February 18th, 1832 10:00 PM

    I was sitting on my bed thinking about the cosine of X and the identity of (VY) 3 times 1025 power of C if C=YXB times .34002 and the possibility of applying that property to a 52.10583 ml mixture of hydrogen fluorinate and potassium uraniate at 45.92038 degrees Kelvin under 256.9384 pounds of barometric pressure (I know this is nonsense) and how nonsensical the whole equation was, when an (extremely) drunken crewmember burst in. "Thh caphtailn-hic-wontsh to shee yhuu. Shez -hic- ech ovv yhu ahr to thel a -hic- gosht stohry to the creehw enhd hymm. Teh whinnter, jugdded ­hic- by the cappythan, ghets a farehe satghun and fermithion -hic- to be cappythan thor a bhay! I, thor unn, phink itth a ghooldh ihdea!" wheezed the drunken crewmember.
     This in Basic English was, I think, "The captain wants to see you. Says each of you is to tell a ghost story to the crew and him. The winner, judged by the captain, gets a free shotgun and permission to be captain for a day! I, for one, think it's a good idea!"
     I entered the captain's room, where all of the crew, Matt and Enaila and all the rest, including the drunken guy, were gathered. "You're late. Everyone else has told their story now, so you should tell it now. The new category is plagues and disease. Go ahead," FitzRoy welcomed me.
     I tried to think, and it took me a few moments to come up with an idea that would not only win me the prize but would reduce the number of drunken crewmembers on the ship.

     "The ship The Olympic was fitted out by his Majesty King George the 4th with a crew of drunkards, a punishment to its equally drunkard captain, Commodore Henry Smith. However, what the king did not realize is that his punishment had doomed the entire crew. When the ship put out of Kingston, Jamaica with a full shipment of rum and other liquor, the crew were in high spirits, determined not to let the cargo of alcohol return to London untouched.
     "That night, the crew crept down to the hold and opened one of the large barrels of rum, not noticing the putrid streak of fungal slime on the rim of the barrel and the dead ants surrounding it. The crew gorged themselves on the rum as if there weren't a care in the world. The following day, the only noticeable effect of the rum on the crew was the usual effects of alcohol: wooziness, hiccups, incapacity, etc.
     "However, after gorging themselves for another night, one of the crewmembers noticed that, after he became drunk, he fell unconscious for at least an hour before he regained his senses. The other crewmembers soon noticed this too, soon increasing to two or three hours of unconsciousness. After this continued for a few more days, the captain not only did not care about but actively participated in the drunken revelries and the resulting brawls, when another crewmember shouted out in the middle of a brawl, 'Don't trust him, he has a mushroom growing out of his head!' Everyone either thought he was drunk or hallucinating.
     "However, the crewmember who was said to have a mushroom growing out of his head drunkenly felt his head to see if there was any mushroom, and he felt one growing. He assumed he was just drunk. After that, on the next night, more crewmembers spotted mushrooms growing out of not only the heads but the feet, hands, and other body parts.
     "One of the crew realized that the mushrooms were real and caused by the rum, as he had noticed the dead ants surrounding the barrel, as well as the mushrooms growing out of them. He left the ship without drinking any more rum in the jolly boat, eventually landed in England, and survived.
     "However, the rest of the crew began to suffer from not only prolonged unconsciousness but also diarrhea and vomiting. The crew then realized that their fate was to die, but they, instead of stopping their drinking, drank more, accepting their death. To this day, the ship Olympic roams the seas, dooming all of the ships that come near its fungus-covered decks to a grisly fate," I narrated.

     I noted shivers among the drinking crew, and one even shouted out, "I'll never drink again in my life!" The crew soon took up the cry.
     FitzRoy declared, "I thought Matt had a clean shot at winning, but you take the prize.
     "I concede the prize to Matt. It's not fair that the story's effect on the ship should influence his victory," I graciously offered, for though I knew of his recklessness, he knew more about sailing then I did.
    

I am the mighty fungus of doom! Bow before me, mortals, and die a miserable death! For I am the mighty fungus of doom!