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Description
I don’t know what it was that brought me to that antiques shop on a sunny Saturday. I don’t even know why I noticed it there in the first place. I’ve never been interested in old things since there’s not much I could do with most them now. I guess I just felt a sort of curiosity I usually only saw in a friend of mine, poking at the back of my mind.

Either way, though, there I was in a hot, cramped and musty old Kingstown antiques shop, surrounded by things that were only useful as decorations in the twenty-first century, searching for something without even knowing what it was I was searching for.

I gazed over a small table, admiring the old jewellery and timepieces. Most of the baubles here were chipped, or tarnished or just outright missing a piece, but a couple rings were still in good condition, and the little price tags tied onto them certainly showed the owner was going to make full use of it.

I snuck a quick glance at the late-middle aged man behind the counter. He wasn’t even watching me, just sitting next to his register, lazily reading a book. I guess he wasn’t worried about me stealing anything, he probably knew everything in this shop like the back of his hand, and if I’m the only customer, it wouldn’t be hard to guess where it went.

I moved on from the outdated accessories, pushing between a couple clothing displays to get at an old wooden bookshelf. Everything on it was pretty large, either serious novels or a “complete encyclopaedia of” something I could care less about.

The top shelf held a map with a big red X in a small display case that caught my eye, but as I took it down to look closer it was obvious it wasn’t an actual pirate map, or even really that old. A shame, really. I knew exactly who’d love to have something like that.

I turned my attention back to the books. The bottom shelf was a lot dustier than I’d expected, since the others looked fairly well kept. Since the shelf was sitting near one of the store’s windows, the spines of all the books near floor level were sun bleached, but as I pulled one from its place amid a small cloud of dust, it looked like they were remarkably mold free.

The book in my hand looked like it hadn’t been moved in a long time. A big old bible, gold leaf wearing off the cross on the cover and the text devoid of it entirely. I moved to replace it, but stopped when I saw something odd.
The shelf had no back to keep the books in place, but everything was too big to fall behind it. Everything except for one thin book, clearly older than all the others. I carefully moved some of the books around to retrieve it, replacing them again once it was free.

Standing back up, I examined the small book I’d retrieved, brushing the dust from its leather cover. There was no title on it. No writing on the cover at all, in fact. I gingerly opened it to a random page, trying to avoid damaging it. Inside was all handwritten and surprisingly preserved. I expected it to fall apart before I could even read it, really. It was clearly a journal of some kind, the date at the top of one entry reading only “1717”.

The writing was easy enough to read, luckily. It seemed to belong to a sailor of some kind, maybe a captain with all the talk of crews and such. It was simply interesting until I read one line: “The men call me Blackbeard now.”

I stopped, breath suddenly caught in my throat. I reread the sentence, and reread it again. That couldn’t be real. Blackbeard? He never left a journal, did he? I read on, sure to find something that proved this was a fake.

There was a reference to the Anne. It couldn’t have been the Queen Anne’s Revenge, Blackbeard’s ship? I decided to take my search to the spot I should have started with; the beginning.

Sure enough, on the inside cover was a name. “Edward Teach”. This was the work of either
a very dedicated prankster, or just maybe it was real.

I shook my head. No way was it real. It just couldn’t be. The legendary Blackbeard’s lost journal, just sitting behind a bookshelf in an antiques shop? And in such a good condition after nearly three centuries? It was ridiculous.

But of course, my imagination was already running faster than my logic could catch it. What if it was the real thing? It could be worth serious money. Better, it might have information of some kind of treasure! I needed to check something.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sent a quick text to one of my friends, a pirate enthusiast.

“What are the odds Blackbeard left a journal?” I sent.

I waited a few minutes for an answer, just holding the book. Nothing came. I tried calling her instead.

“Come on,” I muttered as the ringing continued.

It clicked over to voice mail.

“Pick up your damn phone! I know you have it!” I said, waiting for her to answer.

“Forget it, I’ll come to you,” I muttered when there was still no answer, and hung up.

I didn’t know why she was ignoring me, she only ever does that when I’ve made her angry. A sinking feeling grew in me as I thought that, and my mind raced to remember what I might have done.

No, that’s not the important thing right now, I told myself, taking the journal through the little shop to the register.

