Adelaine wasn’t aware of much, other than she was prone and her head pounded fiercely. Slowly, her senses came around: bright daylight crept into her pupils as she fluttered her eyelids, and her mouth tasted like salt and sand.

“Addy, are you alright?”

Gentle hands grasped at her shoulders and coaxed her to sit up. She coughed, clearing her throat of sea water. Finally, with some effort, Adelaide opened her eyes. Benjamin’s worried blue eyes stared transfixed back to her face, searching for recognition.

Her coughing fit through, she strained to get out, “Ben! Oh, Ben, you’re safe,” grabbing her fiance as he pulled her into a long hug. Her dress clung to his shirt with a saturated squelch as little pebbles and bits of sand rolled off her back.

“What happened, Ben dear, where are we?”

“I’m not sure, love. The storm must have taken the ship, but I must admit I don’t remember much. I think we’re on some sort of island. Do you feel alright to stand? We ought to go find some help, quickly.”

Adelaide nodded and Ben helped her up to her feet. The Cunard liner was nowhere in sight and the horizon offered nothing more than endless green rollers working their way to crashing upon the shore.

The dregs of storm and shipwreck were all around: cracked ceramic dinner plates, a chest of drawers, and a lady’s parasol, apparently new and unused, still wrapped in a pink bow. They all looked frightfully out of place, intermingled with great lumps of jellyfish, their translucent flesh baking in the rising heat of the sun.

Further up the beach, shoots of grass broke through the dunes and carved out a trail leading up the bank and out of sight.

“Ben, look, there’s a path up there. Do you suppose there is a town?”

“It could be. Come, let’s see if we can’t find a place to stay or some dry clothes.”

Miss Adelaide Thompson, age 26, soon to become Mrs. Benjamin Hayles. Until very recently a contented first-class passenger on an ocean liner bound for a destination wedding and honeymoon. In just a brief moment, Miss Thompson will find her willpower tested by a quaint little Edwardian era town with all the trimmings and trappings of the perfect summer. A vacation destination that’s perhaps just a little too comfortable for comfort. You see, Miss Adelaide Thompson has just washed ashore on an island she won’t find on any map, for it exists only in the furthest reaches off the end of the world…in the Deadlight Zone.

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Beyond the beach, the path was tree-lined, full of cypress firs and stout shrubs, and the young couple kept spirits up by small-talking and holding hands as they walked.

Abruptly, the path widened and the firs gave way to a picturesque view of a small town. The street was neatly kept and lined with parked carriages, although there wasn’t a horse in sight. Tidy shops and storefronts continued up the main boulevard ahead of the couple. At the top of a distant hill, a wide inn rested atop its wraparound porch.

It was idyllic, the sort of island town one wanted to spend the whole summer vacationing on. For a brief moment, Adelaide considered that she may be happy honeymooning here, given she had already returned home and had a proper wedding with her family witnessing.

“My, it is picturesque, Addy” Ben started, and then with a jerk of her hand interjected, “Why, but where are all the people?”

He was right. She scanned the whole of the street, stoop to stoop and porch to porch. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Not in front of the general store, or sitting upon any of the carriages.

Then Adelaide turned her attention, somewhat fixated, on the inn. She grew more attracted to it the longer she looked at it. Its architect had done it up in the Queen Anne’s style, and beneath every window hung a flag and a planter. And on the porch—people!

“Ben, Ben dear look over there! There’s people sitting!”

There indeed were people gently rocking back and forth on chairs on the extensive front porch of the inn. She broke into a run and Ben, saying nothing, joined in the sprint. Adelaide’s feet, aching and scraped up by the dirt lane, at last carried her up the front steps of the inn.

A spectacled, thick-set man with a puffy cheeks tilted his head at Adelaide.

“You look like you just went for a swim,” he remarked, gesturing at her clothes, still plastered to her skin with seawater.

“What?” she stammered, surprised by the comment. “We were shipwrecked, we don’t know where we are. Can you help us?”

