Free Ask the Bones by Various

felt the earth tremble. A few grains of sand came tumbling into the hole. What if all the sand slid over him? He was about to jump out when his shovel clanged against something—metal against metal.
    The fisherman threw down his shovel and began to push the sand aside with his hands. There at the bottom of the hole was a metal box.
    At that very moment, something wet splashed on his head. He looked up and cried out in terror, for there above him, leaning over the hole, were three fearsome pirates. Seaweed streamed from their shoulders and shrimp crawled through their hair. The daggers they held high were dripping. Dripping what? Blood or seawater?
    The fisherman didn’t know which.
    Drop by drop it fell on him, salty and warm. He was trapped at the bottom of that hole, shuddering and desperate. What if they decided to bury him alive?
    He sank to his knees and prayed. He vowed he would never search for pirate treasure again if only he could escape with his life. When he looked up, he saw the pirates melt into mist before his very eyes.
    He leaped out of that hole. Even before he had hurtled through the woods to the beach, he heard the sound of sand sliding back into the hole. He was gasping for breath, but he managed to drag his boat down to the water.
    Just as he jumped aboard, he saw that he wasn’t alone.
    Another pirate had materialized at the back of the boat. This pirate was twice as big and twice as fierce as the others. He too had seaweed streaming down his shoulders and shrimp crawling through his hair. And two huge sea turtles were dangling from his ears like monstrous earrings.
    This pirate carried no dagger. What he held was far worse—a great, curved cutlass, dripping whatever those daggers had dripped. The pirate slashed that cutlass just inches from the fisherman’s nose, spraying his face with something that smelled very much like blood. In the moonlight, the fisherman couldn’t be sure.
    But when the pirate pointed that cutlass first to one oar and then to the other, the fisherman began to row as if his life depended on it. And when the pirate pointed that cutlass out to sea, the fisherman rowed exactly where the pirate pointed, pulling on those oars with the strength of a dozen men.
    Hour after hour the fisherman rowed, until he was afraid he would never see land again. He was sure his end had come. He would never see his friends again, nor his wife—his wise, wise wife.

    He was so exhausted he could hardly think, but he began to mumble the same prayer he had said when he was deep in the sandy hole.
    And lo and behold, the pirate slid silently over the edge of the boat and down beneath the waves.
    The fisherman’s hair stood on end, for not one bubble arose from the spot where the pirate sank. This pirate was a ghost, and so were the others. He immediately swung the boat around and rowed back home, too frightened to rest his aching arms.

    When he was back on land at last, walking to his front door, he saw a terrifying sight. Jammed into the dirt by the doorway was the very shovel he had left on the island, and down that shovel streamed seaweed and shrimp. The fisherman wanted to fling it far from the house, but no matter how desperately he tugged, he couldn’t tear it free. Somehow the ghosts had made sure he would never use that shovel to dig for pirate treasure again.
    Then he noticed the door to his house was ajar and saw four sets of wet footprints leading inside. He threw open the door and saw a wild-eyed woman sitting by the fire, shredding seaweed. His wife screamed when she saw him, and he screamed, too. For the ghosts had so addled their wits that neither one recognized the other.

The Black Snake
    â€¢ A Tale from Persia •

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    T hree merchants sailed from Persia in fair weather. They had no reason to suspect trouble. For years their ship had carried them safely to distant lands where they traded fine rugs for leather, wool, and silk.
    But