It was a crisp autumn day in Walterwick, Massachusetts, and the leaves were just beginning to turn. A few of them had already fallen from their branches onto the ground below, where they lay scattered about like so many colorful confetti. The wind blew gently through the town as it always did on such days, the salty smell of the bay wafting over the cobblestone streets. It was only natural that this pleasant scent would be accompanied by something else— a certain sense of mystery, perhaps?— as if the air itself carried with it some unseen but palpable weight.
Jeremy Bundt was only ten years old at the time. He loved walking around his hometown, especially when the weather was chilly, as it was today. His favorite place to go was down along the water's edge near the docks, where he could see the ships bobbing up and down in the waves far out into the harbor. There was something intrinsically fascinating about the sea, Jeremy thought. Even though he'd never been aboard one himself, he still found it difficult not to stare wide-eyed whenever he caught sight of an ocean vessel passing by. From the biggest of rolling waves, to the tiniest crab buried in the sand, it all held its own mysterious appeal for him.
Down near the lighthouse, in the lonelier, more remote part of town, stood an old dusty antique shop. No one was exactly sure what drew people to this particular location, since there weren't any major roads nearby, or anything special about the building itself aside from its age (which dated back to the early 1800s). But despite this, the store remained open every single day, even during those times when no customers ever came inside. The proprietor was a crusty old man with a missing eye— he never did say how he lost it— who looked to be as old as the building itself. In fact, rumors said that he actually built the structure himself long ago. No one could recall anyone else owning the shop; even Jeremy's grandfather claimed it had been the same old man working there since he was a child. Whatever the case may have been, however, the shop stayed open year after year, serving as a sort of oasis in the middle of nowhere.
As always, Jeremy found himself staring into the shop's window. There was always something to look at, the ever-changing display of old knick-knacks and miscellaneous objects lining the shelves. Some things were displayed prominently, while others sat quietly in corners, awaiting someone's attention. Every now and then, Jeremy would catch glimpses of some small animal skittering across the floor behind the glass cases. He didn't see it today, and somehow that made him sad. He never caught more than a tail or a whisker out of the corner of his eye, and it seemed like the creature was always just out of view. Maybe I'll come back tomorrow, he decided, and try again.
"Are ye ever going t' buy somethin', lad?" asked a voice. "Or do ye just like starin'?"
Jeremy nearly jumped out his skin, and he turned to see the shopkeeper glaring down at him with his one eye. The old salt wasn't a bad man, but he certainly carried with him an aura of sternness and disapproval. At least, this is how Jeremy felt whenever he spoke to him. To his credit, the shopkeeper never once raised his voice, and he often gave him treats if Jeremy happened to stop by on his way home from school. But that didn't stop him from giving Jeremy the creeps every now and then. And today was one of those days.
"I'm sorry," Jeremy mumbled, looking at his feet. "I just like looking at your collection, that's all."
The old man grunted. "If ye want, yer welcome to take somethin' if it catches yer eye," he said. "That is, if ye have the coin fer it."
Jeremy dug into his pocket and found exactly sixteen cents and a bottle cap. Not exactly sufficient funds to buy a valuable antique with. He sighed, trying to think of what he could possibly purchase for such a paltry sum. Then he remembered something he'd seen in the shop window the other day. A strange little wooden box, about the size of a shoe.
"Is this enough for that old box over there?" he asked, handing the coins over.
The old man took the coins, and furrowed his brow. "Hardly," he said with a grumble. "But I've had that thing for so long I'm achin' t' be rid of it. Can't even recall what's inside."
The old man pocketed the coins and stepped inside the shop. He soon returned with the box in hand and gave it to Jeremy. The box was wrapped in brown paper and tied shut with twine. Jeremy carefully removed the wrapping, revealing an old oak box with brass hinges. It looked positively ancient, as if it were as old as the town itself.
Jeremy opened the lid, and was delighted to find a large iron key, along with a yellowed piece of parchment carefully folded along the bottom. He pulled them both out and unfolded the parchment. On it, scrawled in faded ink, was a map of what appeared to be Walterwick, long before it was populated by white settlers. Jeremy immediately recognized the coastline— he used to play hide-and-seek along those same beaches when he was younger. The only difference was that there was one additional island, marked off with a red X.
"What's that island?" he asked. "I don't remember ever seeing it before."
The old man peered down at the map and squinted. "Ah, that be a place called 'Pelican Island'. Never heard of it? Well, ye wouldn't have. That's because nobody lives there anymore."
