Oak stood back from the window and looked at Ol’Randy with a puzzled look. The old man was frantically pacing back and forth in the room. He mumbled to himself about various topics that seemed out of order or not containing the fact that a strange bird was perched outside on a tree staring right at the house. Oak took another look outside, and his hand tried to search for something in his satchel. As he grabbed hold of the bottle of sand, he nearly dropped it on the floor when two more birds showed up on the tree outside.
“Ol’Randy…” Oak started, but soon just focused on the birds. They did not move, they did not squawk, nor did they pick at their feathers. They only stared, as if they were waiting for something or someone.
“THAT SEA WITCH!” Ol’Randy blurted out in the middle of his mumbles.
Oak jumped at the sudden outburst from the old man. He shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He turned back to Ol’Randy and tried to start the conversation about Gulliver and the western islands, but the old man rummaged through a deck of odds and ends. Fishing hooks, bells, bullets, cards, pots, pans, rope, and paper weights were all scattered on the desk.
“Ah ha, I knew I had it,” Ol’Randy said as he looked at a pouch. He dumped out the contents of the pouch into a pot, and white clouds flew into the air as it made contact with the pot. A few coughs came from Ol’Randy as he shuffled to another table with all kinds of bottles of liquids and solids. Without looking at Oak, he held out his hand and snapped his fingers.
“The sand,” Ol’Randy said, still snapping his fingers at Oak.
“Oh, sorry, here you go.” Oak pulled the bottle out of the sand from the Dressera coast.
Ol’Randy snatched it out of Oak’s hand and poured it into the same pot. He started to grind it together into a fine powder. Still without looking at Oak, Ol’Randy pointed to the dresser across the room.
“Now get me a feather from that damn bird,” Ol’Randy demanded.
Oak looked in the dresser to find it filled with different firearms. Oak pulled out one of the pistols and looked back at the old man.
“I think you’re misremembering where your stuff is, old man,” Oak said, with a bit of a chuckle in his voice.
“Shoot it.”
“What?”
“Shoot the damn thing and get me a feather.” Ol’Randy grabbed more ingredients to pour into the pot.
“The whole island will hear the shot. People will start pulling out their weapons and will have another pirate war.”
“Not my problem,” Ol’Randy said. He dropped a box on the ground, and what was inside dropped and scattered on the floor. Husks of crab shells and snake skins were seen. “We have a bigger problem, that bird.”
“Birds.” Oak corrected.
Ol’Randy immediately stopped the mixture and looked at Oak for the first time since he arrived. The old man grabbed the gun from Oak and rushed outside. He pulled the door open and pointed his gun to the tree line. There were now seven birds in total perched on the trees. When they saw the old man run out with a gun, they quickly flew away.
“Damn, we have ten minutes,” Ol’Randy said as he darted back inside. He attempted to pack up his belongings, then stopped after the sound of flapping could be heard again. Oak went outside this time to see if he could get one of the birds. He stood right outside the door, only to be greeted with a bird right in the middle of the clearing.
Oak looked as he noticed the bird landed on the trail of footsteps. Then it hopped to the next step in the pattern. It stopped for a second, then hopped again. As if the bird found it amusing to play this puzzle. Why wouldn’t it just fly? Why not just land on the house? These questions went through Oak’s mind.
“Ol’Randy, the bird is hopping closer to your shack,” Oak said, with a bit of worry and confusion in his voice. Confused why he would be worried about a strange bird hopping closer to them.
A large rock flew over the shoulder of Oak from behind and landed off the path of the footsteps. Three harpoons hidden in the tall grass shot with a quickness that no one would have time to dodge. The bird was struck and pulled into the grass. A squawk followed after the impact of the harpoon. Ol’Randy pushed Oak out of the way and rushed to the site where the bird was struck. Oak followed right behind to see Ol’Randy lift the bird over his shoulders. Now that the bird was closer, Oak could not recognize this as a native species. Was it invasive, thought Oak. His curiosity got the better of him, and he had to ask the crazy old man.
“What is the deal with these birds?”
