Author's Note: This story is based upon the book Peter Pan, by J.M. Barrie (or rather, J.M. Barrie's vision of Hook and his pirates). I have never seen the Disney film, but what I know of it disgusts me, for the desecration of a previously enjoyable dark and subtle narrative is one of modern times' greater tragedies. If all you know of Peter Pan is through Disney, be it their cartoon film adaptation or their early nineties series "Peter Pan and the Pirates", I suggest you abandon that treacle-sweet world for a few hours and read the book. Had I children I would never let them read Peter Pan, but the fact that it is classified as a children's book makes the read all the more delightfully sinful.

I have taken the fact that many have come to learn of Peter Pan through Disney into account, and though I do not hold it against whomever might be suited to this category I do strongly suggest reading the original book. As it stands, I have added excerpts from the text to further illustrate the character of Captain Hook. These are written as subnotes at the bottom of the page; during your read you will find that superscript numbers are occasionally placed after a word, indicating that it is adapted from the book's version of James Hook, which I feel is worth elaboration. Scroll down in those instances for textual support.

 
Chapter One: Red Death

Evening had settled into the Neverland, and just beyond the cove two ships were anchored. Not long before this present time they had rung with the sounds of battle, but now all lay silent as the skies lost the light and the fireflies came forth on land. In the west the sun died a violent and bloody death, spreading claret outward across the sky, turning the waters to blood and reflecting in the mad eyes of one Captain James Hook.

He stood, straight and regal, upon the decks of the Jolly Roger, his pride and joy. Beyond the lagoon his ship had sailed this fine evening, to meet a traitor captain known in Hook's younger days, when his memories of having served as Blackbeard's bo'sun were still fresh in his brilliant mind. Cap'n Bragg, as he was called, had returned to the Neverland to plunder what he could from Hook, who had been rumoured to have been driven irretrievably mad by his nemesis Peter Pan and lay raving in his chambers, helpless and wasted and at the mercy of a simpering, idiotic crew. The rumours, of course, turned out to be quite false, being fostered by a mutinous and opportunistic bo'sun who wanted nothing more than to see his captain stumble greedily into such a horrifying trap as his lies created, thus, in theory, bringing the bo'sun to well deserved power. Of course, all of the crew of the Shark were now either prisoner or dead, the bo'sun included. Thus, among the thrashing sharks, perished his dreams of conquest.

Hook's own bo'sun was this moment fondly scrubbing his captain's fine cutlass free of Captain Bragg's thick blood, which tarnished the pure gold and onyx inlay of the hilt and made Hook quite irate, for which he demonstrated an extra cruelty as punishment. Quite gracefully he beheaded Cap'n Bragg and tossed the head into the sea, where the stalking crocodile battled with the sharks over its possession. Only Smee had seen his captain, in the midst of battle, raise his hook to his face and slowly lick Bragg's blood from its sterling surface, a grin of frightening enjoyment in his glittering eyes. Had Smee been of greater morals and presence of mind he might have thought this display odd and perhaps disturbing, but in his blissfully ignorant state he was simply and childishly glad that his captain was enjoying himself, for he was a great captain indeed, and much deserved it.

But why shouldn't an Irish bo'sun of unconscious good form1 be glad for his captain, who was looking content for the first time in ages? After all, was it not Smee who faithfully hurried to his master's chambers upon hearing the anguished cries that issued forth in the deepest pits of night? Was it not Smee who laboured over poultices and opiates (acquired with difficulty; only their former travels had yielded such pleasure, and the Jolly Roger had not sailed that far in time fathomless)? Did he not risk death by rapier and suffer torment by sharpened nails as he firmly applied these evil-smelling treatments to the ragged stump of his master's hand, which ripped the captain apart when the cold set in? Caught in the midst of his blinding pain Hook often became dangerous and struck out wildly at anything that came near, his haunted dreams torn with visions of the accursed Peter Pan and the grinning crocodile. Smee had been witness to this suffering; had even held fast to his captain moments after the deed was done, as blood and consciousness poured from him and stained his clothes, and the bo'sun spoke works of comfort. To see his captain- to whom he was eternally devoted as any loyal crewman should be- granted even a temporary reprieve from his misery gave Smee a great warmth inside.

" We will be warmed by the heat of the Shark's burning this night, Smee," said Hook at length, startling the bo'sun. In his good hand he held his self-created contrivance which bore double cigars; his hook tapped idly on the bulwarks, creating pits in the wood. His shoes were polished, his long ebony curls neatly dressed, his clothes immaculate. The only testament to his terrible deeds of the day lay as a bright spot of blood upon his white collar, elegant and terrible, as though it had dripped from the sky, shed by the murdered sun itself. The red lights2 were only just fading from his melancholy eyes, or was it the lighted blood of said sunset that lit the captain's eyes like coals? The hook tapped; the cigars let loose their fragrant perfume over the decks of both ships, and time passed as though it cared not of death, which it likely did not.

