Ever since she won the State's First Prize at the Joffery Grand Prix of Young Talent (the whole title was in French, but that's what it meant) she’d been getting all kinds of offers to perform not only in Greendale but in a lot of the nearby bigger cities.

The big lobby poster had pictures of everybody in the cast mugging for the camera. The production sets and costumes had been “updated” to look as if it were written in the 1920’s instead of almost fifty years before then. Terry's photo, over the mile-long title "Youngest Cousin of the Right Honorable Sir Joseph Porter, K.C.B. (First Lord of the Admiralty)" showed her in a ballet pose that was part of the special "Hornpipe Dance" put in just for her, after the Admiral’s relatives come on stage and before his “I am the monarch of the sea” song.

To tell you the truth, I didn't think the play was all that exciting. I've had to sit through two other Gilbert and Sullivan plays (they call them "light operas") and those were pretty much sleeping pills too. As soon as all those sailors started dancing that Irish jig (the first minute of the play), I knew it wasn’t going to be anything like “Captain Blood”.

But when Terry came on for her dance our whole class cheered. Her dance was half like the sailor's dance and half ballet, so she would dance here, spin a couple of times and spring over there and continue dancing, sometims with her hands up in front of her, and sometimes in a ballet pose. When she was done we gave her a standing ovation long enough so that everybody else in the theater decided to joined us. Got her crying. It was cool.

After the play we got to go back stage and see her. Terry came bouncing out from the dressing rooms still in her cute white sailor suit with the short pleated skirt, white kneesocks and black patent slippers. I thought she’d be tired, but Terry was all giggly and excited. The Director had just announced that the last performance was going to be on the Wood River Tour Boat during one of their dinner theater cruises.

Very cool!

I wanted to go, but since Mom and Dad and I had already gone to one of the weekend performances, the dinner cruise was more Pinafore than they wanted to see again so soon (no suprise).

That was on Saturday night.

We were just back from Sunday Mass when I picked up the paper on the porch to look over the headlines.

"WOOD RIVER DINNER CRUISE COLLISION"

“Guests and Actors Injured In Mystery Accident”

“Jeeps, Dad!” I said and showed him the headline. “How come you didn’t say anything last night? Terry was on that boat!”

Dad owns the Greendale Journal and he’s the chief editor, so he should have known all about this. But he put on his “it’s okay, sweetheart” voice he uses for me and Mom and told me it was late when the story came in and he didn’t want to worry all night when there was nothing anyone but the hospitol could do about it anyway.

In the next minute I was on the telephone calling the Blairs. Dennis, Terry’s older brother, answered.

“Is Terry okay?” I blurted out. “Is he hurt? How is she doing?”

Denny’s voice didn’t sound worried when he said “Well I guess so . . . she hit her head pretty hard, but no vital organs were affected.”

I could hear Terry’s voice in the background saying something in response, but I couldn’t make out the words. Denny laughed and said something back I couldn’t hear either (he must have been covering over the phone receiver), then Terry came on.

“I’m okay except for a monster goose egg where my head used to be. They’re giving me some kind of dizzy-spell pills that are making me really groggy, so come over quick before I go to sleep . . . there’s stuff I GOTTA tell you!”

I changed clothes, jumped on my bike and was over to Terry’s house in less than fifteen minutes. Denny answered the door. Mr. and Mrs. Blair were at Mass.

“Her Dutchess is entertaining subjects in her royal chambers,” he said and bowed. I followed him through their living room and down the hall to her room.

Terry was sitting up in bed, a white bandages wrapped around her forehead.

“Visiting hours have to be half an hour, kids” Denny said. “Seriously."

“Well ... my head still hurts,” she confessed. “But that medicine makes me go to sleep. And I don’t want to sleep right now. I want to -- to talk -- to somebody -- to you.”

“Jeeps, Terry, what’s so important?”

“What have you heard about ... about ... the boat?”

“Just what I read in the paper. The boat hit a sandbank or something.”

She nodded. “Yeah ... that’s what they told me, too ... but that’s not all that happened.”

“What else happened, Terr? What?”

“This is going to sound really crazy, Toby, but it all really happened! I swear it did!”

“What happened? Terr, what are you talking about?”

She took a deep breath and told me her story.

It all started (Terry said) right after intermission. She was pretty hot from dancing, and the theater was full of cigarette smoke. She didn’t have to be onstage again until late in the second act, so she went up on deck to get some fresh air.

Terry walked down to the stern of the boat -- the fantail, they call it -- sat down, and hung her feet over the edge. There was nobody else around; everyone was either watching the show or driving the boat. She could hear Captain Corcoran and Little Buttercup sing their duet about “things are seldom what they seem,” so she knew she still had plenty of time.

