Resurrection

18th Century pirates Anne Bonny, John Rackham, Mary Read and Angus McTavish are resurrected after three- hundred years into the modern world during a violent storm. They have no memories of their past and why they are on a deserted ship. The burning question is why? Through a series of strange and mysterious events, they are forced to relive their violent past lives. But in doing so, they also remember the cruelty and abuse they once suffered and the circumstances, beyond their control, that led them to become pirates in the first place. This in turn ignites their long-forgotten humanity and gradually they begin to feel empathy for others and discover a new meaning to their lives. As they discover more about the modern world, they make stark comparisons between their time and the present day; and are appalled that social justice, corruption and oppression of the common people has hardly changed in three centuries. As pirates they were symbols of freedom and rebellion living outside the law and refusing to be bound by the rules of society, but now they become a beacon of hope. They symbolizes the triumph of good over evil, the power of unity, and the possibility of redemption. Through their collective efforts, they are able to overcome the obstacles in their path and bring about positive change and to strive for their ultimate purpose, to seek out the most valuable treasure of all! – Life!

Chapter 1 – O, brave new world The early part of the twenty first century was a time of discord and turmoil. Many countries around the world suffered upheaval from the traditional comforts of life. Populism was rife, and a global pandemic hit causing mayhem and disruption. Wars broke out and thousands, if not millions struggled to get by. Some became bitter, while others sought reasons for this downturn in living standards. Some blamed politicians, others blamed minority groups. The acceptance and understanding of others with different viewpoints broke down and people turned on each other. What the populace subconsciously required was a hero or heroes they could identify with, role models for example. Whatever the cause and whatever the solution, one thing was clear, some evil stain was creeping across the face of the earth and the storm clouds of doom were gathering. Even the one commodity that always remained abundant in times of trouble was diminishing. The commodity of hope. As the oppressive metaphorical storm clouds gathered across the globe, actual storm clouds were accumulating twenty miles off the northwest coast of Scotland. Apart from the gentle rising and splashing of the sea, everything was dark and still. There were no ships in sight. No late-night fishermen making their weary way home with their catch. No cargo ships enroute with their freight to foreign shores or pleasure cruises sailing to an exotic location while excited passengers slept. For miles the surface of the ocean was completely devoid of life. Suddenly and without warning a tremendous flash of lightning lit up the inky black ocean for miles. This was closely followed by a loud thunderclap that rang out like some kind of dire warning. Just as suddenly as it had struck, it stopped. No more lightning and no more thunder. A storm late at night at sea is not uncommon, but there was a peculiarity with this specific weather front. It seemed to be over as soon as it had begun and after about five minutes of the lightning flash, a peculiar fog began to rise from the surface of the ocean. The fog hung in the air like a damp heavy curtain. Then, without warning, the ferocious storm broke with a vengeance. Violent lightning flashes streaked across the night sky and thunder bellowed like the voice of some terrible ogre screaming in rage. The thunder and lightning was unrelenting as it came again and again with no pause in between. The onslaught of the storm was aggressive and destructive and yet the strange fog hung motionless in the air while the storm raged around it. But then this strange storm abruptly stopped again, and everything suddenly plunged into a deathly black stillness once more. The unnerving quiet felt ominous as if the monster was silently waiting for the optimum moment to strike with its full force once again. The wait was brief and with a heart stopping roar the storm resumed its attack tearing its way through the night sky. Only this time something else happened. As the lightning illuminated the fog and the surrounding ocean, out of the sagging heavy mist appeared an eighteenth-century sailing ship. With each bolt of lightning the outline of the ship became clearer and clearer until finally the entire ship sailed gently out of the mist. Its masts and yardarms were visible in the dull haze that now shadowed the ocean. The ships’ tattered and torn black sails propelled it forward slowly through the water. A soft orange glow illuminated the deck, emanating from several old-fashioned oil lamps hanging around the walls. In the gloom the ships wheel was prominent, set on a raised platform that had steps leading up to it on both sides. Behind the raised platform were two doors leading to the inner part of the ship both of which were partially obscured by strands of torn rigging that dangled lifelessly from the yardarm above. Scattered about the deck were remnants of discarded clothing almost as if the owners had cast them in a hurry. There were several crates and barrels lying around