“That old man there. Sits at that empty slip day after day, just staring. What’s he see? He’s blind. Deaf and dumb too for all I know.” You skip a rock unsuccessfully across the ocean’s choppy surface. 

She squints, holding her hat against the wind threatening to claim it.

“That’s Mr. Murdock. Has no one told you?” You shrug. “Suppose the locals think it’s bad luck. That slip was the Urea’s, a whaler.

“She was expected to be on her way home and instead they found her meandering the Polynesian Islands with naught of her crew on board but Mr. Murdock. Well, they were still on board. They were just bones, though.”

“Ah,” you answer.

“He ate them.”

“All of them?” You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. She scowls.

“Ask him yourself, if you’re curious,” she says, bounding back towards shore. “Maybe you’ll solve the great mystery of what happened to them!”

You look back at Mr. Murdock. His sightless, silvery eyes catch yours. 

Turning away quickly, you follow her. “Don’t think I will.”