“Excuse me, is this real?” I asked the owner.

He looked up, seeing the journal in my hand, and scrunched his face up. He held out a hand, clearly wanting to examine it.

After he looked the cover over and checked a couple pages at random he handed it back.

“I guess so, it’s just an old diary or something,” he said dismissively. He clearly didn’t look at the pages very hard. “I didn’t even know it was in here. Where’d you find
it?”

“It fell behind the bookshelf at the front there,” I sad, point over my shoulder to the one I meant.

The aging man gave a short chuckle.

“No wonder, that shelf’s been in this shop longer than I have, and I’ve never seen anyone touch half those books,” he said, raising his own novel again.

I waited for him to continue, but when he just went back to reading I placed the journal on the counter.

“How much for it?” I asked.

He looked up again, looking a little surprised that I was still there. Setting his book aside, he rubbed his chin.

“Thirty,” he declared simply.

“Thirty dollars? Seriously?” I exclaimed.

“You obviously want this book, kid, and I’m probably never going to sell it. Thirty dollars, so I can at least get something out of it,” he explained wearily.

I hated his logic. It was stupid, but he was right. I really did want it, and I probably would have paid more. It was too good an opportunity.

“Fine, I’ll take it.”

After I paid for it and the owner bagged it for me, I set off into the evening sun. I didn’t even want it myself, but I knew just the girl who would.

I jogged halfway to my friend’s house across town. As I got closer the image of her ecstatic face in my head was slowly replaced with a sort of dread. I had the feeling she was going to tell me exactly why she didn’t answer my call earlier, and my God could she complain when she was angry. A nagging feeling at the back of my head told me I should know what I did.

Fearsome though she could be, it wasn’t enough to keep me away as I wandered into her neighbourhood.

I used to feel nervous coming here when I first met her. She didn’t exactly live in the best part of town, after all. Now, though, most people knew me because they knew her, and while it may have looked like a rough place, it was still a pretty close little community, one where people would never hurt their own, and I was here so often I was practically part of the family now, despite the attitude my own parents still had for the place.

I finally came to her battered looking house, out of breath, and took a quick look around. The place looked empty. Given the time, though, her dad wouldn’t be back yet, since he worked fairly late most nights.

“Monica!” I called as made my way around the back.

I was sure she was home, so I tried the back door. The front had been jammed shut for years, after all. Unlocked, so she was around somewhere. I didn’t hesitate to let myself in as I often do.

“Monica, you’ve got to see this!” I called again as I wandered in.

It always made me a little sad to see someone like Monica living in a place like this. Smart, usually friendly and I wouldn’t hesitate to say pretty too, stuck here with peeling wallpaper, carpet falling apart and visible cracks showing up here and there on uncovered parts of the walls. But then again, her dad could only afford so much, and he had to work like a dog just for this.

“There you are,” I said, finding my friend in the living room with her back to me, watching a movie from the floor. From here I could only see her back and her curly, shoulder length black hair.

“I think you’ll want to see this,” I continued.

“You do know why I’m... annoyed, right?” she asked, not turning around.

I sighed.

“I was actually trying to ignore that,” I mumbled as I walked over to stand behind her.

“It’s five thirty, and the first message I get from you isn’t ‘happy birthday!’ It’s ‘did Blackbeard have a journal?’ Really?” she said, still not looking at me.

I almost slapped myself. No wonder she was mad. How the hell did I forget that? The only time she’d ever had a real birthday party was for her sixteenth last year, and other than that she just sort of relied on her closest friends to make her birthdays special. I owed her for that, but I wasn’t going to give her any ground yet. She was the kind of person who’d take a mile when given an inch. My best bet was to head the situation off before it became an argument.

“I guess it’s just as well I have this then,” I said holding out the journal, hoping to appeal to her curiosity.

Monica sighed, finally turning around.

“What’s this?” she asked as she took the journal.

“Read it. From the beginning, I think you’ll like it,” I told her with a grin, sitting down myself.

She opened the little book, examining the empty first page. My smile grew as I saw her hazel eyes widen when she read the name in the cover. She quickly checked the next few pages, skimming over them, her mouth dropping open in amazement.