Hook said, " Tell the crew to throw the corpses into the sea, plunder the ship, and then set fire to it. Make sure our prisoners witness this. By its light they will scrub the decks of the Jolly Roger free of blood."

" Aye aye, Cap'n," said Smee happily, and trundled off to relay the message, leaving his captain standing in relative solitude, a dark relief against the sun's brilliant demise. He leaned over just slightly to allow a good view of the water, where his crew was already tossing bodies to the sharks. The huge fish received their gifts with active gratitude, thrashing and whipping the waters into a foam, which soon turned the colour of Hook's own splendid jacket. Torn flesh and clothes floated on the oily swells as the sharks gorged themselves; one fixed its beady eye on Hook and met a venomous smile.

" You're quite welcome, my pretties… perhaps before long you'll be feasting on a few tender Lost Boys as well."

The shark turned back to its meal, apparently uninterested in what its mealgiver had to say, but Hook didn't mind. He was content to watch the entrails drift along the surface, and the sharks fighting over them. He was content to see the head of Captain Bragg floating now without its lower jaw, half the remaining face torn off.

Said Hook to the dark sea below him, " To thy majesty Jas. Hook proffers his offerings, o great waters, so that thy children may taste of blood and rejoice. Crave thou game of a worthier nature?" He paused, considering, then as though the sea had answered him replied, " Then one day the blood of Peter Pan shall stain thy children's mouths, I swear my hook on it."

The sea lapped at the side of the boat as though it already tasted its promise.

* * *

" Ye'll never be getting away with this treachery," snarled Peter Cooley, his hands bound with stained rope, propped up against the mainmast with several of his former crewmates at his back. " Cap'n Bragg is the greatest cap'n that ever lived; mark my words he won't let you get away with this. Your captain's blood will stain his own decks afore the fighters of the Shark are through with ye!"

The pirate Alf Mason caught these words in passing, and as his crewmates watched he knelt down before the prisoner, his face inches from Cooley's, and hissed, " Your cap'n's down to Davy Jones, matey, or haven't ye heard? I have; I've seen 'im, too- 'e's floatin' in the water playin' poker with the sharks… minus 'is head, o' course, compliments of Cap'n Hook. You mind yer scurvy tongue on this ship; no one speaks ill of Cap'n Hook here and lives. Ain't no matter though, I suppose… I have a feelin' he be plottin' to feed ye to the croc, the lot of ye, an' hang yer entrails from the mainmast!"

Cooley was stunned into silence at the news of his captain's death, and only half-heard the outraged cries of his fellow prisoners. Slowly an anger began to burn inside of him; Bulgurd the bo'sun had lied; this "Cap'n Hook" was not wasting away to his madness, then, if he could kill Bragg. Thus he had led them straight to their doom; ironic that Bulgurd himself had been thrown overboard to the sharks, a cutlass in his back. Cooley had witnessed that, but he had not seen either captain during battle, having been struck over the head and bound early on. The vantage point from his place on the deck was useless; all he could see was members of the enemy crew heaving overboard his compatriots' corpses. Below he could hear the thrashing of the sharks and the tearing of sodden flesh, and his stomach nearly revolted, hardened as he was by the life of a corsair.

Another of Hook's pirates, Tom Deacle, lumbered past the assembly, holding his round stomach with one grubby hand, a hunk of bread clutched loosely in the other. " Arrr," he belched, " these seadogs ate better than we ever have, maties… I've just had me fill of the larders… B'lieve me, they ain't never gone 'ungry on a long voyage!"

Mason slapped the roll out of Deacle's hand. " Yew scurvy pigdog!" he snarled. " Belay that feastin' straightaway; we need that fer our own larders! Wot would Cap'n Hook say if 'e knew you was eatin' ship's rations?"

Deacle's hand flew to his belt, where he seized a long dagger tucked there, and brandished it at Mason. " No one talks ter Tom Deacle like that, shipmate, lest they wants their liver n' lights carved out!" He lunged forward, but hampered by his full belly he was slow, and as fast as he could blink he found the edge of Mason's cutlass against his throat, and froze.

Mason reached out and struck the dagger from his adversary's hand. The weapon skittered across the deck, but no one was watching; instead the eyes of the crew were trained upon he and Deacle, who had by now ducked away and drawn his own cutlass. During the duel that ensued not one pair of eyes was elsewhere, except those of Peter Cooley.

Deftly he reached out with a slow and sneaking foot, and snared the weapon that had slid to rest just two feet away. Carefully he manoeuvred his body until he could bend his knee and have his foot slide to touch the side of his buttock, bringing the weapon to his tied hands. By this time Sal Rankin, another prisoner seated beside him, had taken notice, and grinned. Cooley grinned back and swiftly composed his face into a mask of fear and shock again, and continued to watch as the battle before him raged on.