Jeremy looked up at the shopkeeper. "Why not?" he asked.
"Well, that's just the way things are," the old man replied. "It hasn't been inhabited in ages, and no one's ever bothered t' claim the land."
Then the old man leaned in and whispered, "And ye better not go near that island, either. There's some kinda curse on that spot, and it'll bring ye bad luck if ye do."
Jeremy wasn't sure if he believed that. He took another look at the map and noticed a long, squiggly line connecting the peninsula, where the lighthouse now stood, to the island.
"This line," he said, pointing to it. "I think it might be an underground tunnel or something. And the entrance is... right around here somewhere."
The old man nodded his head and smiled. "Good eye, lad!" he exclaimed. "Yer a smart one indeed! But I wouldn't go messin' about with buried treasure or whatever ye expects to find there. Best t' leave well enough alone."
But Jeremy wasn't listening. He held the box close to his chest and stared intently towards the peninsula, imagining what lay waiting for him. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that the island held some great secret. What could it be?
He shook his head and turned back to face the old man. "I'm going," he declared, his voice trembling with excitement. "I've got the key and everything."
"Yer a stubborn one, aren't ye?" said the shopkeeper, shaking his head. "Very well then, lad. Go on yer little adventure. But don't say I didn't warn ya."
...
Later on, Jeremy found himself standing beside the lighthouse, map in hand. Night had fallen, and the moon hung low above the ocean, casting a faint glow over the water. The waves lapped gently against the shoreline, the sound of their rhythmical splashes filling Jeremy's ears. He looked down at the map, trying to find the exact location he'd seen earlier. He knew it had to be somewhere nearby, but he couldn't seem to pinpoint exactly where. It was as if the map itself were playing tricks on him.
Jeremy dug into his bag, looking for something that could help. He didn't expect to be gone long, so he'd only brought a few supplies. A flashlight, his father's compass, a sandwich he'd slapped together in the kitchen when no one was looking. One thing he probably didn't need was Chomps, the stuffed tiger he'd had since he was five, but he'd brought him along anyway. He stroked the soft fur of its belly and sighed.
The wind picked up, and Jeremy shivered slightly. The lighthouse loomed up before him as if to protect the town from any dangers lurking in the darkness. There were only two paths leading away from here— one would take him back to town, and the other led to the wild, untamed rocky coastline.
Jeremy took a deep breath, and followed the path. It was much rougher than what he was used to walking, and it seemed to get steeper by the minute. He trudged through the sand and rocks, the map clutched tightly in his hands, taking care to not slip or fall. He paused every now and again, staring out over the landscape, hoping that he might catch sight of some landmark.
Eventually he came upon a branch in the path. He stopped and looked down at the map, wondering which direction it should go next. There were no words written upon it, aside from an elegant signature written in a swirling, looping script. The name was "Capt. John 'Bilge Rat' Swanson", with a tiny skull and crossbones to one side.
He held up Chomps, looking the toy tiger in his button eyes. "I don't suppose you know which way to go?" he asked it.
Chomps, of course, did not answer.
Jeremy sighed. He looked at the map once more, but there was no indication where to turn. He wasn't even sure where he was supposed to be heading.
"I guess we'll just keep going this way," he said aloud. "And hope that I'm getting closer."
The wind blew, and the branches creaked. The path continued on, and Jeremy began to wonder whether or not he'd made a terrible mistake. Maybe I shouldn't be doing this, he thought. Maybe I should just go home.
He was just about to give up when he turned a corner, and there before him was a bewildering sight. In the midst of a clearing was what appeared to the remnants of an old abandoned fairground. It was small, and was clearly themed around the sea, seafaring, and most of all, pirates. Weeds grew everywhere, and the buildings that once stood upright had fallen into ruin. A broken-down old carousel was now covered in moss and fungi, while a pirate ship ride had broken in two, leaning precariously against a crumbling wall.
Jeremy stared for a moment, trying to make sense of what he saw. Had this place always been here? Why hadn't he ever heard of it? And why had it been... abandoned?
He walked slowly towards the center of the fairground, peeking inside the entrance to a dilapidated building. Inside was dark, and smelled strongly of mold. Jeremy shuddered slightly, then stepped inside. He flicked on his flashlight, and the beam illuminated a few bits of furniture, along with several objects he couldn't quite identify. They looked like they might have been coin-operated games at one point, but they were so rotted away that it was hard to tell.
