Ghosts are not real.

Ghosts pirates were definitely not fucking real.

Logically Adam knew this.

But, knowing that didn’t make the illogical ghost pirate ship slicing through the water a few feet behind his kayak any less real.

“Give it up, son,” the man? Ghost? Zombie? leaning over the rail rasped.

Adam ignored him, paddling with everything in him. His arms screamed in protest. Fire blossomed in his shoulders. Another hundred feet and he’d make it shore. He could see the idealistic lakeshore New England town where he’d spent the previous night at the only B&B straight ahead.

Hell he could see people fishing on the dock. Other kayaks and boats on the water.

Why weren’t they raising the alarm?

Coming to help?

Maybe, he really was crazy.

He looked over his shoulder. There it was, a pirate ship bigger than three of the yachts he’d passed earlier in the day. Cannons gleamed on the deck. Worst of all were the men lined vacant-eyed around the railing looking down on him. None from any one time period or allegiance. British Red Coats stop next to Conderate Union Soliders. Hippies next to men in powdered wigs. Black-leather clad bikers next to cowboys straight out of a John Wayne movie. At the very front of the ship, stood what Adam had guessed was the Captain, the only one among the men who spoke or moved. His blue eyes shown with a dangerous cold light as he looked down at Adam.

“Think your crazy, do ya?” he chuckled. “Well, I can tell you, your not, not yet anyway. Give me your hand, and I’ll prove it.”

Even though the distance between them was more than the height of both men combined, Adam somehow knew, maybe by some ghostly powers, that if he reached out his hand the man would grab it and pull him up. Like that idea is any crazier than ghost pirates?

“You’re getting tired,” the pirate said. “Best to stop. You’ll never outrun us.”

The worst thing was, Adam realized he was right. A hundred feet or ten, it didn’t matter how close to safety he was, he’d never outrun them.

He stopped paddling.

***

“Old Captain caught another one for his crew, Sherriff,”the fisherman said, watching the Pirate ship in the distance.

His friend looked up. “Damn tourists.” He leaned his pole against the historical plague that warned of the ‘ Ghostly Revolutionary Pirates who haunted the lake.’ “That makes three missing persons reports I’ve had to write this this month.”