There’d been a pretty thick fog all day, and it seemed to be getting thicker. She was watching the wake from the boat, listening to the singing, and thinking about what she had to do in Act 2, when all of a sudden there was this huge grinding noise and the boat stopped dead.

It’s a good thing Terry was sitting down, because she wound up on her back. After a few seconds, when nothing else happened, she got up and went to see if she could find out what was going on.

There was nobody on deck, but she could hear voices coming from the theater. She went to one of the windows and looked in.

At first, Terry could hardly see anything. The theater was full of either smoke or fog. She couldn’t even make out the stage. The people she could see were either sprawled out in their chairs or lying on the floor. It looked like they’d been knocked out.

Then she saw somebody moving in one of the aisles. Whoever it was stopped beside a woman, lifted her arm, and took a bracelet off her wrist. Then he moved closer to Terry, and stepped into the light so she could see him clearly.

He was a skeleton!

(“A skeleton?” I asked.

“Yes, Toby, a skeleton!” Terry replied.

“You mean a man in a skeleton suit?”

“No, a real skeleton. Just bones. Honest!”

Jeeps, I thought. But the story got even stranger as she went on.)

The skeleton started down the next row, checking the women for jewelry as he went. Terry slid cautiously around the side of the theater, moving as quietly as she could, to the bridge. But all the crew members there were unconscious too.

By then, the fog had thinned out enough that she could see an old three-masted sailing ship pulled up alongside the boat. A gangplank connected the two vessels. Three more skeletons stood at the end of the gangplank. As she watched, a fourth skeleton approached the others, and they all started up towards the old ship.

Suddenly, Terry felt a hand gripping her shoulder. The abrupt contact made the already-terrified girl scream. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw four fingers -- four bony fingers. Slowly, very slowly, she looked around and up.

Towering over her was yet another skeleton. This one wore an old-style captain’s hat and an eye patch -- even though he didn’t have any eyes. “Arr!” he said. “’Ere’s a likely ‘un!”

Before Terry could scream again, he grabbed her wrist, bent down, and tossed her over his shoulder, wrapping his other arm around her legs to hold her in place. “Avast, me ‘earties!” he shouted. “Back to the ship! We’ve found what we came for!”

A chorus of “Aye, aye, Cap’n!” sounded from the deck below. Terry, momentarily paralyzed, found her tongue. “No! No! Let me go!” she cried, kicking furiously and flailing around with her free hand. Then her panic overcame her, and she fainted.

Some time later, Terry came to. Cautiously, she opened her eyes and looked around. She stood on the deck of the old sailing ship. There was no sign of the tour boat, although the fog still hung thick and low over the river. Several coils of rope around her chest and upper arms secured her to a mast. One of the skeletons stood nearby; when he saw her move, he called, “Cap’n, she’s awake.”

A crowd of skeletons quickly surrounded the girl. She counted at least a dozen. “Arr,” said the one with the captain’s hat and eye patch. “I be Sidney Blackwood, cap’n of the good ship Eleanor Rose. Who be ye?”

(“Sidney Blackwood? He really said he was Sidney Blackwood?” I interrupted.

Terry gave me a funny look. “You’ve heard of him?”

“During the War of 1812, he fought with Jean Lafitte at the Battle of New Orleans. He set out on his own after the war. The Eleanor Rose was his ship. Don’t you remember? We studied them last year, in Sister Mary Ambrose’s class.”

She thought for a few seconds, then nodded. “You’re right, Toby. I guess I just forgot until now.” Then she went on with her story.)

On the verge of fainting again, Terry couldn’t speak. Another skeleton produced a nasty-looking dagger. “Ye best be answerin’ the cap’n,” he advised.

She swallowed hard before forcing herself to say, “Terry. Terry Blair.”

“Now we be gettin’ somewheres,” the captain said. “Ye be a seadog, Terry Blair?”

“N-no,” she replied hesitantly.

“Ye be not? Then why the seadog garb?”

Terry glanced down at her costume, a typical 1920’s girl’s sailor outfit, and tried to explain. “I, uh, I’m in a play, ‘HMS Pinafore’ --“

“That be one o’ ‘is Majesty King George’s ships?” Captain Blackwood cried. The crew ran to the railings on both sides of the ship, peering out anxiously into the mist.

“No, no, it’s just a tour boat,” Terry said.

“Be there any of ‘is Majesty’s ships in these waters?”

“No ... not that I know of.”

He relaxed. “Avast, ye scurvy dogs! Belay there!” The other skeletons reassembled around the mast.

“Anyway,” Terry continued, “I’m playing the Youngest Cousin of the First Lord of the Admiralty --“

Her statement caused an outburst. “First Lord!” “O’ the Admiralty!” “’is cousin!” “Think o’ the ransom!”

“No, no, no!” Terry had to shout to make herself heard above the hubbub. “I’m not really a cousin of the First Lord of the Admiralty! It’s just a part in a play.”

