PIRATE CHUCK (#23)

We’re back on ice. Supernatural forces are at work. It’s the only plausible explanation.
Our generator doesn’t work. Except that it does. That is, it runs. It just doesn’t generate. This started right after our inverter quit working. Sorta. The inverter converts generator power to ship’s power. At least it used to until our generator went on vacation. Except that it does. Sometimes. 
Confused? Welcome aboard. You see, when the generator’s off, the inverter works fine. Lights, cameras, action. No problem. Turn the generator on and it goes kaput. Not a big deal except that we charge our refrigeration directly off the generator. No refrigeration equals no cold beer = a BIG deal!
I’m convinced we’re anchored over a dead pirate. It’s not that far-fetched. The Spanish have been visiting this harbor since the early 16th Century, along with those who preyed on them, Pirates! Add the Dutch slave ships that would stop to stock up on water and you’ve got 400+ years of bodies piling up around here. That's omitting the Indians who have been roving these islands for over 10,000 years. They weren’t known for dispensing party favors to their guests, so add that to the pile. Our being hooked to mooring ball #13 isn’t helping things either.
There are a number of likely candidates. “Calico Jack” Rackham and Juan Gomez are possibilities. And you can’t rule out Chief Carlos, El Cacique of the murderous Calusa Indians. He had a bad habit of killing shipwreck survivors and tossing them into a pit along with their booty. However, my choice is Captain Charles Vane. Notorious. Sadistic. Shrewd. He successfully eluded capture and mutiny long after most pirates had been caught and hanged. Once, he sailed a captured French vessel at his pursuers after first setting it on fire. Now that’s professionalism. Supposedly, he was hung in Port Royal in 1720. I ain’t buying it. I think he’s the guy.
It would also explain the stain. We have a lovely dinette in the galley w/cushioned seating. (Feel free to stop in for tea whenever you're in the neighborhood.) One morning I noticed an arse-sized section of it was wet. I assumed someone with wet-ass dinghy-butt had sat there the previous evening. That was two weeks ago. It’s still wet. I’ve dried it in the scorching sun but it comes back. I’ve pulled out and inspected the foam. It’s bone dry. There’s no leak above it either. I thought it might be oil. But it’s clear and odorless. And wet. 
Draw your own conclusions. I plan on laundering, then bleaching the sucker. If it comes back after that, I’m burning it. Meanwhile I’ve started locking my cabin door at night. Pirate Chuck or whoever it is can find another haven to spend his evenings spreading mechanical mischief and mayhem. I’ve also stuck a fire extinguisher next to my bunk. He may have outfoxed the French, but by God he ain’t outfoxing me.