Then Jeremy saw something in the center of the room. A tall rectangular box with a glass window in the front, with a figure of man dressed as a pirate inside. He recognized it right away as some kind of fortune-telling machine. Somehow it had been perfectly preserved, escaping the decay that the rest of building had suffered.
Jeremy approached the device and shone his light on the figure. He was wearing a ruffled shirt, with a large feathered hat perched atop his head. He wore an eyepatch over one eye, and had a long black beard, complete with the typical long, curly mustache he'd seen in pictures of famous pirates. He was made of wood, and painted surprisingly well, his gleaming black eyes staring straight ahead.
"I wonder if it still works," Jeremy said to himself.
He reached into his pocket and was glad to find a single penny. Carefully he dropped the coin into the slot, and pulled the lever. After a moment, the figure sprang to life, the creaking and grinding of old gears breaking the silence. Wistful accordion music began to play, and a deep, gravelly voice rattled out from an old speaker.
"Greetings, young traveler!" the wooden pirate said. "What be yer name?"
Jeremy swallowed nervously, unsure of how to respond. This thing couldn't actually hear him could it?
Apparently not, as the pirate continued on without needing an answer. "Aye, a fine name that be. Well, now, I can see ye've got a keen mind. So, what would ye wish t' know about the future?"
A wooden sign appeared, which read "Yes or no questions, only, please."
"Um, am I going the right way?" Jeremy asked.
The sound of the accordion faded away, and the pirate fell silent for a moment. Then he spoke again, his voice now softer, almost gentle.
"Ya are indeed, my boy! Yer headed in the right direction. But beware, there be many dangers lurking out there in the night. The fog be thick, and monsters lurk beneath the water's surface."
With an unnerving clanking sound, the wooden pirate's head began to slowly rotate. Jeremy held his breath, but the head continued on, turning 180 degrees and then coming to a stop. On the back of the pirate's head was another face, one belonging to rat with dirty white fur and long, crooked teeth. The eyes of the rat stared directly at Jeremy, and he felt a chill run down his spine.
"And beware the monster known as Bilge Rat Swanson most of all, lest ye be devoured by him," the pirate's voice declared.
The rat's mouth opened wide in a sinister grin, revealing its fangs. It began to speak, but Jeremy didn't understand the words. Instead, they were replaced with a low, guttural growling sound.
Suddenly the light bulb inside the machine exploded, and everything went dark. Jeremy yelled, and nearly dropped his flashlight, stumbling backwards. He brought the light back up to the figure, and to his surprise found that it had returned to normal.
For a long moment, Jeremy just stood there, breathing hard. His heart was pounding in his chest, and a cold sweat ran down his forehead. He'd never seen anything like it. He wasn't entirely certain whether or not he had imagined any of what happened, but he couldn't help but feel a lingering sense that somehow it had been real.
He reached into his bag, and pulled out Chomps. The old raggedy tiger's sewn-on smile seemed to reassure him, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. He decided that it was best to leave the fairground as quickly as possible, so he turned around and left the building.
He made his way to the far side of the clearing, where he found the entrance to what appeared to be a cave. An old hand-painted sign hung above the cave entrance, which read "Explore the legendary Captain Swanson's tunnel, only 10 cents." Another sign read "Beware the pirate's curse! Keep your loved ones close!". A rusty turnstile stood between him and it, as well as a collapsed ticket booth, and a third sign reading "No refunds".
Jeremy took a deep breath, and pushed his way through the turnstile. The metal bars snapped clean off, falling to the ground with a clang. He stepped into the cavern beyond, and immediately wished he'd stayed outside. There was no light in here whatsoever, save for his own flashlight. The darkness swallowed him whole, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of him.
Despite the fear he felt, he moved forward, holding his flashlight aloft. The sound of dripping water echoed off the rock walls, and Jeremy could swear he heard the faintest of whispers in the distance. He shuddered slightly, and tried his best to ignore them.
'There better be something amazing at the end of this tunnel,' he thought. 'I don't even know what I'm looking for..."
After a while, the path began to slope downwards. Jeremy descended slowly, taking care not to slip on the wet rocks beneath him. The air grew colder, and it became clear that the tunnel had dipped down below the bay. He tried hard not to imagine the vast amount of sea water somewhere above him, but it was difficult.
All the while he was moving forward, Jeremy made sure to keep one hand against the rock wall. It was wet and slimy and cold, but he felt safer knowing that he could hold onto it.