Deacle and Mason were in a stalemate, each cutlass locked, their sweating faces inches from the other's…and then Deacle was reaching into his belt for his other dagger. Alf Mason was quicker, and in half the time had drawn his own dagger from concealment and plunged it into Deacle's belly just as his hand was flashing upwards.

There was a muted thuck!, and Deacle's eyes went wide and his face rigid, and from his mouth there issued a dying screech. He dropped his dagger, and in moments had fallen limply to the deck, and as Hook's dogs cheered and Mason heaved him overboard Peter Cooley cut the bonds that held him, and he gripped that dagger fast in his hand still held behind his back.

" Brimstone and gall, what agitation is this?" came suddenly the dark voice of James Hook, and at once his dogs cowered and quivered, and Mason wiped his bloody hands upon his trousers and stood upon his cutlass. Hook strode over, his own shining cutlass at his waist, his hook flashing in the fading sunlight, and he was appraising the situation with a scrupulous eye, which shone redly.

" I heard the dying cry, cullies," murmured Hook as though in thought, and suddenly his eyes flew to those of Alf Mason, and saw right through them, down into the ocean where the sharks were investigating Tom Deacle. " Ah," he said, " so when I gave the command to sheath thy weapons there was still blood to be let. Then I must apologise for attempting to end thy sport so soon, Mason. Pray, don't look so shocked, me hearty- I see the cutlass at your feet; standing on it won't help you.

"Tell me then, " he purred, " to whom do we owe this cozening?"

" Tom Deacle stole from the larders, an' went about eatin' ship's rations as though 'twas only he that conquered the Shark, Cap'n," said Mason. And then his clever corsair's mind reckoned another boon that might put him farther from the hook: " An' he said, wi' his mouth full and the like, 'e said, 'Down wi' Cap'n Hook! I could slay 'im wi' one glance, me hearties; who aboard this ship's thirstin' for mutiny?' And so I slew 'im, Cap'n, not for taken our food but for treadin' on yer when yer wasn't round to defend yourself."

" Indeed," said Hook, and stepped forward until his sad eyes were a hook's length from Mason's. " How noble of you," he said, and at once Mason knew that his boon had failed, and flinched for the killing blow.

It never came.

In retrospect, had Alf Mason been less loyal to his own crew he might have credited Peter Cooley for saving his life, and perhaps, in a stretch, been grateful. As it were he only stared in horror as Cooley, less than a metre from where the two men stood, leapt to his feet and lunged at them. Tom Deacle's dagger flashed red in the sunset as Cooley darted forward and plunged it into Hook's side, extinguishing its fires. He ripped upward, but the dagger did not have time to travel far; Hook lashed out with his hook and ripped out Cooley's throat. Death stilled the corsair's hand. He fell to the deck, his blood mingling with the thick, blackish3 blood that rained down upon him from his final revenge.

A cry of outrage from Hook's dogs at this, and they ran forward and seized the corpse of Cooley, the more loyal of them hoping that life might still be left in the pirate so they might punish him, but Hook's work had been swift and precise. They heaved Cooley overboard and turned to their captain, expecting to see him breathing his last upon the deck.

But Hook, O man unfathomable, lay not upon the deck, but stood still, his good hand holding his wound as his oddly coloured blood flowed forth over it, staining his lace cuffs. His teeth were bared, not in agony but in strain, for he held his head cocked to the sea and was listening. Presently all the men heard it and understood; from the waters below there issued a steady tick tock, tick tock. Hook's blood was on Cooley, and now Cooley was in the water… and the crocodile had smelled it, and knew.

Hook turned at last and went quickly to his cabin, leaving a trail of blood. Smee hurried in after him and the door shut behind them with a resounding boom! At length the ticking stopped, for the crocodile knew also that when that sound issued forth from the ship her quarry was safe from her, and left her no chance.

Silence fell over the Jolly Roger.

1: Peter Pan, pg. 174. Hook, being of good breeding, is obsessed with good form, and in Peter Pan becomes enraged when he comes to the conclusion that Smee possesses it. One must understand that the key to true good form is not realising one has it, and Hook is in grave doubt of his own.

"…If Smee was lovable, what was it that made him so? A terrible answer suddenly presented itself-- 'Good form?'

"Had the bo'sun good form without knowing it, which is the best form of all?"

- Peter Pan, pg. 174

2: "…His eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy, save for when he was plunging his hook into you, at which time two red spots appeared in them and lit them up horribly." Peter Pan, pg. 66

3: "…A man of indomitable courage, it was said of him that the only thing he shied at was the sight of his own blood, which was thick and of an unusual colour." Peter Pan, pg. 67. Very dark is my own interpretation; it would not be wholly fitting to Barrie's sinister portrayal of Hook if his blood were, say, pink.

4: Peter Pan, pg. 171. I have gathered from Barrie's descriptions and his generous elaboration of Hook's intentions in his last moments that he was quite fond of Hook. As he lamented at the end of chapter 15, " James Hook, thou not wholly unheroic figure, farewell."