The skeletons fell silent. “A play?” asked Captain Blackwood.

“Yes. You know -- acting -- on a stage?” Some angry mutters sounded among the crew, and Terry started regretting her honesty.

“Steady, lads, she may be worth somethin’ yet,” the captain ordered. “So, Terry Blair, be ye able to scale the mainmast and furl the topsail durin’ a nor’easter?”

“N-no.”

“Be ye able to take the wheel and keep the ship on an even keel through ‘eavy seas?”

“No.”

“Be ye able to ‘olystone the deck and scrape the cable?”

She wasn’t even sure what that was. “No.”

The murmurs got louder and angrier. Another skeleton, wearing a ragged bandanna over his skull, stepped forward. “Arr, she be worthless, cap’n! I says we feed ‘er to the fishes!”

Terry’s heart felt like it would burst right through her chest. Some of the remaining crew expressed their agreement. “Aye!” “Fish food, she be!” “O’er the side with ‘er!”

“Be not so ‘asty, ‘iggins!” Captain Blackwood stated, instantly silencing them. He leaned down, his face inches from hers. “What can ye do, Terry Blair?”

“I ... I ... “ Terry struggled to find something to say, something the pirates would accept. The captain turned away, and the grumbles began again. Suddenly, she blurted out, “I can dance a hornpipe!”

“A nornpipe?” He turned back. “A nornpipe, ye say? Ye can dance a nornpipe? By Neptune’s Beard, it’s been many a long year since I’ve seen a good ‘ornpipe! ‘iggins! Set ‘er loose! Caldwell! Fetch yer fiddle! We be ‘avin’ a nornpipe!”

Higgins turned his attention to the ropes securing Terry, and in a few moments she stood free on the deck. In the meantime, another skeleton produced an antique violin, blew the dust off, tucked it under his bleached jawbone, and began to play.

The instrument was badly out of tune, and the bow scraped dreadfully across the strings, but it was still a recognizable melody. Terry stood at rest, getting a feel for the rhythm. It wasn’t quite the same as the “HMS Pinafore” music, but she felt she could dance to it. Perhaps an extra step here, and another twirl there ... yes, that would work!

Terry’s first dance teacher often urged her to dance “like her life depended on it.” Now, she reflected as she launched into the first steps of the hornpipe, it very well might. Can’t think about that now, though, she told herself. All that matters now is the dance.

She put everything she had into her performance, and when the hornpipe ended, she felt completely drained. For a few long, heart-stopping moments, nobody moved; then Captain Blackwood started clapping his finger bones together. “Now, keelhaul me for a landlubber if that warn’t the finest ‘ornpipe I’ve seen in me many years asea!” he exclaimed. “Ye’ll make a fine ‘and, Terry Blair!”

The girl’s momentary relief at having pleased the captain evaporated. The idea of being Cabin Girl on a pirate ship full of skeletons didn’t exactly appeal to her. “But ... I thought ... if ... if I danced well, you ... you might ... might let me go...”

“Let ye go? Nay, lass! We be short o’ crew. Ye’ll larn quickly, and in the meantime, ye can dance!” Before she could protest further, he put a skeletal arm around her shoulders and led her towards the ship’s stern. “Come along to me cabin for a drop o’ grog!” As she was propelled along, Terry realized that none of the other skeletons had joined in the captain’s applause.

Captain Blackwood’s cabin was dank and dismal, with a desk and chairs in one corner, an old sea chest in another, and a cot along the back wall. He filled a mug from a small keg and took a long drink. The liquid ran down his bones and onto the deck. “Arr, that be fine grog,” he rattled. "Less fillin' !"

He then offered the mug to Terry.

“Fancy a taste?”

Her stomach lurched at the sight and smell of the foul fluid. “Er ... no, thank you.”

“Suit yerself.” He drained the mug, then refilled it and emptied it again. He swiped the long bone of his arm against the bare teeth of his skull, making the sound of clicking sticks, before filling the mug yet again. “Fer such fine --“ (he took another drink) “fer such fine dancin’, ye deserves a reward.”

He staggered over to the sea chest and opened it. Terry gasped. The chest was filled to the brim with gold coins, gemstones and flashing bejeweled trinkets. Captain Blackwood pawed through the treasure before selecting a small gold cross, inlaid with rubies and sapphires, on a silver chain. “’ere. This suits ye.” He looped the chain around Terry’s neck before filling his mug with more grog. “Ye best be keepin’ that ‘idden from the crew, lass. They may be a mite jealous if they sees ye with some o’ their swag.”

(Something was bothering me, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Why?” I asked.

“Why what?”

“Why would a bunch of skeletons care about treasure? What good would it do them?”

