The Ghost Pirate
By Tom Mercer
Carbondale-ish
Jeremiah lived in a stately old house on the edge of town. The house was built in the mid-nineteenth century, and it was undoubtedly the grandest in town in those early years. But, as the years passed, the house inevitably began to show its age. It was sorely in need of a coat of fresh paint and a number of windows needed to be replaced, but Jeremiah had grown to love the house just as it was. He loved the creaking floorboards, the foggy glass in the windows, and the unusual noises and quiet voices that could be heard as the house continued to settle further into its hillside location.
The most unusual noises that Jeremiah heard consisted of people talking in one of the upstairs rooms. Jeremiah would often open the door to the room to better hear whatever was going on inside, but each time he opened it the talking instantly stopped.
By far, the single thing that Jeremiah appreciated most about his “haunted house” only occurred once each year on Halloween night.
Most trick-or-treaters in the neighborhood avoided Jeremiah’s house. Despite the lure of candy, the house frightened them. It was just “too spooky.” Still, Jeremiah loved Halloween, for that was the only night of the year that the “ghost boy” would knock on the massive front door. The boy was always alone, and he never spoke — not even to say “trick or treat.” He always appeared wearing the same pirate costume, and upon receiving his candy, he simply
disappeared into thin air.
Jeremiah had mentioned the lone trick-or-treater to other people in the neighborhood, but nobody really believed him. So, while he rarely had any other costumed trick-or-treaters, the young pirate solely visited his home every Halloween.
Happy Halloween, me hearties!