the deck and a small brazier stood in the middle wherein a fire had been lit. The fire must have been burning for some time as the brazier now contained a heap of smouldering glowing embers and half burnt logs. Wisps of curling smoke drifted slowly upwards and mingled with the strange heavy fog. Where the smoke and the fog merged, a weird glowing halo seemed to emphasise the tattered remnants of an old black sail that hung from the uppermost yardarm, upon which was painted the distinctive symbol of the jolly roger. The emblem was of a slightly different design to the usually familiar icon. It had the familiar skull, but instead of two crossed bones, this flag had two cross swords beneath the grinning deathly cranium. There was no mistaking the fact that this ghostly vessel was a pirate ship! The lightning exploded once more across the heavens and this time the brief illumination gave witness to four creatures, if they could be called creatures, clambering up the sides of the strange vessel. As the beings climbed onto the deck and into the soft orange haze of the oil lamps, their true horrific appearance became apparent. They resembled corpses that had not been in the ground for that long. They were dressed in robes apparently made from seaweed and other debris from the floor of the ocean. Their pungent rotting robes consisted of a hood, beneath which, long dead faces stared out with dead eyes. The faces were skull like but with putrid bits of flesh still weakly clinging to the discoloured bones of the skull. The creatures, or ghouls would be a better description, lurched backwards and forwards with seawater cascading from their decaying attire and leaving pools of water on the deck as they moved about. They heaved themselves around as if searching for something. They seemed inquisitive as they explored the furniture on board as if trying to recall distant memories of their past. An old, battered chest stood in the middle of the deck to which the ghouls appeared to be drawn. They swarmed over the chest as if it were some prized possession that had been lost for many years. It was then they spoke. Or rather made a haunting chattering noise like crickets in the fields on hot summer days. These sounds could not be described as chirpings though, but rather like moans of sorrow from a bygone age. But then the tone changed. Were they singing? More like wailing to a long-forgotten sea shanty. The noise they made was coarse and breathy like the death throes of some tortured soul desperately clinging to life even though death had the upper hand. The cacophony of despair rang out through the chill air of the night as they sang of betrayal and murder. To anyone who were to bear witness to this horrific spectacle, the one conclusion they would concede, would be that these ghouls were in pain. Their lumbering steps, the arching of their bodies and the cold, icy chanting they sang out gave the distinct impression they were in agony. Although hellish and horrific in appearance, one could not help but feel a sense of sorrow for them. If the strange drama with the ghoulish protagonists singing their unworldly hymn on a ship from the past were not nightmarish enough, what occurred next would have driven any onlooker insane. The agony and torment the ghouls seemed to suffer from, appeared to increase dramatically. Three of them became more hunched and staggered more heavily. Their gnarled hands began clawing at their own faces, their bony fingers digging into their dark sunken eye sockets as if trying to tear out from their very bodies the thing that was causing them so much pain. Suddenly with another burst of light and crashing of thunder from the storm, they wrenched hard at their own skull-like faces causing them to crack and split apart. As the shattered bone and rotting flesh fell away, three fresh faces replaced the hideous visages of death as if emerging from some kind of grotesque chrysalis. Unnerving to say the least, the fourth ghoul stood motionless looking on with its dark dead eyes taking in the sight of the other three. In one final act of ridding themselves of the torment they were suffering, they tore the hoods, together with the remaining flesh and bone, from their heads and dropped them to the floor where they lay oozing in a deep dark green slime. For a moment the three individuals stood there in shock but then fell to their knees. Not so much in pain, but with the sheer overwhelming alarm they were undoubtedly experiencing. The first to drop to the floor was a youngish man who appeared to be in his late thirties, early forties. He had dark brown shoulder length hair that was matted and wet. Some strands clung to his face while the rest of his lank hair hung over his slumped and sagging shoulders. His face sported a short chin beard that was as dark as his hair but with the odd fleck of grey that glinted in the pale light. The sight of the ship that greeted his newly formed eyes undoubtedly roused a distant memory within him. Was it possible he was remembering his last day on earth in a previous life? He seemed to be reliving in his mind his own execution, for he lamented and wailed, “Is this hell? Is my neck now stretched and I am condemned to an eternal existence in Davy Jones Locker?” His accent, although hard to distinguish, appeared to be from the southern regions of Great Britain, possibly London. His face was twisted, not so much with pain, but with