The ghost ship roams the Sargasso Sea like a black wolf. A hundred-foot-tall, floating, translucent, ship-shaped black wolf.
The ghost ship meets a fish. “Whoo!” it says.
“Sorry,” says the fish, “fish aren’t scared of ghosts.”
“But I’m a black wolf!” says the ghost ship.
The fish shrugs. It doesn’t know what a wolf is.
“A white shark, I mean,” says the ghost ship weakly.
But the fish has already left. The ghost ship mopes over to Cochran the sailor, who is clinging to some driftwood.
“Saved!” gasps Cochran.
“Not quite,” says the ghost ship, and eats him.