'The Skeleton Crew'--Charles Placard 5

Another Charles Placard Attempt!

                              The Skeleton Crew

                                   By Mike Stevens

                              A Charles Placard Tale

         

                      

                   “Abe Mackerel was looking up; up towards the surface of the ocean 40 feet above.  Below

              him was the wreck of the haunted pirate ship, which had sunk below the waves with a hold 

              full of gold bouillon and an entire crew of drowned pirates.  Abe alone knew the location, and 

              he wanted the gold.  He planned on diving down and somehow recover it.  To that end, he 

              was carrying an extra tank on his back; a tank of compressed helium, which he would use to 

              inflate special rubber boxes, which would lift the heavy gold bouillon up to the surface, where 

              his bikini-clad assistant, Trixi, would then hoist it aboard the recovery vessel.  It was a perfect 

              plan; perfect despite several great white sharks which circled the ship in hopes of getting a 

              meal; but they soon would be disappointed, because the only sailors aboard this ship were 

              already dead.  The skeletons, still thinking they were sailing the ship, ran along the under-

              water deck!”

 

                   Charles Placard re-read the opening of chapter 12 of his new novel.  It was brilliant!  He had 

              covered everything readers were looking for in a dramatic novel; money, greed, sex, dangerous

              animals, and horror, lots of horror.  He had poured his heart and soul into the writing, and in 

              his humble opinion, it showed.  He was planning on mailing a copy to his local newspaper to 

              have them review it.  They had a section called “First Time in Print”, in which they reviewed 

              new author’s books.  Although he wasn’t exactly a new, unpublished author, his other books 

              had all been published as comedy books, so he felt like a first-time author because this book 

              was pure drama.

 

                   With hands shaking from nervousness, Charles opened his copy of today’s paper to the 

              “First Time in Print” section, and scanned the pages.  There it was!  Just to be safe, he had 

              not used his real name.  He almost fainted from the excitement.  The article read,

              

                   “I received this new novel by Charles Mustard in the mail.  No return address was left, and I 

              think I know why. Although I make it my policy never to review a book from anything other than 

              a reputable publisher, I had to make an exception; this thing is an absolute garbage pile!  

              Mustard spins like a drunken sailor from one ludicrous plot twist to the next, with the 

              unfortunate reader left dazed, lost, and disoriented.  I would have thought Mr. Mustard was 

              going for laughs, if he didn’t include a note telling me this was a work of drama.  Just listen to 

              an excerpt from the book, 

 

                   “Mackerel (Abe) was thrashing around wildly as he fended off the skeleton crew’s 

              maniacal attacks.  The wild thrashing caught a Great White Shark’s attention, and as 

              Mackerel had his eyes glued on the skeletons with swords, he felt a searing pain in his leg.  

              He risked a quick look down, and saw a gray monster swimming away, with a human foot 

              leaving an inky trail in the water behind him, then he let out an underwater scream; where his 

              right leg should be, there was nothing but jagged sinews of pink flesh spewing incredible 

              clouds of the same inky liquid that trailed behind the shark.  It slowly dawned on a 

              disbelieving Mackerel that the foot he’d seen in the shark’s mouth was his!” 

 

                   What was Mr. Mustard thinking when he wrote this?  I’m sorry if you were planning on 

              reading this book, but as the only other copy is the likely to be the author’s, I don’t feel too bad 

              about giving away the ending, because you’ll probably never read this.  I’m surprised there 

              aren’t child-like stick-men illustrations throughout this bloated pig’s belly of a so-called novel!  

              It’s so poorly-written, it’s almost like a little kid’s school project, gone horribly wrong!”

 

                   Charles gently folded the paper, walked to the fireplace, struck a match, and calmly the lit 

              the thing, along with his dream, on fire.  That had killed it; his much-sought-after goal of 

              becoming a successful dramatic writer.  After he’d tried so hard to put down onto paper a 

              gripping, suspenseful novel, to the best of his abilities; which were apparently nowhere near 

              good enough, his effort had been ripped to shreds by the reviewer.  For sure this time he’d 

              been told in no uncertain terms he had no head for weaving a good story. But ‘bloated pig’s belly’ bad?

 

            The End