A Trek of A Storyteller

Ch.24: Yer Sea Dad Loves Ye

Four hours of walking and collapsing later, Jackson finally arrived at Jack's doorstep. To his surprise, the door was hanging off its hinges. He stepped inside, previous weariness fading away as he saw the turmoil inside.

Chairs were knocked over, the cabinets were smashed, the table was flipped and a large crack ran through it. There were papers littering the floor and every drawer was opened, its contents lying scattered somewhere.

The boy searched the house frantically, calling Jack's name. There was no answer. At last, he spotted a wrinkled paper crushed beneath the edge of the table. He lifted the table immediately, snatching the paper with shaky hands.

'My lad,

Though I was a seafaring man and never learned how to write proper, I thought I'd give it a try for you. From Storyteller to Storyteller.

I'm proud of you, lad. Chester's been keeping me updated through the letters of his and I must say it's no easy feat to row back in a storm. Henry's real mean about catching big fish too, as you found out I'm sure.

The men down in town got to me. By and by, I thought they might. They've been torturing me for days, first they killed Ol' Kidd and then they strung him up. I had to cut him down myself, I gave him a proper burial too. Next they broke in and they made sure I wasn't hiding anything. I wasn't of course but they swore to string me up too.

I'm to hang on the fifth. I lived a long enough life, lad, believe me. I've left this world and I'm onto the next. I only hope they'll have some proper music, 'tis a shame I never got to hear you play.

There's jerky in the cellar, the door is beneath the rug. Your guitar is hidden in the hollow of the old stump by Kidd's pen. You'll find her good as new.

Your sea dad loves you, from now till always.

-Jack'

There were many mistakes and crossed out words, only to be misspelled again in a scrawling hand that seemed rather childlike. Still, with a quivering lip and a quivering hand, Jackson placed the note into his satchel, beside Captain Taylor's.

He could not bear it anymore, he fell to his knees, body wracked with uncontrollable sobs. He'd lost the only two people who took mercy on him in the same day and he decided he could never forgive the universe for that.

He sat there sobbing until night fell and only then did he lay down, gasping for air only to have it stolen as his anguished cries rose up once again until he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

He awoke and shook his head of the haze, hoping that in time, he could forget the events that led him here. He knew he could not stay and feel sorry for himself, and yet he did not know where to go next.

He decided to first retrieve his guitar and feed himself, and then make decisions. He could not let grief overcome him. He would prevail.

His guitar was hidden in the secret door of a stump that had broken off toward the bottom. She was indeed, good as new, only a thin layer of wood dust to let him know that she had been staying in a tree trunk for some time.

The boy crept into the cellar and took the few packages of jerky that were down there, making room in his satchel for them. He regretted not taking some of the herbs from the meadow but knew he could make do without. He had learned enough about plants to know which would kill him and which would not.

After his belly was full and his satchel weighed heavy, he set off down the road. He knew where he was going; he would find the same place he did all that time ago when he had lost his demons and found a friend. He was headed for the fairgrounds.