“Someone wants to know what I am up to.” Ol’Randy started plucking the feathers of the deceased bird.
Its larger black beak and green feathers were a sight to see. The eyes were without pupils, but Oak couldn’t tell if that was caused by its sudden death. The talons had a strange human finger look to them. Oak shivered at the sight. As Ol’Randy finished plucking the last bits of feathers, he tossed the bird carcass aside. The sound of hissing came from the bird as Oak and Ol’Randy looked at it. A small snake slithered out of its beak and tried to escape. Both Ol’Randy and Oak looked at the snake.
A moment of silence passed with only the sound of hissing filling the air. A second bird swooped down and caught the snake. It swallowed the snake and flew out to sea.
“Well, at least these birds eat snakes,” Oak said to break the silence that held the air.
“No, not eat, carry.” Ol’Randy walked back to the shack and continued to make the concoction he started.
Oak followed and took an open seat in the corner of the room.
“I would usually ignore your strange encounters with birds, fish, or really any animal, but this one was odd,” Oak started as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You wouldn’t have any gin on you by chance?”
“Bottom shelf next to the door,” Ol’Randy said as he put the powder on the feather and tied a string around the feather to wear it as a necklace.
Oak looked to see three unlabeled bottles on the shelf. He took a moment to sniff each bottle to make sure he wasn’t going to get something he would later regret.
“Old man, you really need to label your stuff. You might accidentally kill some.”
“I know where everything is. I wouldn’t tell you to grab anything that would kill you.”
“Okay then, where is the map to the western islands?” Oak said as he quickly took a swig of a bottle that smelt of the sweet floral alcohol he missed.
“Ah, it's somewhere in here.” Ol’Randy started to pack more things up.
“Are you still going to leave?” Oak corked the bottle back and stuck it in his satchel.
“It's not safe here for me.”
“Not safe? Just because some strange bird wouldn’t stop staring at you? You are getting crazier every time I visit you, old man.” Oak rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Your nose will fall off if you keep doing that,” Ol’Randy said, lifting a container filled with the noses of various animals. “And I might just have to keep it too.” He checked.
Oak started to rummage through the shack to find the map. He came across a cylinder that was filled with all different drawings. Some were maps to islands in the Martean Sea that have been explored, others were art pieces of old royalty and nobles, and others were crude portraits that would make any pirate blush. Oak began to pour all the parchment onto the floor. Papers flew around when the breeze would sneak into the shack. One item stood out from the rest of the contents. It was a cloth map with written language that didn’t look familiar to Captain Oak’s travels. It depicted three islands; the islands on the left and right looked like a mirrored copy of each other. Its pincher-like shape, that of a claw, looked like a crab's claw, and the middle island showed two bodies of water and a jagged mountainside looking like the face of a hungry crab.
“You have to be kidding. If this map is accurate, the Blue Crab is coming from an island that looks like a crab.” Oak reached to rub his nose, but stopped short and looked at the jar with animal noses. He instead reached into his bag and grabbed the gin and took a big, long swig.
“If you drink too much of that stuff, your liver will be useless.” Ol’Randy was pointing at another jar; this time, Oak couldn’t tell if the organ inside the jar was animal or human. “Now I must be on my way. If you need me, I’ll be in shack number twelve.” Ol’Randy ran out the door and through the tall grass. The sounds of rustling faded away into the distance, and Captain Oak walked back to the shores of Parley Cay.
Along the way back to the shore, Oak had an uneasy feeling about what transpired at Ol’Randy’s shack. He could help himself think about the strange finger-like talons and whether the bird didn’t have any pupils. Then a squawk interrupted his thought, and he looked up to see one of the birds perched on one of the trees along the path. He kept walking as a few more birds landed on the trees. Oak turned around to see that a swarm of these birds had been following him. One bird in the middle of the swarm held the snake in its beak. It swooped down close to Oak and dropped the snake at his feet. Concerned about the behavior of these new invasive birds, he couldn’t move. As if he were slipping back into a trance from the shack earlier. When a sudden sharp pain coursed through his ankle.
The snake had struck at Oak’s ankle. Oak’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he passed out on the trail.