Ghost Ship
The Caribbean. It was a dream finally realised. The night was balmy and the resort was alive with revellers wearing next to nothing. Tiki torches ringed the bar area, doing a splendid job of keeping most of the insects away. Calypso music had been blaring from the loud speakers, although at some point the DJ had swapped his island music for pounding, pumping dance music.
Dirk had been drinking since sunset. He’d started with beer. There’d been one in his hand while he watched the sun set the sky on fire at sunset. From beer he’d moved onto something infinitely more potent, a concoction made with rum and coconut liqueur.
“You know this island has ghosts,” slurred a guy named Dylan he’d met at the bar.
Dirk laughed.
“Get outta here,” said Dirk realising that he too was findin
