The Pirates Ring

As told by Bosun Graybeard at Deadmen Tales.

In a weathered little house by the sea, there once lived a man who loved to search for treasure on the sandy shore. Each morning he would take a bag and a shovel and set out to see what he could find.

Often there were coins. Sometimes he would uncover something more valuable, like a piece of lost jewelry. One fine day there was a money clip that still had two pound notes folded neatly in its clasp.

But the finest thing he ever found, the most rare and valuable thing, was the pirates ring.

It might have made him a wealthy man, yet he never regretted what he did with it. What he did was throw it back into the ocean.

The man found the ring on a calm bright morning, right after a big storm. There were often interesting things littering the beach after a stormy night, so he had been highly enthusiastic when he set out on his scavenging mission.

There might be some unusual driftwood, he thought to himself. And surely some shells for my collection. But the man soon forgot about such mundane items when he found the old wooden chest. It had been swept up into the tall grasses that grew between the water and the edge of the cliff.

The man might have mussed something so well hidden had it not been very close to the path that led back to his house. He had a sharp eye though---an eye that was accustomed to looking for things---and he noticed that one bunch of grass was bent back in an odd direction.

When he looked more closely, he saw the that pale green blades were being crushed by the water-swollen little crate. It was a sturdy thing, but rather small--the sort of box a seafaring man might have once used to secure his most valuable items.

The lock on the front was broken and rusted, but the lid was held tightly shut by a thick leather belt that had been strapped around it.

That was a bit of a mystery, for while the ornately carved chest appeared aged, the belt, with its decorative intricately carved metal buckle, was more obviously of a recent era.

The man used his pocket knife to coax open the rusty buckle of the belt. Once it came loose, the chest opened easily. Inside, there was the stench of wood rot, a few small stones and one silt-encrusted treasure. The ring. It was so filthy and black the man nearly dismissed it as another worthless rock.

But it was an odd shape for a rock so he examined it a bit more closely and scraped at it with the blade of his knife. Chunks of oxidation began to fall away. When it became apparent that there was heavy gold and a number of large jewels beneath the years of sediment and rust, the man could barely contain his excitement.

His heart was pounding as he sat on the edge of a large flat rock, trying to rub some shine on his newfound prize. He was so intent upon the ring and thoughts of what price it might fetch that he didn’t hear the any footsteps on the path. His ears didn’t pick up the whispering sounds of someone sitting down beside him.

All the same, someone did.

The man was completely unaware he had a visitor until the visitor spoke. “That’s a fine ring.” he said. “its 400 years old. Belonged to a pirate named Bosun Greybeard.”

The man jumped so far that he kicked the wooden chest over and sent it rolling a short distance down the beach. He nearly dropped the ring too, but he managed to snatch it out of the air before it went flying off into the loose sand. Once the ring was clutched securely in his fist, the man spun around to see who had spoken to him.

No more than three feet to his right, there sat an old man with white hair and a flowing beard to match. The old fellow wore a pleasant expression and a friendly smile, but the man was wary all the same. The man knew that the minute a person had something of value, there was another person waiting to take it away.

The visitor made no move to touch the ring though. He didn’t even ask to see it. In fact, he talked as if he had seen it a thousand times before. “its beautiful when its cleaned up,” he said. “that big stone in the center is a ruby. The smaller ones set to either side, those are diamonds. Greybeard, the pirate, loved it more than any other thing he owned. I was fond of it too, for a time. Used to wear it on my right hand.

That is, until Greybeard took it back. Because its his you know. It will always be his.”

The man eyed the visitor suspiciously. “The ring is mine, he said. “I just found it.”

“it wont be yours for long,” said the visitor. “that’s what I’m here to tell you. Greybeard will come looking for that ring and he’ll take it back any way he can. And he’ll take a steep price from you as well, I know. So you’re better off giving it back now, before he seeks you out.

” You’re crazy” said the man.

“Crazy? No,” the visitor replied. “just experienced. I thought I might save you some trouble. But I have said my piece, so I’ll go now. The rest is up to you.”

The mysterious visitor with the snow-white hair stood up then. He smiled as he surveyed the seashore.

“I always loved it here,” he said nostalgically. “I walked this beach every day.”

“I have never seen you before,” the man muttered. “and I have lived here a good long time.”

The visitor either didn’t hear the comment or chose to ignore it. Instead, he turned to the man who sat on the stone jealously guarding his treasure, and raised his hand to wave farewell.

That simple gesture was more convincing than words ever could have been.

As the visitor lifted his arm, his coat parted to reveal his sturdy leather belt.

A belt with the most recognizable, decorative, intricately carved buckle.

The man had been about to mention the coincidence when his eye was drawn to the visitor’s raised hand. What he saw shocked him into silence.

He looked away for a moment, to the precious, heavy gold ring that sat in the palm of his own hand. Right then and there he decided he would not keep it. The man looked up again, wanting to tell the visitor of his decision, but the visitor was gone..

As silently as he had appeared, he had vanished.

And somehow, the man was not surprised. That very morning, even before he went back to his little house, the man returned the ring to its wooden chest. Then, with the belt strapped tightly around it once more, he returned the chest to the sea.

It was thrown from high atop a cliff and weighted down with heavier stone than before, I the hope it would stay far from shore and not be a temptation to someone else. For though the ruby and diamonds were likely worth a small fortune, they were not worth angering the ghostly pirate Greybeard.

The visitor who had come to warn the man had known that. And he had been missing the third finger----the ring finger----of his weathered right hand.