Suddenly his fingers touched something that wasn't stone. He swing his flashlight to whatever it was, and drew back in alarm when he discovered a skull embedded in the rock. It was followed by another, and another, more and more of them acting as some sort of ghastly wall decoration the further along the tunnel went. They were all facing Jeremy, their empty eye sockets staring straight into his soul.
"What are these?" he whispered. "Why are they... why are they here?"
"Go back," said a low voice, coming from some unseen source. Jeremy turned around, trying to find the owner of the voice, but there was nothing.
"Who's there?!" he demanded.
The voice came again, now sounding closer and clearer. "Go back," the voice repeated. "You do not belong here. You must go home."
Jeremy felt a chill run up his spine. He desperately wanted to go back home, he really did. But his curiosity was just too strong.
"I've come too far," he told the voice. "I've got to keep going."
"If you proceed, you will wish you had," the voice said, echoing somewhere in the distance. "We warned you..."
Jeremy decided to take another step forward, and the voice ceased. The skulls continued to stare at him as before, though they seemed somehow less ominous now. He took a deep breath, then began to walk once more. The tunnel soon began to slope upward, and after a short time leveled out.
The path finally ended abruptly, and Jeremy found himself standing before a large iron door. The handle was rusted, and the lock had long since fallen off its hinges. Hesitantly, he reached for the handle, and pulled it open.
It swung easily, and the door opened with a loud creak. He was surprised to see moonlight shining down on him, and he realized that he had escaped the tunnel, shaken, but unscathed. The smell of the sea greeted his nostrils once more, and Jeremy breathed deeply, relishing the fresh ocean breeze.
He stepped outside, and the door closed behind him. He looked around cautiously, and saw that he was now on an island. Pelican Island, no doubt, just as the map said. The sound of insects and other night-dwelling creatures chirped quietly in background, and Jeremy could hear waves crashing against the shore.
'Now's a good time to take a load off,' he thought, spying a nearby rock. He sat down, and leaned back against it, closing his eyes to enjoy the cool breeze blowing across him. The soft sand crunched beneath him, and he felt a moment of peace.
He carefully fished Chomps out of his bag, and sat him down beside him. The tiger looked oddly comfortable somehow, sitting there on the sand. He then pulled out the sandwich he made for himself, and took a bite out of it as he pondered where to go from here.
'I guess I should explore,' he thought, chewing slowly. 'Maybe I'll find something interesting.'
"What do you think, Chomps?" he asked. "Is it worth suffering Captain Swanson's curse to find the secret of Pelican Island? Or are we scaredy-cats?"
Chomps, once again, said nothing, but his button eyes seemed to gleam in moonlight.
"Well, there's only one way to find out," Jeremy declared. "Let's go!"
Jeremy packed his half-eaten sandwich and stood up, making his way down the beach, following the faint path that led inland. He pulled out his compass, comparing the direction the needle pointed to the map. He was sure he'd read it right, but if not, at least this would be a fun adventure.
As he walked, he kept his flashlight trained ahead of him, and every so often would stop and shine it on the ground, looking for footprints or any sign that someone else might have been here recently. There was nothing, however, which was oddly comforting in itself.
The ground was uneven, covered in loose rocks and shells. It was easy enough to get around them, but the occasional crack of a rock colliding with another was more than a little unnerving. The old pirate's warning still rang in the back of his mind. He couldn't help glancing over his shoulder from time to time, searching for monsters lurking in the darkness.
But there were none. At least, not yet.
The path eventually gave way to a forested area, and Jeremy began to feel much more confident. The trees here were tall and dense, their leaves turning the color of blood. Even with his confidence, he still shivered slightly as he pushed his way through, and pulled his jacket tighter around himself.
Soon a tall broken wooden structure came into view, somewhere beyond the trees. As Jeremy got closer, he could see that it was the wreck of an old sailing ship, the hull mostly rotted away. The wooden beams had long since fallen apart, leaving just a few pieces sticking out of the side like jagged teeth. A crab darted out from the shadows, scurrying towards Jeremy as he approached.
"Yikes!" Jeremy exclaimed, leaping backwards. The crab quickly disappeared under a pile of fallen wood. "What was that about?"
Jeremy looked around nervously, but saw no other signs of life. His eyes drifted over the wreck, and he saw the name of the ship painted in black on the side.
