Coming soon...
A Murder Harbored
Synopsis
“It’s bad luck to whistle on board!” Snake said for the second time and stared in an uncharacteristic manner, itching his scarred chest, the area underhand mottled red and white; irritated mounds of white surfacing with each stroke of his finger. He was usually a mirthful man, quick with a joke or a lie whenever they met. Harold looked away, embarrassed. The white-capped waters looked better to his eyes than Snake's perplexing face as they made way across the Great Lake.
The wind increased in intensity as they stood toe-to-toe at the railing. Harold wondered what had gotten into his pal. “Who told you that, Snake?”
The challenge sparked his ire, his creased brow pulsating from a purplish vein above his eye. He bit his lip momentarily, alleviating the stress. “My grandfather always told me never to whistle on board ship...it's a bad omen and causes the wind to howl in order to cover the sound. I realize you are new on board, but it really doesn't matter. Its prophesy of a bad storm was what I was told, and you've called a wind devil into play. There is really only one way to calm his spirit...”
Harold interupted him, “Sounds like some sort of hokey Indian folklore to me. You did tell me your grandfather was half Ojibwa—”
Harold reeled back from the punch and tasted the metallic liquid from his fattened lip. It happened with such lightning speed he didn’t see it coming and he howled like the wind. “What in the hell did you do that for?!”
Snake scowled, “Now you listen to this and this ain't no shit. The only way to break the curse is to draw blood. That, and you'll always remember from this point forward to never whistle on any ship you board! You got it? Never will you forget this incident; I promise you! I had to do it...there's no other way.” Snake turned to look back out over the railing onto the rolling waves of the lake.
Harold stood there contemplating the moment, “Shit! If I had known, I would have pricked myself with the point of my knife,” he said rubbing his jaw.
Ironically, the wind began to settle, but Harold never looked at Snake the same way again.