“Shipwrecked you say?” he muttered, almost to himself, stroking his chin and rocking.

Ben interjected, “Yes, man, I’m afraid it’s quite dire, you see, we’ve lost all our things. We don’t know if there are others—Do you know if there was a rescue ship? Will it be back to pick us up?”

“Oh, there’ll be another ship along soon. This is a nice place to stay.”

Before they could continue, a dapper gentleman with a thinly waxed mustache stepped onto the porch through the double doors. He bowed slightly, and greeted Adelaide and her fiance with some ceremony.

“Greetings, dear guests, my name is Redvers, and I shall be your hotelier,” here he paused, looking somewhat serious as he studied the couple’s clothes and Addy’s bare feet, before continuing, “Dear me, it appears that you are in some distress.”

Adelaide jumped in, “Yes, Mister Redvers, please you must help us, we’ve been shipwrecked.”

“Shipwrecked, you say? Oh dear me, that is dire.”

“Could you be so kind as to put us up? I’m afraid we’ve lost our things and haven’t any money,” Ben added.

“My dear couple, please come in, you stay as long as you like. Here, let me draw up some hot water for you and we’ll get you some dry clothes.” Their host bid the couple into the inn and began to fuss about making them comfortable.

The inn was as beautiful inside as it was outside. Adelaide felt far more comfortable here than on the disastrous beach or in the barren town. Perhaps it was just a very lazy seaside town, she thought to herself. As it was, it mattered little as she settled into a hot bath and scrubbed the brine off.

Dinner, too, was exquisite. Adelaide didn’t want to be a bother, but by the time they arrived downstairs Redvers had everything laid out for them. She and Ben each had their fill and then some, chatting with the other guests as they ate. They forgot their troubles long enough for Ben to even partake in a little cognac.

At one point he leaned over to his table mate, the same bespectacled man from the porch who they now knew as Emerton. As it turned out he owned the general store in town, although he didn’t spend much time manning his store, for he couldn’t detail precisely the last time he had been behind the counter.

“I’m a collector of used books, you know. Tomes, almanacs, sometimes rare first editions. Everyone in this town is a collector of something. It’s a sort of trend, you know,” he would carry on.

Addy chuckled at the idea, replying, “And what does Redvers collect I wonder?”

At this, Mr. Emerton yawned, hardly covering his mouth, before answering, “Well, as a hospitality man, I suppose you could say he collects people.”

Before the clock struck ten, night had fallen, and fireflies were dotting the lawn and street before the inn. The rolling of the waves lulled Adelaide to sleep in the finely-appointed four-poster of their room. With Ben’s arm around her, she was sound asleep instantly.

The next morning, Adelaide made a point to seek out Redvers and offer him her gratitude.

“Madame, the pleasure is all mine in being able to serve you. If there is anything at all I can do to assist you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Actually, Redvers, do you know when we may expect the next ship? You see, Ben and I are traveling for our wedding, and our families will be expecting us.”

“Oh, there’ll be another one along soon. In the meantime, please make yourselves comfortable and do not hesitate to ask for anything.”

It didn’t matter who Addy asked, she always go the same answer. There was Jeffries, the game hunter, who had been at the inn for several months now resting on his around the world expedition. And Mrs. Partridge, who was just vacationing before going to see her son, although she couldn’t remember when or where she was to meet up with him.

Adelaide found it peculiar that nobody in the inn seemed in a particular hurry to go anywhere or do anything. It was a wonderful place to rest, sure, but she imagined one would get bored of it after a while. Ben didn’t seem to mind, taking to reading on the porch or sitting in the smoking room with the other gentlemen.

As the hours passed on, she wondered whether there would be another ship. Regardless, she wanted to be ready for it. As she bedded down for the evening, Adelaide committed herself to checking out as soon as possible, and finding her own way off the island with Ben. She felt uneasy, but Ben seemed less and less bothered the more he enjoyed himself.

