Pirate Blood. Eugenio Pochini
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been able to hole up there untroubled. All around his livid lips, marks of clotted blood could still be seen.
“Come here”, Avery ordered. He drove the torch into the ground. The yellowish halo of the fading light was casting its shade against a side of the grave, reducing it to a vague half-moon shape.
Johnny went down again, unwillingly. He lost sight of the corpse for a moment: Avery was bending forward so much that he was blocking his view. He seemed to be bustling about something. He finally let his grip and Wynne fell back heavily into the coffin.
“So?”, the boy inquired.
The old man turned to look at him, his hand open and trembling. He was still holding some greasy locks between his fingers. The pirate’s artificial eye was standing out against his wrinkled skin. It was an almost perfect sphere, except for a slight notch on one side. It seemed to be staring at him with chained hatred.
Then Avery waved his hand near the torch, letting the light pass through it. A greenish glare was shining inside the eyeball. It seemed just a faint light at first, but it was flaring up like a small incandescent sun under the flame’s warmth.
“Oh my God!”, Johnny burst out, opening his mouth wide in amazement.
“What did I tell you?”, Avery claimed. He then moved his lips, keeping talking, but Johnny couldn’t hear the words which followed.
Without any notice, a deafening rumble burst out near the bay, followed by a column of fire, which rose in the sky like a giant octopus’s tentacle. Screams of dismay and terror stared echoing there in a short while.
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