Ambrose Nast

Gusts rose every 10 or 15 seconds as I walked the road.

The first dim lamp glow appeared far in the distance from the tavern.

The wish for a glass of whiskey was overwhelming.

There was violence, my grandfather had told me.

Or maybe the ship broke up and went down, down, down.

But the devil had heard the Dutchman.

Oh yes, you can't make such a vow under circumstances like that.

The devil always hears.

And the Dutchman got his wish.

Him and that ghost crew of his have been going to places the living can't hope to reach in a lifetime.

Never saw the boat myself out there, but I saw some other strange things, God knows.

Saw a squid one time, bigger than not just one man or two, but three, three men.

It was my father, rest his soul, who tried that night in his clumsy way to comfort me a little as he pulled my covers over me.

I asked him if the Flying Dutchman was out there somewhere now.

If he was still angry after two hundred years, I thought, he might hurt anyone, and our little house was only a stone's throw from the port of Salem.

So it was from him, and not my grandfather, who was a much better storyteller.

that I learned of the grace of angels who had bargained with the devil to allow the Dutchman ashore once every seven years, only briefly, to seek out a woman whose true love could redeem him and set him free of his torments.

My father said to me, he's had a lot of chances to find a woman like that, seems to me.

So I'd wager he has.

And I'd wager they're both long at peace now.