The next morning, Adelaide made her way to the front porch again. Ben was already sitting down in a rocking chair, reading. She took up a chair next to him, trying to start conversation about leaving the inn, but finding some difficulty in interrupting his studies.

At length, Ben lifted his nose up from his almanac, his reading glasses sliding down a bit. His eyes looked wide, even shocked, but he calmly and cordially prompted Adelaide as if he were making small talk.

“Looks like a steamer out there, Addy, just offshore.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. Ben, we need to go now, let’s catch it! Adelaide tried to say the words, to shout them, to scream them with all the air in her lungs, but her voice failed. All that came out was, “Oh, don’t worry Ben dear, there’ll be another one along soon.”

“This is a nice place to stay,” he added, his eyes growing puffy and wet.

A nice place to stay? Her legs and arms made no attempt to move, but instead sat comfortably crossed and showed no sign of agitation. Within, her mind called out with ferocity, begging her to move, scream, anything.

Redvers rounded the corner, and she looked up at him with plaintive eyes, pleading eyes. Yet she smiled despite herself.

“Is everything to your satisfaction, Miss Thompson?” he asked with a small bow.

“Oh yes, thank you Redvers, everything is just delightful.” What was she saying? She fought to bury the words, but they spilled out uncontrollably.

“Excellent, madame, I do hope you will stay with us for a while. For as long as you wish.” At this, he flashed a wicked smile, turned on his heel, and trotted off to serve his other guests.

An island, a town, and an inn. The sort of thing you’d read about in a brochure. One of the many rooms here is occupied by one Miss Adelaide Thompson, a guest just as much of her cushioned Victorian suite as the padded cell of her mind. Here, her journey comes to an end. Not violently at the tragic sinking of a ship. Miss Thompson’s existence will now forevermore be marked by the sinking sensation of being out of control of one’s own actions. Miss Adelaide Thompson, adrift and without a rudder in…The Deadlight Zone.

This post was a part of Nat 1 Publishing’s Summer Court writing challenge! You can read the final, edited draft in their published anthology and participate in the challenge every year on Discord.

He hopped his way across the space to a corner and approached an old barrel seated by a dark, thickly-haired man in a gold-trimmed jacket. To his right and left sat his grizzled-looking but chummy mates.

“Here ye go captain, another round on the house, while ye consider my offer,” he announced, leaning on his crutch to distribute the drinks around a barrel, each one landing with a clunk.

The captain in the gold-trimmed jacket grinned at his new mug. He gave a nod of appreciation and took a swig. After wiping his mouth he answered, “Well, Mr. James, why is it you want to join my crew so much? You have a decent position here.”

The old barkeep smiled wider, rubbing his chin and licking his lips. He leaned forward with both arms over his crutch. “Well, I’ve never been to sea ye see? Why, for years I’ve been telling meself I’d go to sea. As it is, I don’t know how much time…well, what do ye say, lads?”

To the captain’s right, the first mate glanced sideways at his crew mates and quietly sipped his drink. The captain, setting down his mug and looking the barkeep up and down with some amusement just smiled and stifled his laughter.

Quickly, the barkeep continued, his right hand held up as if to hold back any answers until he was finished, “Oh but make no mistake, I’m more fit than I look. Why sure, I may be no good for furling the sails, but maybe ye need a cook. And ye can’t beat this: I don’t need any pay—not even a piece of eight—just a hammock to sleep in, see? Now you can’t top a deal like that.”

Now the captain laughed openly. “Sir you do amuse me. I have half a mind to bring you along just to see what the crew’ll make of you. Your desperation is…well, entertaining so to speak.”

“So you’ll think about it then?”

“No, sir, you cannot think I would seriously take you aboard. I’m sorry old man, but your time has passed, if ever there was a period of vitality or viable seamanship in your life.” He stood, and reached into his coat pocked to retrieve a few gold coins. These he dropped onto his plate one at a time. Clink, clink, clink. “For the drinks and your, er, conversation.”