“Think it could be real?” I asked, getting straight to the point.

“I... don’t know,” she mumbled. “There’s all kinds of legends about Blackbeard, but most of them are just... well, legends. No one knows if he really did have a journal, most people just figure he didn’t.”

I waited, watching a smile break out across her face.

“You have no idea how much I want this to be the real thing,” she said, closing the journal and setting it aside.

“Happy birthday!” I said, waving my hands.

She rolled her eyes.

“I... suppose I can overlook the mistake this time. If you pay for dinner too, that is.
I’m ordering pizza,” she declared as she stood up.

I sighed. My wallet was definitely going to be lighter after today, but I could live with it. I watched her search for a phonebook, stopping to grab a coupon she apparently had laying around, probably just for such an occasion.

Most people would look at her and just see a young girl like any other, maybe a bit on the small side, but until they spoke to her they’d never guess she was such a history buff, or that she had an almost fanatical obsession with legendary pirates. Despite all the research she’d done, she still loved to believe there was some kind of buried treasure out there, just waiting for her to come find it.

I wondered, not for the first time, which came first. Her interest in pirates, or her claims of being descended from Edward Teach himself.

I knew this journal would start a new storm of theories and fantasies from her, but the whole pirate fangirl thing was just part of who she was. Hopefully she wouldn’t try to convince me to go on some big, silly treasure hunt with her this time, at least.

“Josh, what do you want on yours?” Monica asked as she dialled the number.

“Whatever doesn’t have anchovies,” I said back, pretty indifferent to what I ate.

I looked at the old TV. She’d been watching Muppet Treasure Island, which meant she must have been pretty pissed about me forgetting her birthday, since she only watched it when she wanted to calm down. It was still near the beginning, so she must have started it just before I arrived.

When Monica came back, she sat down next to me and picked up the journal again.

“Seriously, real or not, this is pretty cool,” she said. “Thanks.”

I smiled as she set the book aside again and went back to watching the movie, a grin on her face as she hummed, probably without even realising it, to one of the musical numbers.

I thought to myself as we watched, I suppose it would be pretty cool if that journal led to some big adventure.

Description
I don’t know what it was that brought me to that antiques shop on a sunny Saturday. I don’t even know why I noticed it there in the first place. I’ve never been interested in old things since there’s not much I could do with most them now. I guess I just felt a sort of curiosity I usually only saw in a friend of mine, poking at the back of my mind.

Either way, though, there I was in a hot, cramped and musty old Kingstown antiques shop, surrounded by things that were only useful as decorations in the twenty-first century, searching for something without even knowing what it was I was searching for.

I gazed over a small table, admiring the old jewellery and timepieces. Most of the baubles here were chipped, or tarnished or just outright missing a piece, but a couple rings were still in good condition, and the little price tags tied onto them certainly showed the owner was going to make full use of it.

I snuck a quick glance at the late-middle aged man behind the counter. He wasn’t even watching me, just sitting next to his register, lazily reading a book. I guess he wasn’t worried about me stealing anything, he probably knew everything in this shop like the back of his hand, and if I’m the only customer, it wouldn’t be hard to guess where it went.

I moved on from the outdated accessories, pushing between a couple clothing displays to get at an old wooden bookshelf. Everything on it was pretty large, either serious novels or a “complete encyclopaedia of” something I could care less about.

The top shelf held a map with a big red X in a small display case that caught my eye, but as I took it down to look closer it was obvious it wasn’t an actual pirate map, or even really that old. A shame, really. I knew exactly who’d love to have something like that.

I turned my attention back to the books. The bottom shelf was a lot dustier than I’d expected, since the others looked fairly well kept. Since the shelf was sitting near one of the store’s windows, the spines of all the books near floor level were sun bleached, but as I pulled one from its place amid a small cloud of dust, it looked like they were remarkably mold free.

The book in my hand looked like it hadn’t been moved in a long time. A big old bible, gold leaf wearing off the cross on the cover and the text devoid of it entirely. I moved to replace it, but stopped when I saw something odd.
The shelf had no back to keep the books in place, but everything was too big to fall behind it. Everything except for one thin book, clearly older than all the others. I carefully moved some of the books around to retrieve it, replacing them again once it was free.