Terry rolled her eyes at me. “I don’t know, Toby. They just did. And with everything else going on, I didn’t think to ask why.”

“Oh. Oh, right. Sorry . . . Go on.”

Maybe the pirates don’t know that they’re dead, I thought as she continued.)

The captain’s mug was empty again. Terry carefully tucked the cross inside her midi blouse as he filled it one more time. “Ye mushn’t worry ‘bout the crew,” he said, his voice becoming increasingly slurred. “They be a rum shet of ladsh, but good men all.” He sat down at the desk. “Beshides, yer under my -- my pershonal -- my pershonal protectshun ... “ He slumped forward, his skull falling onto the desk with a konk. In a few seconds, loud snores filled the cabin.

Moving slowly and cautiously, Terry crept to the cabin door. Higgins stood guard outside. “Cap’n Blackwood asleep?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, he is,” she replied.

“Cap’n never could ‘old ‘is grog.” Higgins’ voice held a note of contempt. “So, Terry Blair, ye be lookin’ to leave this ship?”

The faintest ray of hope crept through the fog. “Oh, yes! Yes, I be -- I am!”

“P’rhaps we can be a grantin’ yer wish. This way.”

The skeleton led the girl back to the main deck, where the rest of the crew surrounded her. Terry looked around anxiously. “Ye see, it be like this,” Higgins explained. “We only got a sartain amount o’ swag, and the more there be of us, the smaller each man’s share be.” He paused and looked closely at the girl. “Cap’n Blackwood didn’t be givin’ ye any reward fer yer dancin’, did ‘e?”

Mindful of the captain’s warning, Terry said, “No. We just talked, and he drank.”

“Arr, good! Now, as I be sayin’ before, ye wants off the ship, and we wants ye off the ship. So, there be yer way off.” He pointed to the starboard rail.

At first, Terry saw nothing there. Then she noticed a single plank extending outward from the side of the ship. Her heart skipped another beat. “You ... you don’t mean ...”

“Aye, Terry Blair! We means for ye to walk the plank!”

Terry thought quickly. Sure, she could swim, but during this time of the year, Wood River flowed rapidly with strong currents. Moreover, the banks were lined with quicksand-filled marshes. “Couldn’t you just put me ashore ... or give me a boat ... or something?” she pleaded.

“Nay, lass!” Higgins responded. He drew his dagger again. “There be another way off this ship, but I thinks ye best be takin’ yer chances wit’ the plank.”

The other skeletons gathered closer, herding the girl towards the rail. Reluctantly, she climbed onto the plank and edged her way out. The rocking motion of the ship made keeping her balance difficult. She peered into the fog, trying to make out the shore. Maybe she could locate a safe landing --

“What ye be waitin’ fer? Jump!” called Higgins.

Suddenly the mist parted, and Terry saw the tour boat. The pirate ship would pass close by it -- maybe close enough that she could jump aboard.

“Fetch me a boarding pike, one of yer,” Higgins directed. Another skeleton darted away, returning moments later with a long pole with a knife attached to one end. Higgins took the pike and started thrusting the pointed end at Terry. “Jump, blast ye! Ye be wastin’ our time!”

Terry ducked away from the sharp blade, trying to keep one eye on Higgins and one on the tour boat. Just a few seconds more, and it’d be near enough --

The pike came uncomfortably close, throwing Terry off-balance. At that moment, the tour boat passed underneath her, and she leapt off the plank. She landed safely aboard the boat, but her feet slipped out from under her and she fell face-forward, hitting her head on the wooden deck.

* * *

“And that’s all I remember,” Terry finished. “The next thing I knew, there were a couple of paramedics kneeling by me. They loaded me into an ambulance and took me to the hospital. And you know the rest.”

She looked at me. “You believe me, Toby, don’t you?”

I wanted to believe her. Strange enough things had happened to me in the past year. But skeletons... seeing without eyes, getting drunk without stomachs and slurring words without a tongue?

“Jeeps, Terr, I dunno. Talking skeletons? A 150-year-old pirate ship? Are you sure you didn’t knock your head during the collision and dream the whole thing?”

“I was afraid of this,” she sighed. “Could you get my overnight bag?”

“Sure.” I scooted off the bed and grabbed her bag.

“Open it, please, and look inside.”

I did. “It’s just your costume.”

“Look on the very bottom.”

I dug around through the clothing, wondering what I was looking for. Then I felt something heavy. I pulled it out of the bag. It was a small gold cross, inlaid with rubies and sapphires, on a silver chain.

I looked from the cross to Terry. “Then it really did happen! Terry, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“It’s okay, Toby. I thought it was a dream, too, until I found that.”

“Jeeps. You were lucky to get away from them.”

“Yes, and yet ... and yet ...” She sounded really worried.

“And yet what, Terr?”

“What if the pirates want their treasure back?”