“You know my name?” I asked.
“You’re a pirate,” The Lost Boy said as he tucked his chin to his chest, fighting to hold in his tears.
“Lost Boys are not to show fear. That’s what they’re told. Lost Boys fight to kill all pirates at any cost, and to die in battle with a pirate, protecting Neverland from rancorous adults that have been diseased by time, would be an honor.” I grinned. “I know.”
The Wyrd Interlude:
In a place where eternal youth tangles with forgotten truths, memory and freedom slip through trembling fingers. The Pan’s laughter lingers, daring any to recall a time before the lie. This—is wyrd fiction.
Despite being just ten years old, the boy seated before me displayed a depth of internal conflict—a turbulent mix of fear and bravery—that surpassed anything I’d witnessed in any man.
“Curse that manipulative dictator to the depths,” I hissed. “Curse the immortal Pan.”
The Lost Boy glared, his face red with anger.
“A pirate, am I.” I twirled my mustache. But that is not what I asked you. My name—you know it?”
“Hook,” he sat upright, forcing bravery.
I waved my hook at him for dramatic effect. “Lovely propaganda. Do you even remember your family?”
“My family are The Lost Boys,” he declared.
“Only now,” I said solemnly. “Try to remember before.”
“There was no before. Before, it was all rules, and sadness, and responsibility. That’s all I remember!”
“What about your mother? Your father?”
He sat rigid, fighting back tears.
“Memories are okay.” I knelt so we were at eye level. “The Pan made us believe what he believes.”
Though tears streamed down his face, the fire in his eyes remained undimmed.
“Try hard to remember your family before Pan. If you can tell me about them, I will set you free.”
He sniffled. “Why should I trust the word of the no-good dirty pirate?”
“Because—” I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “Hook isn’t who I’ve always been…” I took my hat off and pushed my hair back. I leaned close to him.
His eyes scanned my face, lingering on each feature.
“My name is James,” I said softly. “James Barrie. And I’ve returned to Neverland not to wage war on The Lost Boys—but to free you all from the tyrannical imprisonment you unknowingly endure.”
The Lost Boy leaned closer. His tears had dried, and his gaze, intense and searching, meticulously scanned every inch of me. Looking past the dark, coarse hairs of my beard and the deep wrinkles etched into my weathered face.
“James… It can’t be.”
“It is I,” I smiled, a nervous flutter in my chest as I waited for my old friend’s reaction.
“Pan said a crocodile ate you.”
“Nearly.” I raised my hook and let out a little laugh. “The price of my escape.”
“If you are truly my long-lost friend James Barrie, tell me the name of the—”
“—doodlebugs,” I said before he could finish. “Doodlebugs.”
A wide, hopeful smile spread across The Lost Boy’s face, his eyes sparkling with newfound joy. “James. It’s really you!”
A wave of laughter and pure joy washed over me as I squeezed my dear friend in a giant hug. He jerked back, sucking in a sharp breath.
“What you said about Pan… is that true?”
“This place is not what we were told. Come with me. Once we sail away from these cursed waters, everything will be clearer—the fog will vanish from your mind.”
“But what about the others?”
I turned back. “I promise we will return to free them.”
“You promise?” The young boy looked up at me, and it was in that instant I realized how much I had aged while he had gone unchanged. He looked so hopeful. So pure. Knowing the truth cursed me, but ignorance blessed him.
“Smee,” I said. “Have I ever let you down?”
He smiled. “I missed you, James.”
“And I missed you too, Smee. I truly did.”
“Hey!” He yelled, still playful. “When we’re at sea, address me properly.”
A smile spread across my face, happiness filled me completely, and for a brief moment, I felt like a child again. I was with my best friend. I bowed to him.
“My apologies, Mr. Smee.”
With a proud nod, he declared: “Good form, James. Good form.”
The Wyrd Curtain:
A friend returns to shatter illusions, and hero and villain trade masks under a waning spell. When falsehoods fall, truth stands bare: time cannot be caged, nor can the human spirit. The wyrd path winds ever on.