Standing back up, I examined the small book I’d retrieved, brushing the dust from its leather cover. There was no title on it. No writing on the cover at all, in fact. I gingerly opened it to a random page, trying to avoid damaging it. Inside was all handwritten and surprisingly preserved. I expected it to fall apart before I could even read it, really. It was clearly a journal of some kind, the date at the top of one entry reading only “1717”.

The writing was easy enough to read, luckily. It seemed to belong to a sailor of some kind, maybe a captain with all the talk of crews and such. It was simply interesting until I read one line: “The men call me Blackbeard now.”

I stopped, breath suddenly caught in my throat. I reread the sentence, and reread it again. That couldn’t be real. Blackbeard? He never left a journal, did he? I read on, sure to find something that proved this was a fake.

There was a reference to the Anne. It couldn’t have been the Queen Anne’s Revenge, Blackbeard’s ship? I decided to take my search to the spot I should have started with; the beginning.

Sure enough, on the inside cover was a name. “Edward Teach”. This was the work of either
a very dedicated prankster, or just maybe it was real.

I shook my head. No way was it real. It just couldn’t be. The legendary Blackbeard’s lost journal, just sitting behind a bookshelf in an antiques shop? And in such a good condition after nearly three centuries? It was ridiculous.

But of course, my imagination was already running faster than my logic could catch it. What if it was the real thing? It could be worth serious money. Better, it might have information of some kind of treasure! I needed to check something.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sent a quick text to one of my friends, a pirate enthusiast.

“What are the odds Blackbeard left a journal?” I sent.

I waited a few minutes for an answer, just holding the book. Nothing came. I tried calling her instead.

“Come on,” I muttered as the ringing continued.

It clicked over to voice mail.

“Pick up your damn phone! I know you have it!” I said, waiting for her to answer.

“Forget it, I’ll come to you,” I muttered when there was still no answer, and hung up.

I didn’t know why she was ignoring me, she only ever does that when I’ve made her angry. A sinking feeling grew in me as I thought that, and my mind raced to remember what I might have done.

No, that’s not the important thing right now, I told myself, taking the journal through the little shop to the register.

“Excuse me, is this real?” I asked the owner.

He looked up, seeing the journal in my hand, and scrunched his face up. He held out a hand, clearly wanting to examine it.

After he looked the cover over and checked a couple pages at random he handed it back.

“I guess so, it’s just an old diary or something,” he said dismissively. He clearly didn’t look at the pages very hard. “I didn’t even know it was in here. Where’d you find
it?”

“It fell behind the bookshelf at the front there,” I sad, point over my shoulder to the one I meant.

The aging man gave a short chuckle.

“No wonder, that shelf’s been in this shop longer than I have, and I’ve never seen anyone touch half those books,” he said, raising his own novel again.

I waited for him to continue, but when he just went back to reading I placed the journal on the counter.

“How much for it?” I asked.

He looked up again, looking a little surprised that I was still there. Setting his book aside, he rubbed his chin.

“Thirty,” he declared simply.

“Thirty dollars? Seriously?” I exclaimed.

“You obviously want this book, kid, and I’m probably never going to sell it. Thirty dollars, so I can at least get something out of it,” he explained wearily.

I hated his logic. It was stupid, but he was right. I really did want it, and I probably would have paid more. It was too good an opportunity.

“Fine, I’ll take it.”

After I paid for it and the owner bagged it for me, I set off into the evening sun. I didn’t even want it myself, but I knew just the girl who would.

I jogged halfway to my friend’s house across town. As I got closer the image of her ecstatic face in my head was slowly replaced with a sort of dread. I had the feeling she was going to tell me exactly why she didn’t answer my call earlier, and my God could she complain when she was angry. A nagging feeling at the back of my head told me I should know what I did.

Fearsome though she could be, it wasn’t enough to keep me away as I wandered into her neighbourhood.

I used to feel nervous coming here when I first met her. She didn’t exactly live in the best part of town, after all. Now, though, most people knew me because they knew her, and while it may have looked like a rough place, it was still a pretty close little community, one where people would never hurt their own, and I was here so often I was practically part of the family now, despite the attitude my own parents still had for the place.

