The pirate and the ghost (Part I)

 "We are all children of the sea." 

 Whitebeard

The early morning mist began to lift, revealing the silhouette of an island on the horizon. The ship rose and dipped as it cut through the waves, drawing closer with each passing moment. Shank stood restlessly at the bow, gaze fixed upon the emerging landmass. He licked his lips, mouth watering at the thought of vanilla and the wood burn on his tongue.

"Hope the whiskey aged well, eh, Captain?" a crew member said with a grin, breaking through Shank's reverie.

He chuckled in response, "I've got a feeling this batch is going to be one of the best."

"Even better if we had women around!" a hoarse voice shouted from somewhere on the main deck, drawing laughter and raucous cheers from the crew.

"To wine and women!" his men cheered. Shank laughed heartily and shook his head. His crew were rough and hardened men, but it didn't take much to make them happy.

The Red Force was able to tack in close to shore before dropping her anchor. The rattling of the chains was drowned out by the bustling activity on the deck. Boats were being lowered with careless splashes, carrying Lucky Roux, the kitchen team, and the first mate. Together, they made landfall on the rocky shore, their footsteps quickened by the promise of oak barrels filled with precious whiskey awaiting them atop the hill. However, their plan for a joyous celebration quickly turned into a somber funeral when they discovered a lifeless body in the cave.

The child, barely more than a girl, lay curled pitifully on the cave floor. Her tiny form shrouded in the tattered remnants of their flag. Shank knelt beside her, gently brushing aside strands of dark hair that clung to her ashen face. She couldn't have been older than fifteen years old. His eyes traced her tattered, muddied clothes, countless cuts, and bruises that marred her delicate skin.

"We are all children of the sea," he whispered to himself. 

She looked peaceful, as if she had just fallen asleep. Her lips were slightly parted, almost in a gentle smile. In death, her innocence would be preserved for all eternity. Shank plucked a silver coin from the depths of his pocket. Its surface was worn by time and touch, a remnant from his first treasure chest. With a gentle flick of his wrist, the coin spun and twirled through the air, landing softly amidst the petals inside the grave. A silent offering, carrying the weight of a thousand memories, to accompany her into the unknown.

"Damn it, Beck, this is not good!" Shank cried out as they sprinted towards camp, the fire rapidly devouring their supplies.

"Yeah, the explosion made it worse."

"My favorite beach umbrella is burning!" Shank shrieked, rushing towards it, leaving everyone in a cloud of dust.

Beck rolled his eyes. "Of course, that's what you're worried about." The first mate wasted no time, barking orders at the crew and organizing them to form a line, passing buckets of seawater and moving supplies away from the fire.

"Shank, your cape is on fire!" Beck shouted, gesturing frantically.

"For God's sake, stop moving around. Drop and roll! Drop and roll!" 

A gust of chill wind swept across the beach, snuffing out all flames at once. All eyes were immediately drawn to the grave and the vengeful presence emanating from it. A hushed silence descended over the camp, broken only by the distant cry of a seagull. They stared open-mouthed as 'it' began to crawl out from the bowels of the earth.

"Shit, shit, shit–," Building Snake's voice trembled in fear.

Gap laughed nervously. "Nah, I don't think it's what you think it is. It's probably no big deal. We should be okay."

His crewmates exchanged nervous glances, hands tightening on their weapons. Suddenly, the 'thing' jerked. Shank felt a pang of shame as his men, seasoned sailors who had braved the New World sea, erupted into screams and scrambled about the beach for safety.

Reacting purely on instinct, Lucky Roux seized a nearby rack of meat and hurled it at the 'thing'. The projectile struck its mark, causing the creature to stumble backward and fall back into the grave with a sickening thud. For a while, every man stood frozen, unsure of what to do next.

"We–, we–, we buried it! Quickly, bury it. If it has a proper resting place, it won't come out to haunt us!" cried Yassop.

His words snapped everyone into action. They scoured the campsite for anything that could be used as a shovel and rushed to the grave. But their hurried anticipation turned into bewildered and uncertain hush as they stared down at the pair of eyes peering back at them from the bottom of the grave.

Years would pass, and Shank would often look back on this moment, puffing out his chest and claiming that he had delivered the best eulogy ever. So good that he literally made the dead walk out of the grave. The crew would roll their eyes each time and remind him that's the exact reason he was banned from ever doing it again.