THE THIRTEENTH OAR The storm rolled in at dusk, Black teeth upon the tide. A merchant brig went under With the lightning as its guide. The pirates found one survivor Floating pale among the foam, A girl with salt-white fingers And eyes like weathered stone. The captain hauled her aboard. The mate wrapped her in wool. The sea was busy swallowing ships— Yet somehow spared this soul. No name. No plea. No tears. Just silence in the lantern glow, As if she’d drowned for years. ⸻ The crew drank to good fortune. The waves grew strangely calm. Even the ocean held its breath Around the stranger’s palm. They laid her in a cabin. Locked the door with iron keys. Outside, twelve hardened killers Slept easier than the sea. But midnight breeds questions That daylight cannot kill. And every man aboard that ship Felt something watching still. ⸻ The first to rise was Briggs, The gunner with the scar. He swore he heard her whisper Though the cabin wasn’t far. He grabbed a knife and lantern, Crossed the deck alone. The moon hung from the rigging Like a judge upon a throne. He opened up the cabin. And froze. The girl was gone. The blanket lay untouched there. The mattress still looked drawn. But seated in the darkness Were the captain and the mate. Neither spoke. Neither blinked. Neither moved at all. Too late. ⸻ Their throats were opened ear to ear. Their blood ran black as pitch. Upon the wall a sentence read: YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT ME WITH THE SHIP. Briggs ran shouting through the vessel. Men woke with steel in hand. Nobody trusts a pirate When panic sweeps the land. Accusations flew like bullets. Bullets flew like rain. By dawn the deck was painted In a hundred shades of blame. ⸻ The cook killed the navigator. The boatswain stabbed the cook. Every oath became a weapon. Every glance became a hook. Knives flashed bright as lightning. Muskets thundered through the mist. Each man swore he saw the girl. Each man swore she didn’t exist. ⸻ When morning split the horizon, Not a soul remained alive. The ship drifted silent, A coffin still afloat. Only thirteen oars were resting Inside a twelve-oared boat. ⸻ A fishing crew found the vessel Three weeks and twenty miles away. No treasure. No survivors. Just one strange thing. To this day— If you count the oars at sunset, There’s twelve where there were thirteen before. And somewhere in the darkness, You can hear one pulling more. ⸻ Some say she was a sea witch. Some say she never lived. Some say the ocean sent her To collect what pirates give. But old sailors tell it different. The twist they whisper most: The girl was from the merchant ship— And every pirate on that deck Had watched her drown And done nothing. The sea merely brought aboard The ghost.
