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Pirate Blood
He was stiff, lying in the coffin, his arms were pressing his hips and his neck was bending. His long hair was dirty with mud and came down in a shapeless pulp, covering a side of his face. His skin was drawn like old paper, his muscles and sinews stood out from underneath. His fingers were true claws.
When Johnny saw them, he felt a new sense of terror. They were the same he might have heard while he was digging. He was still thinking about that noise, when he had to turn his head the other side. An unbearable stench overwhelmed him, the unmistakable acid smell of putrefaction. He tried hard not to throw out: his intestine was in a mess, as if someone was stirring it by a stick.
Avery gave a start as well. He lifted his collar to protect his face.
“How are you doing, my friend?”, he asked after a while, turning to Wynne. His voice was nasal, almost funny in such a context.
As an answer, the pirate’s jaw started to move in the middle of his ruffled hair, as if he was trying hard to speak.
Johnny opened his eyes wide. Oh my God! He is still alive…
No sound came out of his mouth, but a rat did instead. At first its tail peeped out, then the jaw opened in a wide yawn and the animal walked back on his small paws. It took some steps back, heedless of the human beings. It darted its black eyes around, clearly stunned and annoyed since he had to leave its den, then he disappeared into a hole at the bottom of the coffin, were the wood had got rotten.
The old man didn’t bat an eye. That wasn’t the same for Johnny.
“What are we going to do?”, he asked. The small stick into his belly had turned into a beam. He feared that Avery would ask him to get back there.
On the contrary, he kept silent, rubbing his hand on his rough chin and wondering. His grey wisps had fallen by the sides of his face and the rain was streaming down his bold head.
“Give me the torch, before it goes out”, he suddenly ordered.
Johnny did what he was asking him. He could see Avery catching the dead man by his hair and shaking him violently: the head changed its angle and gave out a series of creaking sounds, even if the neck hadn’t broken. His face kept sneering, his wide open and distorted mouth, where the mouse had come out from, was like a very deep well. Since the tongue was missing, the rodent had been able to hole up there untroubled. All around his livid lips, marks of clotted blood could still be seen.
“Come here”, Avery ordered. He drove the torch into the ground. The yellowish halo of the fading light was casting its shade against a side of the grave, reducing it to a vague half-moon shape.
Johnny went down again, unwillingly. He lost sight of the corpse for a moment: Avery was bending forward so much that he was blocking his view. He seemed to be bustling about something. He finally let his grip and Wynne fell back heavily into the coffin.
“So?”, the boy inquired.
The old man turned to look at him, his hand open and trembling. He was still holding some greasy locks between his fingers. The pirate’s artificial eye was standing out against his wrinkled skin. It was an almost perfect sphere, except for a slight notch on one side. It seemed to be staring at him with chained hatred.
Then Avery waved his hand near the torch, letting the light pass through it. A greenish glare was shining inside the eyeball. It seemed just a faint light at first, but it was flaring up like a small incandescent sun under the flame’s warmth.
“Oh my God!”, Johnny burst out, opening his mouth wide in amazement.
“What did I tell you?”, Avery claimed. He then moved his lips, keeping talking, but Johnny couldn’t hear the words which followed.
Without any notice, a deafening rumble burst out near the bay, followed by a column of fire, which rose in the sky like a giant octopus’s tentacle. Screams of dismay and terror stared echoing there in a short while.
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