He made for the door and at once, his boatswain and first mate stood and trailed out behind him. When the door at last creaked shut behind them, their hollering laughter rang out and echoed off of both sides of the street beyond. The barkeep slumped down into a chair and put his leg up. His glum frown added just a couple more years to his countenance while he fiddled with the buttons on his shabby waistcoat.

Picture of a man near the end of his voyage. One Mr. David James, age: always too old, occupation: barkeep and occasional flibbertigibbet. Mr. James, who has lost more than just his left leg and his right eye, not from time at sea but from a rough and tumble journey which led to this precise place in the middle of nowhere. Mr. James, a man eroded by the briny waves crashing down on the lackluster sandy shores of his existence, who wishes repeatedly that at some point in his youth he had elected to get his feet wet. In just a few moments, Mr. James will be selected by fate to have his one wish come true. As it turns out, fate takes the shape of an old captain whose ship makes berth…in the Deadlight Zone.

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Mr. James maintained his sorrowful state for much of the night hours, passing the time sipping from a bottle from beneath his stores. He sat for so long that one of the lanterns at last burned up the last of its fuel and flickered out all by itself, leaving a slight rising wisp of smoke. At length the barkeep would sigh, rub the wrinkles around his cheeks, and then resume his exercise in diluting his being.

As he took another swig, the door of the tavern swung open once more. A gentleman stepped gently through the doorway. He was tall and wore a teal-green frock coat and matching tricorne hat, rimmed in silver. His long white beard was braided with beads and arranged into long, thin tassels, resembling icicles dangling from a yardarm. The salty, briny smell of the shore intensified as he stepped in, and lingered even after he shut the door behind him.

Mr. James sized up the stranger with bleary, pinkish eyes, before stretching out his hand and saying, “Sorry, mister, we’re closed for the night. You may try Tuttles’ up the street a bit.”

The stranger smiled and doffed his hat. His long, white hair was done up in a pony tail with the same strands of beads as his beard. After looking for almost too-long a time into the puffy eyes of the barkeep, he answered, “Come, Mr. James, won’t you share a drink with an old sea captain? I have traveled far to speak with you.”

David James straightened up in his chair and blinked. He wasn’t sure he had ever been asked for before. With both hands he rubbed the grogginess and grog from his eyes, sniffed, and then forced himself up with his crutch. “Aye sir, well, have ye a seat. I’ll fetch ye a fresh mug.” He ker-plunked across the floor while the gentleman sat down, placing his hat on the barrel beside him.

After Mr. James rejoined him with fresh mugs and another bottle of rum, he raised his glass and thanked the barkeep before taking a swig. At last, the gentleman wiped his mouth and beard and set down his mug.

“Now, to business then. As I said before, I have sailed far to reach you here, Mr. James. I will speak plainly. I offer you my ship, my crew, and position as captain, provided you are willing to set sail tonight.” This spoken, the gentleman leaned back and crossed his arms, as if awaiting a reply.

The barkeep just blinked again. His stomach fluttered, but he suppressed the feeling by shifting in his seat. “Ye what? What is this, a joke is it?”

“No, Mr. James, this is no joke.”

“Yer giving me yer ship, yer crew, and all? And what, I’m supposed to just sail it out of that harbor there?”

“We have an understanding, then?”

It was the barkeep’s turn to laugh, the rum making it warmer and louder. In between his dying chuckles he managed, “No, sir, if there be any man here who doesn’t understand, it be me.”

The gentleman frowned, and then leaned forward, his elbows resting on the barrel. “This is what you want, is it not? To go to sea?”

“Aye, sure I want to go to sea, but you can’t take me for a fool! I’ve nothing but your word there even is a ship and crew out there. And if there was, there’d be no guaranteeing I’d come back would there?”

At these words the barkeep glanced past the gentlemanly captain, and fixated on the distant window of the tavern. His face took on a hint of seriousness.

The captain, stroking the beads on his white beard, interrupted his thoughts, “Yes, that is your true wish, isn’t it. You’ve never told a living soul. You want to go to sea and never come back again.”

