Even now, some have said when they come to see what happened, they can hear his footsteps.Those who come at night have claimed to see the candlelight in the window of his shed.
Other times, he can be heard speaking to the captains of the ships he boards.
Yet no one has ever seen what he looks like, though a man’s shadow appears in the light, on the wood of the pier, and in the shed’s doorway or window when the candles are lit.
The harbor stopped being used years ago when the profits dried up and the pirates had no one to prey on.
The townspeople left in a slow exodus, like the sun burning off the morning fog that daily shrouded them with a despairing sadness as their homes rotted around them.
It wasn’t always so, but that’s what it became of it.
Those were happier times, weren’t they, my son?
I knew there was no one behind me.
I knew I felt no paternal hand on my shoulder.
I knew I didn’t smell the pipe tobacco, or the scent of spices always deep in his clothes.
The shadows blurred, and I told myself the water in my eyes was mist from the ocean, and the standing hairs on my arms and neck weren’t real.
Yet I answered, speaking to no one.
“Yes, father. They were everything to me.”
I lowered my head, letting the tears come, and saw his shadow behind me.
Nightshade Stories 