The Prize of The Sea

"Alright, alright, belay that chatter!", a gruff male voice called through the door. Loud footsteps approached, and two small candles were blown out hastily just before the door opened.

Two thin lines of smoke were blown into chaos as Roger opened the door to find both of his children snoring loudly. His youngest, Delmar, was even letting out a shrill, undulating whistle with each exhale, emulating a snore that no slumbering human had ever naturally produced, but that was popular among five-year-olds with a penchant for drama.

Roger barely staunched his laughter when he looked at his daughter, Lydia, and saw her snap shut the single eye she had been using to spy on him. She was older, but the three years she had over her brother had done little to improve her acting skills. Her tiny shoulder shook with laughter and her next snore came out a little staccato.

"Well," Roger said, bringing a hand up to stroke his dark beard, "I coulda sworn I 'erd gigglin' from in here."

More tittered laughter eeked out from both pallet beds, but four tiny eyes remained tightly closed.

"Odd," he said,"it must not 'ave been the kids after all!".

He knelt to conspicuously search the empty space below Lydia's bed, muttering loudly about stowaways and bilge rats. He repeated the search on Delmars side of the room, this time lifting the little mattress and letting it fall with a jostle that sent Del bouncing and made both children squirm with laughter and squeeze their eyes even tighter.

"Hmmm... no stows or skitters," he mused and then added, pointedly, "Must be something else, since both of my children have gone to sleep, just as their mother asked."

"Ah. I know!" He crossed the room to their small closet and yanked the door open, jumping into a defensive stance and brandishing an imaginary sword at the tiny shoes in neat rows and jackets hanging from pegs on the walls inside.

"Ha! I've caught... Oh," he lowered his weapon and drew out Lydias favorite cape. "Not a ghost after all then."

He hung it back on its peg and turned back, hands on his hips to survey the dark room.

"My stars...", he breathed, "if it be not stowaways, rats, or ghosts, and the kids are asleep, then it must be somethin' truly dreadful!".

He plopped down onto the floor, finding his back a bit stiff as he descended. He disguised his groan as a sound of terror. 

"Merciful meridian, it must 'ave been baiting me with the sound of laughter! And I've fallen right into its trap!"

He splayed out on the floor, hiding his eyes in the crook of his elbow as he mournfully proclaimed,

"Now I'm at the mercy of the dreaded, two-headed, eight-limbed, twenty-fingered tickle monster from the depths of the sea!!!"

With that, both children burst from their beds like porpoises breaching in a spray of shrieks and laughter. Lydia fell over her fathers broad chest and spidered little fingers over his neck, at the same time that Delmar landed hard on his stomach, knocking the wind from him with a whoosh! Roger sputtered, but dutifully flailed and twitched under their ministrations until both children were red-faced and squealing with joy and victory. Then he sat up, unceremoniously de-throning his brood from their perches, and started to crawl back towards the cracked door.

"I must escape!" he reached a falsely quivering hand towards the doorknob, "But I just...". Lydia was climbing onto his back like a rider and Del bounced with excitement, already seeing the potential for a wonderful new game. "I... I can't quite make it!"

And with that, Roger fell prostrate onto the floor, with his outstretched hand barely reaching into the thin stripe of light that slipped into their room from the hall.