Chapter 10 “Not So Elegant Anymore”
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Under the harsh light of the setting sun, Duncan stood with his gaze locked on the intricately carved wooden box that rested eerily on the weathered deck of the Vanished. Moisture leaked from the corners of the box, each droplet hitting the wooden planks below, confirming the unsettling truth—his memory of casting the box into the merciless sea was not a hallucination. Indeed, this object had been floating among the turbulent waves until recently.
Normally, fear would grip anyone faced with such a supernatural occurrence, but Duncan remained strikingly calm. This odd serenity might have stemmed from his time aboard the mysterious ghost ship. Perhaps the recent adrenaline-filled adventure in the “spirit realm drift” and its subsequent collision had influenced him, or maybe his encounters with an extraordinarily peculiar goat head had hardened him against the supernatural oddities of this world.
Interestingly, when he had initially thrown this “cursed doll” into the depths of the sea, he vaguely suspected that it wouldn’t be the end. Seeing the box again confirmed his suspicion.
He looked down and, as expected, found that the iron nails that had once fortified the coffin and the chains that had encircled it were gone. Crouching down, Duncan drew his well-worn pirate sword and pried open the coffin’s lid.
The sight that greeted him was exactly as he remembered—the stunningly elegant Gothic doll, nestled in a sea of red velvet, her hands folded gently on her lap, exuding serene tranquility.
However, this time, Duncan noticed something new. The hem of her lavish gown was slightly damp, a result of the saltwater that had seeped in, carrying with it the faint, distinct smell of the ocean.
So far, the doll’s strange ability to return was its only unusual behavior. But even that was enough to deem it a “cursed object.”
Expressionless, Duncan studied the doll for a moment longer before a sly grin appeared on his face. Breaking the silence, he expressed his newfound curiosity, “I find myself wanting to investigate further…”
With that, he turned and walked toward the cabin entrance, leaving the doll lying alone on the deck with an air of confidence. His instincts told him to keep a cautious distance from the doll, but his knowledge about the Vanished and the peculiar goat head reassured him that leaving the doll on the deck wouldn’t cause immediate disaster. Even if the doll showed violent tendencies, the ship had plenty of “living” entities to handle the situation.
As Duncan walked across the ship’s deck, he approached the old wooden entrance leading to the lower levels. Carefully descending the ancient wooden staircase, each step echoed with the countless years of its existence. At the bottom, he found himself within the lower cabins, paradoxically called the “upper deck cabin” within the ship’s labyrinthine interior. This space housed the cannons, the ship’s artillery armament.
The antique cannons lay in silent repose along either side of the room, their mighty forms hidden beneath mildew-covered black planks. Nestled between these gun positions, like dormant sentinels, were ominous-looking gunpowder barrels and robust iron cannonballs. The ensemble seemed like a tribute to a bygone era, remnants of a century long past.
Duncan surveyed the historical artifacts before him, each exuding a palpable aura of history, sparking a sudden realization.
Onboard this ship, he had encountered no one but himself. So, he wondered, who might be responsible for managing these cannons? Could it be possible that these cannons, like the Vanished, could autonomously load and fire?
What about the freshwater reservoir within the ship? Did it have a self-replenishing system? And the ship’s damaged sections—did they mend themselves over time, or did the concept of “damage” even hold any relevance for this ship?
His mind was full of questions, yet he struggled to decide where to start in addressing them.
Duncan realized that his knowledge of this vessel was superficial. Despite spending several days exploring its vastness, his understanding of the ship’s structure was rudimentary. The further he ventured into the depths of the ship, the more daunting and intimidating it became. Additionally, his desire to abandon his solitary seafaring life and return to the familiarity of Earthly life had prevented him from delving deeper into the mysteries of the Vanished. As a result, his efforts in this unfamiliar environment lacked direction and purpose.
However, Duncan suddenly felt overwhelmed with a profound curiosity about the ship, accompanied by an enhanced sense of ownership and control. This was his ship, and he was responsible for unraveling the enigma that was the “Vanished.”
He suspected that this change in perspective might have been triggered by his recent encounter with the ship’s helm.
Yet, Duncan dismissed these thoughts, deciding to temporarily put aside his exploratory intentions. He headed towards the area where the cannonballs were stored…
Subsequently, Duncan emerged onto the stern deck, cradling several hefty cast-iron cannonballs in his arms. As expected, the cursed doll lay unmoved within its coffin, nestled inside the wooden crate.
“Has there been any movement while I was away?” he wondered.
“Absolutely not,” responded Goathead’s voice promptly, with a hint of urgency. It seemed as though it had been waiting to express its thoughts, which now poured out quickly. “This lady, just like her appearance, is calm. You should trust my judgment. Her persistent return to the ship might suggest some profound connection between her, her coffin, and the Vanished. As a wise gardener once…”
“Silence.”
