the stairs leading to the top deck, I took a moment to stare up at he starry sky and listen for any signs of movement. The silence stretched thickly over the air.

Taking a slow, steady breath, I quietly ascended the stairs.

Contrary to my ears' belief, there were men above deck. Each had a weapon in hand and were quietly passing tufts of cotton to each other. Without a word, they stuffed the white fluff into their ears before passing the remnants on to the next man.

Jay stood apart from the others. He had placed himself a short distance away from the helm, though he wouldn't be able to steer us anywhere without wind or current, and stared apprehensively out at the water. I noticed, though, that he did not stand too close to the edge either.

I approached him soundlessly, though he didn't seem to notice. He was far too occupied in his staring contest with the ocean.

I anchored myself beside him and stared out in the same general direction his own gaze lingered. I saw nothing but the mysteriously placid water.

When I felt his gaze turn to bore into the side of my head, I turned to meet it. He studied me openly for a few moments before slowly pressing his index finger to his lips. I nodded, understanding his plea for silence. I just wasn't sure why it was so important.

I sent him a questioning look, hoping to receive some sort of answer. Instead, Jay's eyes snapped back to the sea when a small blip, like a stone dropping into water, echoed around us.

Sirens, he mouthed as he pulled a small wad of cotton from his pocket and stuffed it in his ears.

My brows furrowed a bit in confusion.

Sirens don't exist. It's been proven. If they were real, scientists would've discovered them long ago. Most mermaid sightings have been written off as nothing more than manatees or tuna that were distorted beneath the surface of the water.

So we had nothing to worry about. Right?

My question was shattered when an enchanting melody echoed through the air. The notes started off soft and beautiful, but crescendoed into something utterly haunting. My soul wept for the sadness in the singer's tone, and I found a fresh pool of tears gathering in my eyes.
Something inside me yearned to get closer to the voice, but no sooner had I taken my first step, that something blocked my path.