the struggle of trying to comprehend what was happening. The second individual sat hunched and hugged his legs, rocking backwards and forwards. He moaned incoherently in a broad northern English brogue about the whereabouts of some child. The young lad appeared to be in his mid-twenties and had a shock of light brown curly hair. On his upper lip he had an odd-looking moustache that looked as though it was his first attempt at growing facial hair since puberty. There was a look of dread in his eyes, and he too seemed to be reliving some vague past memory of his execution in a previous life as he began babbling about seeing the rope in front of his eyes. The third of the group to have suddenly taken on human form was kneeling and holding his stomach. His eyes were wild, and his long mane of red hair flailed about in the cool breeze. His thin pale lips, partially hidden beneath his long flowing red beard, parted and he gasped in a huge amount of air like someone who had just resurfaced from a long swim under water. As the cool clean air began circulating through his body he seemed to grow in strength and let forth, at the top of his voice, a loud piercing howl. Flinging his arms wide, he shouted, “I feel breath in my lungs!” There was no doubting the strong Scottish twang in his words and just like the other two, he spoke of a distant tragedy that he had suffered at the end of his previous life. With his strong powerful Scottish voice, he boomed, “I feel the cold steel of a claymore in my belly!” At that moment the heavens erupted once more with the storm and in the glare of the lightning, the three newly formed beings caught sight of the fourth ghoul who stood coolly watching them. The appearance of the hideous apparition just standing there observing them convinced them that they were indeed in hell. Calmly the fourth ghoul reached up to its face, and just like the others, tore the hideous visage from its head. The contrasting transformation was both shocking and awe inspiring. Where a hideous demon corpse had been, there now stood a beautiful fresh faced young woman. Her eyes shone like diamonds and her jet black long curly hair hung down over her shoulder. There was no hint of surprise or shock in her eyes as she slowly surveyed the scene before her. There was only one word to describe the unruffled beauty that had appeared before them, that word was formidable. The long-haired man, the young lad and the Scotsman wailed uncontrollably at the sight they had witnessed, only to be silenced by the strange alluring woman. “Hold your tongues, you filthy dogs!” she yelled at them. “Get yourselves cleaned up! I run a tidy ship!” she bellowed. Her accent was strange, rather like the accents of those who have travelled throughout their lives and their original accent had been superseded by the varying dialects they had amassed on their journeys. There was, however, a slight inflection of an Irish accent in some of the words she uttered. Surveying the remains of flesh and bone around the deck she ordered them to clear up the mess. Instantly the young lad and the Scotsman leapt into action and gathered up the gooey remains of the ghoulish headwear and flung the revolting bundles over the side of the ship into the darkness of the water below. Before this strange woman could intimidate them further, they fled, still dressed in their putrid gowns, through one of the doors that led to the bowels of the ship. One mystery at least seemed to be resolved, or at least conjecture implied a solution. That conclusion was that the ghouls were in fact a type of chrysalis or some kind of grotesque womb that the souls of the departed utilised to transfer themselves from the realm of the dead back to the land of the living. If this assumption was correct, these new-born creatures appeared to be unaware of what had just happened to them. They were confused and seemed to have no memory. Even the young woman seemed perplexed, even though she gave the impression she was in control. It was inconceivable that they themselves had planned their journey back from the underworld. This, being the case, they must have been conveyed from “Davy Jones’ Locker” by some other unknown entity, but by who? And for what purpose? The hideously fantastical event that had just taken place was bewildering and fear-provoking, not just because of the spectacle of the ghouls, but because it meant that 300-year-old murderous cutthroat pirates had returned. While all the cleaning activity was carried out, the long-haired male watched with an objective curiosity. He had no idea who he was, let alone what was going on. All he knew was that whoever this strange woman was he was not going to let her get the better of him. Some deep instinct within him drove him to fight against whatever this hellish creature was that now stood before him. He summoned up the courage to challenge her. “You! I know you!” he suddenly exclaimed. She slowly turned to face him. Her steely pale blue eyes bore into his very soul as if attempting to mentally manipulate him to her will. As she slowly paced towards him, he crawled cautiously backward, his bravado diminished somewhat by this siren’s mere presence. Uncertain of his own surety, he asked if she were Davy Jones? As soon as he asked, he regretted it. It made him appear uncertain and appearing uncertain made one weak. Something inside his head warned him to be careful of this woman....