“Oh.”
Duncan remained impassive, his gaze fixed on the doll within the coffin.
Whether the doll was genuinely immobile or merely pretending to be asleep was unclear to him, but his interest was elsewhere.
The formidable cast-iron cannonballs felt significantly heavy in his hands. These were typically used as tools for brutal punishment aboard the ship—strapping one onto a traitor was more than enough to ensure a swift plunge into the sea’s dark depths.
Duncan placed four cannonballs around the doll in the coffin before returning to the cabin and fetching four more.
The eight cannonballs nearly filled the remaining space in the coffin, creating an unusual spectacle—the serene Gothic doll, now surrounded by these iron spheres, seemed to radiate a different energy, one of martial might.
Her former elegance was overshadowed by this unexpected arrangement, replaced with an ominous, spectral atmosphere.
Once again, Duncan sealed the coffin and began the arduous task of pushing the massive wooden box to the edge of the deck. Despite his considerable strength, moving the weighted box was quite challenging.
Finally, he gathered his energy and gave the coffin a forceful kick, sending it toppling overboard into the sea.
The resulting splash echoed across the ocean’s expanse, and the ornate wooden box began its descent into the watery depths.
Duncan remained motionless at the edge of the deck, his gaze fixed on the spot where the coffin had disappeared beneath the waves. He stood there in silence, lost in thought.
This Translation is hosted on bcatranslation.com
Once again, the voice of Goathead intruded into Duncan’s thoughts. “Captain, are you having second thoughts? If you regret disposing of this valuable asset, the Vanished can attempt to recover the box using the ship’s anchor. While it’s not exactly the intended purpose of an anchor, I believe the anchor wouldn’t mind giving it a try…”
“Silence.”
“But you’ve been standing at the edge of the deck for quite a while now…”
“Enough.”
“Oh~”
A sigh escaped from Duncan’s lips.
He could not admit to the talkative goat head that he was developing a headache.
Thus, he continued to stand on the deck in discomfort for several more minutes, striving to maintain the stern persona befitting a ship’s captain. However, he started to question if he appeared more like a fool hopelessly in love than a commanding figure. Eventually, he regained his composure, turned around, and walked back towards the upper deck below with a calm stride.
After several minutes steeped in silence, Duncan made a decision. Judging that enough time had passed, he abruptly walked towards the stern section of the upper deck. He positioned himself at the observation windows nestled between the dual rear cannons, his attention keenly directed towards the intricate ballet of movement playing out on the sea’s surface.
However, the silence was soon broken by Goathead, unable to resist voicing its curiosity, “Captain, what are you engaged in…”
Without shifting his gaze from the hypnotic ebb and flow of the sea, Duncan responded without lifting his head, “I’m intrigued about the mechanism behind that ‘cursed doll’s’ return.”
“Um… perhaps because she’s, well, a cursed doll?”
“… I admire your approach of refraining from probing deeper, but even if she is a cursed doll, there ought to be a specific process enabling her return to the ship. She attempts to feign ‘death,’ yet time and again finds her way back on board. I surmise there must be a rationale behind this, a communicative capability she possesses… But since she’s presently reticent, I will endeavor to discern her behavioral patterns and establish a mode of communication with that entity.”
Goathead absorbed Duncan’s elaborate explanation, falling silent for a moment before cautiously probing, “Captain, it seems you have… developed a sudden interest? Ah, that’s indeed a positive development! Ever since you woke up the last time, you’ve been in quite a dismal mood, displaying a diminished interest in a multitude of things. Your loyal first mate and second mate…”
“Silence.”
“Oh.”
Once Goathead complied and subdued its chatter, Duncan resumed his vigilant watch over the sea’s surface. The sea towards the stern appeared tranquil, showing no signs that the “coffin” he had submerged would re-emerge.
However, his past experiences had instilled a greater patience in him this time around. Silently, he kept track of time with unwavering patience, observing with quiet resolve as the minutes slipped by.
Almost without realizing it, he found himself gripped by intense anticipation for the doll’s return.
Then, within his line of sight, a tiny dark silhouette appeared.
Amid the rhythmic dance of the rising and falling waves, this dark figure came into Duncan’s view. It was the finely crafted wooden box, breaking the sea’s surface like a solitary vessel braving a tempest. Inside the box, the beautiful Gothic doll stood tall, her magnificent coffin lid clutched in a formidable stance, her small form relentlessly advancing against the onslaught of the wind and waves.
What was once elegant had now transformed into something utterly strange, more bewildering than the collective oddity of eight cannonballs.
Thanks for the chapter! I’m liking this so far.
The image of a doll paddling a coffin to get back into the ship was not what I had in mind for a cursed object. LMAO
After being tossed out of the ship twice, there’s no way this doll will be a character with dignity.
Lmao
So rude!
Cute clingy doll!