“That’s no fun! I’m not coming down ‘till you make me!”
“Suit yourself. And how are you, today, Mrs. Nesbit? Why, I’m fine, thank you very
much! Would you care for some tea?”
“Ugh! Sisters . . . whatever. . . . As I stand there, staring down, at the deep, cold waters
swirling beneath me, I feel the cruel cutlass twisting into my back, and I wonder; did I leave the
gas on in the apartment back in London? I sure hope the cat doesn’t blow up.”
“Here is your teacup, Mrs. Nesbit. Oh my, there’s sand in it! Let me get you another.”
“And as the wind hits my face as I fall, fall, fall into the shark-infested waters of my fate,
I feel a strong intuition that I did, indeed, leave the gas on.”
“How do you like your tea, Mrs. Nesbit? Do you prefer one lump, or two?”
“And this means I will have a handsome bill to pay when I at last return to my cozy
apartment on Pastry Street. Will I ever see my dear cat again, or hail a cabby on a snowy night on
a gas-lit street? All I see is sharks and darkness, all I feel is cold and water, but for the strangest
reason, all I fear is that I might have left the gas on back at home.”
“You know, Mrs. Nesbit, you really shouldn’t blow bubbles in your tea. It isn’t really
proper. Here. Hold your cup like this. That’s right, Mrs. Nesbit.”
“Suppose the whole city block caught on fire. It might be burning right now, thousands of
miles away. And I can do nothing. They will say, ‘that poor man must have died in the fire’. I
never told anyone where I was going when I sailed off on an impossible adventure seeking
pirate-treasures. They will never know that the charred ashes they are burying aren’t really mine,
but the old tramp who lived in the walls. My real body will be fish food soon enough.”
“Oh, Mrs. Nesbit, I do wish you would talk about other things at the tea-table. Really
such subjects are not befitting for women of our age. What did you think of the weather this
morning?”
“Ah! The sharks . . . they’re . . . they’re getting to me . . . I cannot resist or swim . . . my
hands are cruelly bound . . . the cords are digging into my flesh . . . I’m being torn apart limb
from limb!”
“Mrs. Nesbit! Really! I must say . . .”
“It is done. I am dead.”
“Thank goodness!”
“But one day I’ll return. The ghost of Bluebeard the Black-Hearted shall haunt these
waters for all eternity, seeking vengeance on the foes that murdered him! Muahahahaha!”
“Eeek! Kyle, get away from me!”
“I vant to suck you blood!”
“I thought you were a ghost, not a vampire!”
“They were vampire-sharks! I’m a vampire-ghost-pirate-zombie! I’m your worst
nightmare come true!”
“Mrs. Nesbit, save yourself!”
“Kids, it’s time to come in. Make sure you wash up for dinner!”
“Yes, mom!”
“Yes, mommy!”
“I told you I could do it.”
“Do what?”
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