It was the second week of July and my children were already sick of summer vacation. The first few days had been fine. They had gone swimming, had sleepovers, and wrecked the house from top to bottom, but pretty quickly all the excitement had worn off. Then one morning I came downstairs and found my son Aaron laying on the couch, listlessly watching television. My daughter Abigail was seated at the kitchen counter, pushing a pencil back and forth. No spark of joy or enthusiasm was visible. That was when I made my fatal decision. “Let’s get out in nature! No sense wasting the summer”, I declared. Little did I know how much I was going to regret that decision in the near future.

I spent the rest of the day searching for a good educational sight that would get my family outdoors. It was fortunate, or so I thought, that there was such a place not two hours from our house. It was a small island just off the coast that, according to legend, the pirate captain William Kidd buried part of his treasure. After William Kidd’s execution in 1701, three of his shipmates went back to look for the treasure. They fought over it and two of them were killed. The third was never heard from again and as a result the place was believed to be cursed. The instructions looked simple enough. All I had to do was drive down the main highway until I got to the beach, rent a boat and sail to the island, climb a sort of a hill where the two men supposedly died, and take a selfie. It would all be simple and straight forward.

That was what ended me up in the car with two fighting kids for four long hours. It should have taken half that amount of time, but my genius of a son, Aaron, forgot the map. Luckily, Abigail had looked over the map and remembered how to get there. After three hours, I began to doubt my daughter’s memory. Anyone who has never been in a car for four hours with the constant smell of peanut butter and sweaty socks, complete with screaming children, will not be able to comprehend how I felt.

“Dad”, said Aaron, near the end of the fourth hour. “When are we going to get there?”

“Not long now”, I said through gritted teeth.

“Is that storm clouds in the distance?” asked Abigail, always ready to lighten the mood.

“Do we have to go see some island?” whined Aaron. “I’m getting bored”.

“Come on it’ll be fun”, I said, trying not to lose my optimism. “We packed a picnic, we’ll be at the beach, and it’ll be educational”.

“Yeah, boring”, said Aaron.

“That is definitely storm clouds”, continued Abigail. “I’m sure it’ll rain before we get there”.

“Thank you for that helpful observation, Abby”, I said sarcastically, “any more cheerful comments? I’m sure everything will be fine.” Just then the car stopped and I got out to checked the wheel. The back tire was punctured.

 Amidst the honking and shouting from the drivers behind us, I heard my darling daughter’s voice. “I think the tire’s flat”. 

It took about half an hour, but we eventually solved our little problem and got to the beach. I took a deep breath of the salty sea air and in that breath I felt as if all our troubles were over. It didn’t last long.

“It’s starting to drizzle”, said Abigail.

“Great”, pouted Aaron. “We spend hours trying to get here and then it rains”.

“Don’t worry”, I said. “I’m sure it’ll pass. Abby, please get out the picnic basket. Aaron and I will go rent a boat”. So, despite my son’s displeasure of getting wet sand between his toes, we set out to look for a boat. We found a wonderful looking motorboat, and, strangely enough, the man renting it seemed anxious to get rid of. I was soon to learn why.

We were just a little ways out from shore when the boat began to leak. Abigail of course was the first to point this out. “Don’t worry”, I said cheerfully. “I’m sure it won’t take on much”. We all started bailing.

“We’re all going to die and it’s all your fault for taking us on this stupid trip”, said Aaron. I took a big scoop of water and poured it out of the boat.

“Dad”, moaned Abigail. “I don’t feel so good”. She clutched her stomach.

“Things could be worse”, I said. Aaron began scooping water with his hat.

“Yeah, we could be up to our knees in water in the middle of the ocean”, said Aaron.

“Dad!” shrieked Abigail. And without a moment to think my daughter got sick all over the boat.

“That is disgusting!” screamed Aaron.

“Can you all swim?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good, because I think we might have to”. Thankfully the island was just ahead of us and we managed to get to shore safely, just as the boat sank. Naturally, no one thought to save the picnic basket.

By now the rain was pouring. We had to go through some thick underbrush to get to the hill. I don’t know how many cuts and bruises I got that day but it felt like a million. There were bugs crawling up and down Aaron’s neck and all of us got bit. Abigail lost her shoes along the way and insisted I carry her on my back. Carrying a fifteen year old girl on your back while climbing a rocky hillside in the blinding rain is not a task for the faint of heart, but I did it.

“Yay”, moaned Aaron as we reached the top. “We survived”.

“Alright”, I snapped. “Now let’s take a picture”. I took out my phone and we took a group selfie. Aaron in his soaking hat and face deformed by bug bites, Abigail all muddy and still looking a bit sick, and myself looking like something back from the dead. “Ok, well that’s done”.

“How do we get back without a boat?” asked Abigail. There was complete silence.

“Great, now we’re stuck here”, said Aaron, breaking the quiet. Then there was a loud clap of thunder.

 “We are on the spot where two men were murdered”, I whispered. A chill ran down my spine.

“The third was never seen again”, said Abigail. Aaron shivered. Then we all heard a long despairing wail.

I believe I fainted, because when I awoke Aaron, Abigail, and I were all in a hospital room. I found out the rest of the story later. After I passed out, the rain began to clear and Abigail managed to signal the shore. A rescue boat came and we were taken off the island. I was sent to the hospital and the kids, having nowhere else to go, went with me. So in the end the whole venture turned out alright.

“You know”, said Aaron, as we drove home from the hospital. “That actually was kind of fun”.

“Yeah”, agreed Abigail. “But I think I’ll stay home for the rest of the summer”.

“I wonder what that wailing sound was”, said Aaron.

“I guess we’ll never know”, I said, pulling into the driveway. Home had never looked so good.

“Honestly”, said Aaron. “I’m glad we never have to find out”.

Note from the author about Captain Kidd

Although this story is a work of fiction, Captain William Kidd was a real pirate. He was born in 1645 in Scotland. When he was a young man he moved to New York and married. In 1695 the British government hired him to attack and loot French ships, but in 1698 William Kidd betrayed Britain and turned to piracy. He managed to evade capture at first, but was eventually caught and sent to England, where he went on trial for his crimes. On May 23, 1701 he was hanged for piracy and his corpse was hung in a cage by the River Thames as a harsh warning to other pirates. Before he died he said that he had buried some of his treasure. It has yet to be found.