“I dare you. Go see if you can find any valuables left behind,” Fignun, the oldest of three brothers taunted his younger sibling.
“I would if I could but I can’t so I ain’t,” Tungy stopped at the edge of the rice field. “It flooded only last week and already the abandoned boats are dried up and withered,” he took a step back, his shoe lodged in the mud. “See what you’ve made me do.”
“Scaredy Cat,” Fignun laughed, turned and headed back towards their home. He stopped, “You think this is the work of Chiog, the wandering captain? Do you think he sucked the life out of the boat owners and fed them to the fields as an offering?”
There wasn’t a soul around who didn’t know the folktale of Chiog, how he’d killed his wife and children, sacrificing them to the gods in exchange for prosperity, youth and tremendous treasure. How he’d kill every year to uphold his standing.
Tungy stuttered, pulled his foot from his loafer, and started to run.
“No! Wait, I’ll go!” Fignun laughed and waded to the boat. Tungy stood trembling in fear.
Letting out a horrific scream, Fignun threw his own body into the boat, kicking until he went limp, his sounds ceased.
“Mom!” Tungy yelled for help.
“Ahahahahahahaha! Look at the cry baby calling for his mother,” their middle brother, Shunty, stood next to Fignun in the boat, pointing and poking fun at Tungy. Neither believed their smaller brother when he warned them of a dark figure approaching from behind. The shadow of a large rice hat covered the boat until the vessel and all inside vanished like the moon behind clouds.
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