“Their flags are painted with skulls and bones,” Tenshi, my eldest son whispered through his mask. “Do they offer death as cargo, father?”

I grunted impassively. My twins were nonplussed.

“Maybe they’re pirates,” Owa suggested.

“Here to reclaim their treasure,” Tanda joined in excitedly.

For three nights, we spied the anchored ships. Their massive sails remained at full mast and no activity aboard deck was detected. I was plagued with the image of terrible ghosts steering that lifeless fleet.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” I assured them. “We’ll report back once intelligence is gathered beyond the dunes.”

They bowed their heads respectively and agreed in unison. “Yes, father.”

I squatted in the sand and fanned my gloved fingers behind me. My two identical sons flanked me on either side. “Forward.” I flicked my wrist.

Tanda and Owa were my best ninja scouts. In a flash of gunpowder smoke, they disappeared.

I should never have sent them to investigate. I should have been honest, shared my trepidations with them, and told them how I sensed death over that blind horizon. But in fifty years as a warrior, fear had always been something to impose upon my enemies and not a feeling I was comfortable expressing.

So I kept my fears to myself and my handsome boys never returned.

After several minutes, Tenshi had enough. He signaled with his eyes.

I nodded my head and we assaulted the windblown sandbank from the eastern crest. Our short, flat swords were drawn at the ready. As we ran, shadows broke free of our footfalls and exposed minute puddles of blood.

“Father, look,” he hissed and pointed ahead.

Two shovels became visible on the surface of the beach.

“Someone has buried my children!” I screamed.

The sands were deserted. Tenshi and I extracted the shovels and began to furiously dig. Sweat pooled through our clothes. It wasn’t long before we struck the top of a wooden box.

“Please, don’t let it be them inside,” Tenshi beseeched the gods.

It was Tanda who said those undetectable pirates were here to reclaim their treasure, but this container wasn’t filled with diamonds or gold.

It was a coffin.

I brought the cold steel down and cracked the casket open. A foul stench escaped the splintered hole.

“Much obliged,” a deep voice rumbled inside and tore through the planks. The man was the color of the moon and his two pointed fangs overlapped his bottom lip. He winked and exploded into a colony of bats.

Tenshi fell backwards into my arms. We followed their flight across the sea and into the hull of the lead ship. The night came alive with the laughter of the dead.

Those soulless bastards have never left our shores.

Angel Zapata was born in NYC, but currently resides just outside of Augusta, Georgia. Some of his flash fiction and poetry has appeared or is forthcoming on Microhorror.com, AlienSkin, Flash Me Magazine, Membra Disjecta and Flashes in the Dark. He is married to a beautiful princess who slew a myriad of dragons in order to save him from a world, and he quotes, “Populated by extremely manipulative stepsisters.” For links to other published works, please visit his blog.

Bats, scratchboard, by Katie.