The Captains Watch

The Captain's Watch

The gold pocket watch gleamed under the flickering fluorescent lights of Ray's Pawn & Loan. Its intricate engravings of whaling ships and sea creatures caught Marco's eye immediately. The older thief nudged his partner, Denny.

"That one," Marco whispered. "Looks antique. Probably fetch a good price."

Denny nodded, his thin face expressionless as always. The kid was a natural – never showed emotion during a job. It made him reliable, if a bit unnerving.

Their heist went smoothly – a smash-and-grab after hours, in and out in under three minutes. Among their haul was the watch, nestled in Marco's pocket as they slipped away into the night.

---

In his cramped apartment, Marco examined their take. The watch was indeed special – heavy 18-karat gold with fine craftsmanship. When he pried open the hidden compartment in the back, he found a lock of silver-streaked brown hair tied with faded blue ribbon.

"Some old-timer's keepsake," he muttered, almost putting it aside. But something stopped him. The inscription inside the cover read: *"Return to me, as I return to you. Forever, Elizabeth."*

"Sentimental garbage," Denny said, counting the cash they'd taken. "But the watch should get us five grand at least."

That night, Marco dreamed of the ocean. He'd never been on a ship in his life, but he felt the rolling deck beneath his feet, smelled salt spray and whale oil. He woke to find his sheets damp with seawater.

---

Three days after the robbery, Marco noticed the barnacles. Tiny at first – clustered in the corner of his bathroom. He scraped them away, puzzled. The next morning, they were back, larger. In his shower. On his toothbrush.

When he called Denny, the younger man was already panicking.

"I keep hearing creaking," Denny hissed. "Like wooden beams. And I swear there's someone walking on my ceiling at night."

"It's just the upstairs neighbor," Marco assured him, though he didn't quite believe it.

That night, Marco woke to rope burns on his wrists and ankles.

---

The fence was nervous when they showed him the watch.

"Where'd you get this?" he asked, eyes darting between them and the door. "This belonged to Captain Nathaniel Hayes. His story's famous around here."

"Spare us the history lesson," Denny snapped. "How much?"

The fence pushed the watch away. "I'm not touching it. Look behind you."

Both men turned. Nothing was there.

"He's right there," the fence whispered. "Tall man, sea captain's coat. Face like he's ready to gut you both."

On the street outside, Marco noticed Denny walking with a limp. "What happened to your leg?"

"Nothing," Denny said. "Just feels... raw. Like something scraped it."

They parted ways, the watch still in Marco's possession.

---

That night, the keel hauling began in earnest.

Marco woke gasping, his lungs burning. He felt the phantom sensation of rough hemp ropes around his limbs, the crushing pressure of water, the searing pain of barnacles ripping across his skin as he was dragged beneath a massive wooden hull.

The room smelled of whale oil and blood. In the corner stood a figure – tall, bearded, wearing a captain's coat crusted with sea salt. His eyes were milky white, dead as the moon, but they fixed on Marco with terrible purpose.

"Return what's mine," the apparition said, his voice like waves crashing on rocks.

Marco scrambled for his phone, called Denny. No answer.

---

He found Denny in his apartment the next morning, curled in the bathtub that had mysteriously filled with seawater. The young man's body was covered in hundreds of deep cuts, his skin gray and waterlogged though he was still breathing.

"He's dragging me under," Denny whispered, teeth chattering. "Every night. I can feel the barnacles tearing... tearing..."

Marco pulled the watch from his pocket. "We need to return it."

"To the pawn shop?" Denny asked.

"No," Marco said, remembering the fence's words. "To wherever this Captain Hayes lived."

---

The local historical society was housed in an old sea captain's mansion on the hill overlooking the harbor. The curator raised an eyebrow at their question but directed them to a white house with a widow's walk on the edge of town.

"The Hayes residence," she said. "Been empty for years. Elisabeth Hayes watched for her husband's ship every day for fifty years after he was lost at sea. Even after she remarried, she kept her vigil. They say on foggy nights, you can still see her up there, watching."

The house stood solitary against the gray sky, its widow's walk like a crown of thorns. Marco and Denny approached, the watch growing impossibly heavy in Marco's pocket. Their skin itched with phantom barnacles, breath short as if drowning on dry land.

Denny stopped at the gate. "I can't," he whispered, eyes wild. "He's here."

Marco saw nothing, but the scent of salt and whale oil was overwhelming. He pushed through the gate alone, staggered up to the porch where the planks creaked like a ship's deck.

The door swung open at his touch.

Inside, decades of dust covered abandoned furniture. Marco climbed the stairs, drawn upward by an irresistible force. The narrow steps to the widow's walk spiraled tightly, emerging onto a small platform overlooking the distant sea.

There, with hands shaking, Marco placed the gold watch on the railing. The moment it touched the weathered wood, the air changed – the smell of salt receded, replaced by a faint floral perfume.

For a moment, Marco thought he saw them – a woman in period dress, her hand extended to a tall sea captain who reached toward her with transparent fingers. Between them, the watch gleamed gold in a shaft of sudden sunlight.

Then they were gone, and Marco was alone on the widow's walk with nothing but the empty railing and the distant sound of waves.

---

The barnacles never returned. The rope burns healed. But Marco and Denny never stole again. Some lessons are carved too deep to forget.

In the local museum, there now sits a display about Captain Nathaniel Hayes and his devoted wife Elisabeth. Central to the exhibit is a gold pocket watch, donated anonymously, containing a lock of silver-streaked brown hair tied with a faded blue ribbon.

The display notes that while the captain never returned from his final voyage, local legend holds that his spirit finally found peace, guided home by the love that had watched for him all those years.

Some say that on clear nights, when the moon is full, two figures can be seen standing on the widow's walk of the old Hayes house – together at last, watching the eternal sea.