It was midnight on 31 October when I boarded the Flying Dutchman in Southampton.

I seemed to be the only passenger and the docks were deserted, which struck me as odd.

My invitation had been delivered by a tall man dressed in a long black cloak lined with red. A hood covered the upper part of his face when he handed me an embossed black card on which the following words were handwritten in what looked like blood:

“You are invited to join us as a special guest for Halloween. If you would deign to nod your head to our messenger, he will return to your house at 11.30pm on 31 October and convey you to a ship that has never previously docked in Southampton. We bid you welcome.”

I like a good joke and love themed parties so had nodded my consent immediately. The messenger’s bloodless lips had smiled, exposing two long sharp fangs. “Love your make-up,” I said, apparently to myself for there was nobody there.

And here I am. Standing on the wooden deck of what looks and feels like an original 19th century cruise ship.

There are no lights on board, just lots of deep shadows. No sound but the wind. And apparently no crew or other guests.

The man who’d brought me to the ship and led me to the gangplank had intoned, “This is far as I may accompany you.” Then he suddenly disappeared to the sound of a deep sigh.

Which got me thinking: “They’re all hiding somewhere and I’m supposed to find them – at which point they will jump out wearing funny masks and costumes and yell ‘Boo!’”

Was I scared? Was I thrilled to the marrow? Was I ever!

Gingerly, I tiptoed to the ship’s wheelhouse where I spied, through the window, a man I thought must be the ghostly ship’s captain. He was painfully thin with a head like a grinning skull, and dressed as a Victorian sea captain. He was also lashed to the wheel. The long bony forefinger of his left hand pointed to me, and beckoned.

“This is awesome,” I told him, when I stepped inside the wheelhouse. “It was would be even better if everybody else joined us.”

His finger went to his lips and a hollow voice whispered, “Mark me well, and listen carefully.

“Over a hundred years ago I was travelling with Edgar Allen Poe to Norway when the ship we were on was caught in the vortex of a huge maelstrom. We circled and circled deeper and deeper until the ship appeared to be hanging, midway down, upon the interior surface of a vast watery funnel. And we slid round and round, down and down, to the bottom of the sea which was illuminated by the light of a full moon.

“It was at this point that we both decided to sell our souls to the devil. We have sailed the seas of night ever since on a ship that will never sink or see the light of day. And those who join us after midnight never return home.”

I laughed and laughed. “What a great story,” I said. “Whoever dreamt this up should get the Booker Prize for ghostly yarn of the year.

“So what happened to Edgar? Are you telling me he’s still alive?”

The ghastly captain grimaced – and suddenly the ship took on a luminous green glow. “No,” he said, “Mr Poe is not alive…he’s right behind you.”

I jumped, screamed and turned around.

And there were all my friends at Virgin, led by Captain Richard Branson brandishing a cutlass.

“Don’t forget to mention that lots of cruise ships, especially the American ones, have Halloween parties, James,” he said. “Now join us in a flaming bowl of grog!”

James Leavey

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