At this, David James scrunched up his face, balling up his right hand into a fist. Shaking it, his voice raised, he shouted, “How do ye know that? I say, how do ye know who I am and what I want? Who’s to say who a man is and what he wants asides himself?”

“I know it’s what you want because it’s what I wanted as well,” the stranger calmly replied, still stroking his beard. “But I had my fun. I’m ready to ‘go ashore,’ as they say. The ship and her crew are yours. They’ll be faithful to you, and help sail you anywhere you wish to go.” As he said this, he fixated his emerald gaze into the barkeep’s face. They were soft eyes, sincere eyes.

Mr. James lowered his fist. He felt disarmed and softened his words in return. “Aye? Ye be serious then. There must be some sort of catch, now, mustn’t there? Come on, out with it sir, and give it to me real plain like.”

The stranger did not hesitate. “You must recoup sailing men. Ones who have, er, become lost shall we say. They’ll be your responsibility.”

The shot of realization darted its way from the barkeep’s mind straight out between his lips. “Why, by me lost bones, yer Davy Jones!”

“At your service, Mr. James,” Davy Jones said with a smile.

“I’ve heard of you. So it’s true then, you kidnap men what go missing at sea?”

“You’ve heard wrong. I take in men who are lost. Some are lost at sea. Most are lost without her,” he stopped stroking his beard and leaned forward again, “Men like you, Mr. James. You see, some men are lost in life. They are looking for an escape, the chance to set sail to the elysian shores, in a matter of speaking.”

The barkeep just blinked, scratching his head with one hand and rubbing his wrinkled chin with the other.

Davy Jones continued, “What I’m saying is, we sail the globe and all her oceans for as long as we want. Not age, nor sickness, nor foul weather spoil it for us. And when a man has had his fill, he simply goes ashore, and he passes on. Peacefully.”

Finally, Mr. James leaned forward to meet the emerald eyes of the teal-adorned man. He still smelled of briny breeze, and even a hint of sea grass now that the barkeep reflected on it.

“Captain, that’s a right-sounding bargain if ever I heard one. I reckon then, that if it’s not too much trouble I may get to do it too?”

He glanced down into his mug. “As I said, I’m looking to retire. To go ashore myself. I never thought the time would come, but a few thousand lifetimes at sea and I am tired of her.” Then he lifted his head to look at the barkeep again. “But you, my friend, you have that love of the sunset, the spray in you. Your thirst for the solitude and rocking of a deck, that is the beginning of your journey. And it is why I have selected you, after some deliberation, to take up the torch.”

At this, the captain stood up from the barrel and downed the rest of his rum with a glug. He donned his tricorne hat again, and dusted off the sleeves of his coat before announcing, rather formally, “What do you say, Captain James, are you ready for a thousand lifetimes at sea? Understanding, of course, there will be others like you. Do you accept the charge to tend to them? And when you are ready to go, will you find a replacement of your own to take up the helm?”

Mr. James frantically lifted his arm in salute, knocking over the empty bottle. Grinning widely, he nearly squealed, “Aye, I’ll about do it! Er, I mean, I accept! When can we shove off?” he inquired eagerly.

“As soon as you’re ready, captain. Your ship and crew await.”

The barkeep pushed out his stool and hopped up onto his crutch, still smiling. He couldn’t be sure why, but he felt lighter and easier to manage it than before. Davy Jones took his free arm and they walked out of the tavern together into the night, the rolling waves washing against the shore.

Mr. David James, A.K.A. Davy Jones, age unknown. Presumed deceased during the golden age of sail somewhere off the shores of a forgotten white beach in the Caribbean. A man who was called to dreaming and wishing for a second chance to do what he knew he would love. Tonight, he got it, and only one witness may attest to seeing him, captain, put to sea out into the horizon of…the Deadlight Zone.

This post was a part of Nat 1 Publishing’s Summer Court writing challenge! You can read the final, edited draft in their published anthology and participate in the challenge every year on Discord.