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He reached for the handle to open it, holding his breath. His hand grasped the skull, feeling the metal eye sockets, and unlatched it. The secret panel screeched so loudly, Barrie was sure the nerd tour guide or some other worker was going to come running, but there was nothing.
No shouts or noise of rushing footsteps.
Only the slight rocking of the sea beneath the ship.
He breathed a sigh of relief. Carefully, Barrie reached into the opening and felt the outline of a wooden box. It was heavy, but he lifted it out. The box was old and covered in dust, but it looked fancy. Three initials were carved into the top: C.J.H.
Thump. Thump.
It sounded like footsteps behind him. Heavy ones.
Barrie glanced back in a panic, feeling his body tense. A breeze cut through the cabin, rustling the tarps and making them look like ghosts.
“Hello?”
No answer. The cabin remained empty. He strained his ears to listen and make sure. All he heard was the soft creaking of the ship as it rocked on the waves. Probably, it was just somebody walking on the top deck. Old ships like the Jolly Roger tended to make creepy noises. Probably.
Barrie turned back to the box. He unfastened the clasp and lifted the lid. The interior was lined with red velvet. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes fell on the object resting inside.
It was a rusty old hook.
Barrie stared at the rusty old hook, unable to believe his eyes.
I can’t believe this is here, he thought. The hook was a huge clue, and he’d found it, just like the twin detectives in his books, only it was real. He lifted the hook from the box carefully, feeling how heavy it was in his hands. He touched the tip with his thumb.
“Ouch,” he muttered, flinching back. Blood bloomed on his skin.
He stared at it in surprise.
The hook was still sharp, as if it hadn’t aged a day, even though it had clearly been hidden down there for a long time.
How is that possible?
Thankfully, he’d had a tetanus shot last year after stabbing his toe on a rusty nail while playing in Michael’s backyard, which was practically a homemade junkyard.
Did it actually belong to Captain Hook? Barrie wondered. He examined the initials carved into the top of the box again, feeling the deep indentations in the polished wood.
“Captain James Hook,” he whispered, remembering what the tour guide had said. Unbelievable! How has this stayed hidden for so long? He felt around the inside of the box for more clues. A corner of the velvet lining seemed to have come unglued from the box.
Strange, Barrie thought, sliding his fingers underneath it. They brushed something hidden behind the lining. Excited, he peeled the red velvet back more, exposing a piece of parchment paper. He pried the paper from the box. It looked like a secret letter. It was sealed with a red wax stamp.
He peeled off the wax stamp and unfolded the parchment. It looked old. Like super-duper old. His eyes scanned the ornate cursive.
I’M HIDING MY HOOK FROM THAT SCURVY BRAT. AS IF TAKING MY HAND WASN’T ENOUGH, NOW HE WANTS MY HOOK, TOO.
WHOEVER POSSESSES MY HOOK WILL HAVE THE POWER TO NEVER GROW UP.
KEEP IT SAFE UNTIL I FINALLY GET MY REVENGE ONE DAY.
—CAPTAIN JAMES HOOK
Chills rushed through Barrie from head to toe, bringing goose bumps to his skin. It did belong to Captain Hook. But who was the “scurvy brat”? Barrie didn’t know. He scanned the letter again, rereading the part about “the power to never grow up.”
“I could stay a kid forever,” he whispered to himself, feeling his heart pump faster with excitement.
He thought about his upcoming twelfth birthday and elementary school graduation—and all the homework that he didn’t want to do waiting for him at home. It was only going to get worse when he got to junior high school.
He remembered Rita and her recent sixteenth birthday, and how ever since then, their parents and her teachers kept piling more work and responsibility on her. Not to mention…algebra.
