Member-only story
My Trip To Davy Jones’ Locker
As I became fodder for the creatures of the sea
It is the 28th March 1912 and I’m officially a retired hit woman. I’ve spent the last 30 years killing marks for money and last week was my final kill. I’m done — getting way too old for this line of work.
It’s a beautiful sultry day and I’m enjoying the sunshine out on the back porch, when I hear a knock at the door. Whoever is disturbing my peace of mind is lucky I’m retired or they would become my final mark.
Reluctantly, I head inside and open the front door, to find a telegraph employee, delivering a telegram. Now who on earth would be sending me a telegram?
I thanked the young man and closed the front door.
Back out on the porch, I study the telegram, terrified to open it as they are usually nothing but bad news.
I eventually get up the courage to open and read what is written inside.
“Hello my dear, I know you’ve told me you are officially retired, but I have one more mark for you, before you end your career. You are going to want to complete this task, I promise. Signed, do this and I’ll leave you alone.”