I finally came to her battered looking house, out of breath, and took a quick look around. The place looked empty. Given the time, though, her dad wouldn’t be back yet, since he worked fairly late most nights.

“Monica!” I called as made my way around the back.

I was sure she was home, so I tried the back door. The front had been jammed shut for years, after all. Unlocked, so she was around somewhere. I didn’t hesitate to let myself in as I often do.

“Monica, you’ve got to see this!” I called again as I wandered in.

It always made me a little sad to see someone like Monica living in a place like this. Smart, usually friendly and I wouldn’t hesitate to say pretty too, stuck here with peeling wallpaper, carpet falling apart and visible cracks showing up here and there on uncovered parts of the walls. But then again, her dad could only afford so much, and he had to work like a dog just for this.

“There you are,” I said, finding my friend in the living room with her back to me, watching a movie from the floor. From here I could only see her back and her curly, shoulder length black hair.

“I think you’ll want to see this,” I continued.

“You do know why I’m... annoyed, right?” she asked, not turning around.

I sighed.

“I was actually trying to ignore that,” I mumbled as I walked over to stand behind her.

“It’s five thirty, and the first message I get from you isn’t ‘happy birthday!’ It’s ‘did Blackbeard have a journal?’ Really?” she said, still not looking at me.

I almost slapped myself. No wonder she was mad. How the hell did I forget that? The only time she’d ever had a real birthday party was for her sixteenth last year, and other than that she just sort of relied on her closest friends to make her birthdays special. I owed her for that, but I wasn’t going to give her any ground yet. She was the kind of person who’d take a mile when given an inch. My best bet was to head the situation off before it became an argument.

“I guess it’s just as well I have this then,” I said holding out the journal, hoping to appeal to her curiosity.

Monica sighed, finally turning around.

“What’s this?” she asked as she took the journal.

“Read it. From the beginning, I think you’ll like it,” I told her with a grin, sitting down myself.

She opened the little book, examining the empty first page. My smile grew as I saw her hazel eyes widen when she read the name in the cover. She quickly checked the next few pages, skimming over them, her mouth dropping open in amazement.

“Think it could be real?” I asked, getting straight to the point.

“I... don’t know,” she mumbled. “There’s all kinds of legends about Blackbeard, but most of them are just... well, legends. No one knows if he really did have a journal, most people just figure he didn’t.”

I waited, watching a smile break out across her face.

“You have no idea how much I want this to be the real thing,” she said, closing the journal and setting it aside.

“Happy birthday!” I said, waving my hands.

She rolled her eyes.

“I... suppose I can overlook the mistake this time. If you pay for dinner too, that is.
I’m ordering pizza,” she declared as she stood up.

I sighed. My wallet was definitely going to be lighter after today, but I could live with it. I watched her search for a phonebook, stopping to grab a coupon she apparently had laying around, probably just for such an occasion.

Most people would look at her and just see a young girl like any other, maybe a bit on the small side, but until they spoke to her they’d never guess she was such a history buff, or that she had an almost fanatical obsession with legendary pirates. Despite all the research she’d done, she still loved to believe there was some kind of buried treasure out there, just waiting for her to come find it.

I wondered, not for the first time, which came first. Her interest in pirates, or her claims of being descended from Edward Teach himself.

I knew this journal would start a new storm of theories and fantasies from her, but the whole pirate fangirl thing was just part of who she was. Hopefully she wouldn’t try to convince me to go on some big, silly treasure hunt with her this time, at least.

“Josh, what do you want on yours?” Monica asked as she dialled the number.

“Whatever doesn’t have anchovies,” I said back, pretty indifferent to what I ate.

I looked at the old TV. She’d been watching Muppet Treasure Island, which meant she must have been pretty pissed about me forgetting her birthday, since she only watched it when she wanted to calm down. It was still near the beginning, so she must have started it just before I arrived.

When Monica came back, she sat down next to me and picked up the journal again.

“Seriously, real or not, this is pretty cool,” she said. “Thanks.”

I smiled as she set the book aside again and went back to watching the movie, a grin on her face as she hummed, probably without even realising it, to one of the musical numbers.

I thought to myself as we watched, I suppose it would be pretty cool if that journal led to some big adventure.