"The Red Falcon," he said, reading off the faded lettering. He remembered that his father had once told him a story about it. He couldn't remember the details, but he was sure it had something to do with pirates.
He took another deep breath and continued forward, walking carefully around the ruined vessel. The air was thick and heavy, smelling of dead things. Searching for an opening large to climb through, he soon found one on the other side of the hull.
It looked as though the ship was sunk in a shallow grave, the insides of it rising high above Jeremy's head. He cautiously stepped inside, and saw that it was surprisingly spacious. The floor of every lower deck had collapsed, leaving only a huge empty hollow within.
Jeremy shone his flashlight around, but didn't spot anything out of place. It was completely silent, save for the sound of the crashing waves outside. He ventured deeper, trying to keep his footsteps light, and shining the beam ahead of him.
Then, as he reached the far end of the empty hull, he saw it. A body, draped horribly over a huge wooden chest. The figure had clearly been there for an untold number of years, its ragged, torn clothing that of some bygone age, with nothing but a musty old skeleton underneath. Jeremy recoiled at the sight of it, but forced himself to approach it slowly.
"What is this?" he asked aloud. "Is this... is this Captain Swanson? Is that... his treasure?"
Jeremy knew he shouldn't touch the thing, but curiosity got the better of him. He so wanted to see what was inside the chest, and he felt compelled to open the lid.
Hand trembling, he reached out to try and undo the lock. But before his fingers touched the metal, they froze, as if someone else were holding them. He could hear a low voice whispering at the back of his mind, telling him to go home. That he should just forget the whole thing and leave the treasure alone.
But Jeremy was stubborn, and he couldn't let such a great opportunity pass him by. So, with a heavy gulp, he lowered his hand, and grasped the ancient, rusty lock.
Suddenly he felt the grip of a cold, bony hand clutching at his wrist. Long, clawed fingers dug into his flesh, holding him to the spot. He tried to pull away, but the hand was too strong.
He looked up and saw that the hand belonged to the old pirate's skeleton. It was still face-down on top of the chest, but the bones were moving now, clicking and rattling together in a grim mockery of life. Slowly, the skeleton's head began to rise up, and to Jeremy's horror, it was not the skull of a human, but that of a huge, monstrous rat with long, curved incisors. Two pinprick lights gleamed out from within its eye sockets, glowing the same awful shade of green as murky sea water.
The skeletal creature opened its mouth, revealing rows of pointed teeth that dripped foul black sea foam. Its jaw clicked shut again, and it raised itself higher into the air.
"Noooo!" Jeremy screamed, struggling against the rodent's grasp. It held firm, however, as the skeleton pulled itself upright and took a step forward. The ghostly skull grinned down at Jeremy with terrifying intensity, and began to whisper in a harsh, guttural voice.
"Thief... You should not have come..." it growled, "You will pay for your folly... with blood."
The skeleton raised its hand to strike, and Jeremy could see the glint of its long, sharp claws. His heart raced as he tried to escape, but the skeleton was stronger than it appeared.
"No!" he cried in desperation. "Let me go!"
Finally Jeremy managed to break free from the creature's grip, stumbling backwards. The rat's claws swiped through the empty air, mere inches from his body. The thing snarled with fury, and lunged forward, ready to rip him apart. It pinned Jeremy to the ground, and he just barely managed to keep its claws from being embedded in his face by grabbing at its wrist. The skeleton screeched and hissed on top of him, the sound like nails scraping across glass, its breath ice cold and fetid upon his skin.
Its dead eyes bored into his own, and Jeremy knew it was only a matter of seconds before the beast would tear him to shreds. With no other options left, he reached into his bag and pulled out Chomps, shoving the toy into the rat's face.
To Jeremy's great surprise, the skeleton began to howl in pain. Its hands clawed at the stuffed tiger, but seemed completely unable to remove him, as if the toy were glued on. The thing continued to shriek and wail, its cry becoming more frantic with each passing second.
Jeremy scrambled to his feet, the skeleton's grip finally loosening enough for him to get away. He watched as the creature writhed on the ground, with Chomps still firmly attached to its face. A sputtering smoke rose from its cranium, and as far as Jeremy could tell, it was being burned merely by being touched by the toy!
It suddenly stopped moving, and collapsed to the ground. When the fire had died out, all that remained of the rat was a pile of ash and charred bones.
Jeremy stood there, breathing heavily, staring at the remains. He'd never seen anything quite so strange as that. He bent down and picked up Chomps, and found that besides a large gash in his plush belly, the tiger was none the worse for wear.
"That's... one way to deal with undead pirates," he said aloud. "I guess I owe you one, buddy."
Free from danger, he walked over to the chest, and lifted the lid. Inside were stacks of gold coins, glittering brightly in the light of his flashlight, as well as several large jewels and other valuable trinkets. He couldn't possibly carry them all, but one object in particular caught his interest- a small, leather-bound book. It was old and tattered, with yellowed pages and cracked binding, but something about it drew him in.
He opened the cover and saw that it was filled with faded, handwritten text. It looked like an ancient journal, and he felt a thrill run through him at his discovery. It belonged to Swanson no doubt, and Jeremy decided to take it with him as a souvenir.
Shaken, but more than satisfied, Jeremy stashed away the journal— along with a few coins— into his bag, and made his way back out of the ship and into the open. The sun was rising in the distance, casting long shadows across the beach, and the air was growing warmer by the minute.
He was sure his parents were waking up by now. No doubt they would be worried about him. He was more than ready to go home, but he didn't relish the idea of returning to the mainland through that tunnel, and especially not that creepy fairground.
Jeremy yawned, suddenly feeling a massive wave of exhaustion wash over him. He'd been up nearly all night, and after that harrowing experience, sleep sounded like a very appealing option. Unable to stop himself, he dropped to his knees, and then pitched forward, landing face-first in the sand. A second later, he was out like a light.
...
When Jeremy awoke, he found himself in his own bed. He sat bolt upright, blinking rapidly and looking around. The familiar sight of his bedroom greeted him, with the curtains drawn against the sunlight, and the lamp turned down low. His heart leapt into his throat, and he quickly glanced down at his body to make sure everything seemed to be in order. Nothing was out of place. A few bruises and scratches, but that was to be expected after what had happened.
He looked to his left and found Chomps sitting comfortably next to his pillow. His belly had been carefully stitched back together, and looked almost good as new. Jeremy grinned at the stuffed tiger, very glad to see him again. He picked him up and gave the tiger a friendly scratch behind his ears.
"You're such a good friend, buddy," he said.
If it weren't for his injuries, Jeremy might have assumed he had dreamt the whole thing. He could only guess someone had found him on the island and brought him back home. Slowly, he crawled out of bed, and searched inside his bag, which was now hanging on a bedpost. Sure enough, there was the journal, as well as the gold coins he had taken.
Jeremy's mind flashed to the skeleton pirate, but he pushed the memory away. It wouldn't do him any good to dwell upon it. After all, he was alive, and that was the important thing.
"At least I've got some treasure to show for it," he muttered to himself, grinning.
Journal and coins in hand, he dashed downstairs, where he found his mother and father preparing dinner. Evidently he had slept nearly the whole the day; and really, who would have blamed him?
"Mom! Dad! You'll never guess what I found on the island!" he said excitedly.
His father looked up, eyes wide with surprise. "Whoa there, bud, you sure you should be up?" he said.
Jeremy was too excited to be worried about himself. He immediately launched into a rambling retelling of last night's adventure, though he left out the supernatural bits. For the most part, his parents listened to his story, but when he mentioned the journal, his father leaned in closer and examined it closely.
"You say you found this in that chest?" he asked.
Jeremy nodded eagerly. "Yeah, why?"
"Dear, I don't know what to tell you," his mother said, "but when the search party found you next to that shipwreck, the chest was empty."
Jeremy looked baffled. "But... but how? It was full of gold coins and jewels and stuff, I swear!" He dug inside his pocket and fished out the ones he had recovered. "See?"
He held up the coins so they were visible to both of his parents, and watched as their expressions changed from confusion to surprise.
"Well, they sure look real enough," his father said.
"And the journal looks authentic," his mother added.
"Maybe you were tired, and you thought there were more coins than there really were," his father suggested. "The rest might have been stolen away ages ago."
"Maybe," Jeremy said, shaking his head sadly. "I don't understand it..."
He stepped away for a moment, and began flipping through the journal. Maybe, just maybe, there was some sort of clue... something that would explain what had happened to all those riches.
When he came to the last page, however, he stopped in his tracks, feeling his heart skip a beat. There, scrawled in red ink, was a message. It read:
"Nice try, young scallywag, but the treasure is mine alone. —Bilge Rat Swanson"
Jeremy stared at the words in disbelief. It looked like Swanson had had the last word after all.

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