I do not own any of these characters, I am simply using them in a tale for entertainment purposes only.

Gilligan's Demon

Original Story By Twisted-Wun & LJ58

Edited and Reposted (With Permission) by LJ58

"Where could he have gone?"

"Who knows," Skipper grumbled as he ran a hand over his thinning scalp, and the raw knot there. The latest in a series. "Who cares?"

Gilligan seemed to be getting clumsier than ever of late, and for him that was saying something.

This time, though, Jonas had had enough, and he had really blown up. Gilligan, like always, said nothing as he walked away to sulk. Only this afternoon when everyone was settling down for their usual meal, Gilligan was nowhere to be found.

By the time he and the others realized he had not shown up even after the sun set, it was too dark to even think of trying to search for him.

"I hope nothing's happened to him," Mary Ann murmured as she ignored the Professor's usual sidelong glance that suggested he might want to see her that night.

For the first time in a long time, she ignored him.

"Trust me," Skipper snorted, his own attention on Ginger's virtually naked breasts. She had decided he was man enough to give her the attention she needed, and now all but followed him around like a puppy these days, flashing him at odd moments to keep him aroused. "If anyone, or anything is out there with Gilligan, they're the ones in trouble. Not him," he said archly.

"Skipper," Mary Ann frowned. "He's still our friend. What if he got hurt? Or fell into a pit? Or…?"

"I'm sure we're all worried," the graying Professor told her, the more than seven years on the island had not been kind to the man who had tried to use his head almost daily just to keep them alive. "But it just isn't logical for us to go stumbling around in the dark looking for someone that could be anywhere."

"We'll look first thing in the morning," Jonas agreed. "If he doesn't come back before then. You know how he gets by now," he muttered, anticipating the feel and warmth of those still firm breasts in his hands as Ginger gave him one of her best teasing winks, and walked away after finishing her own meal.

"We could discuss our plans for tomorrow, if you would like, Mary Ann," Roy Hinkley suggested as the Howells sighed, and walked away without a word. The Professor, as he was still best known to them all, was fooling no one.

"I have to finish the dishes," she cut him off, almost making Skipper snigger. "Goodnight, Professor," she told him firmly as she pointedly turned her back on him while gathering the dishes.

Ginger heard him mutter about the difficulties of dealing with irrational creatures as he passed her on his way to his solitary hut.

She couldn't help but giggle.


Gilligan stared down at the unconscious brunette he found after following the direction of a shrill cry, and couldn't help licking his lips.

The torn shirt, the splayed thighs disappearing under a short frayed skirt.

It was almost like one of Skipper's books he used to read.

Knowing that none of them had any underwear left after more than seven years on the island, he knew that if he looked under that fraying skirt, he would see her naked. Something he had not thought about until recently. Then he started thinking about it a lot.

Only Mary Ann was like Ginger.

She thought he was just a goof.

A dumb kid.

No one worth bedding.

Not like the Professor, or Skipper.

They got lots of pussy. He knew Ginger even let Mr. Howell do her sometimes. Not because the beauty queen liked the old guy. That was just in case they did ever get off the island, and she could use the millionaire's lust for her own gain.

He wasn't stupid. Not like they thought.

He knew what was going on. He knew exactly what they were doing.

He heard someone yelling for him in the distance again, and knew they were still looking for him. Just as Mary Ann must have been looking before sliding down that steep slope hidden by a tangled thicket. They must have actually decided to look for him again, which explained why Mary Ann was out this far without that smug know-it-all on her heels. Well, let them look. He had his fill of coming back only to be ordered around again like a slave.

First Mate was one thing.

You obeyed your captain on a ship.

He didn't even mind helping out.

Only the longer the were stuck here, the more they acted like they were so much better than him, even as they ordered him to do everything for them while they sat around mocking his efforts, or screwing themselves blind.

He looked down from his perch at the brunette at the bottom of the hill, and made a decision.

It was his turn to screw with them.

With all of them.

Especially, he smiled, with Mary Ann.

Mrs. Howell was too old. More like a mother than a real woman.

Ginger was just a tramp. She'd do anything that had pants, as his granny used to say.

But Mary Ann? She was pretty, and nice. Especially when she wasn't around the others.

Well, he could fix that. Especially with that trunk he had found last week that no one knew about as yet. He had started to share. At first. Then he opened it up, and realized he had his own private treasure they didn't even know existed. And they wouldn't, if he saw to it.

Yep. He could fix them all good this time.


Mary Ann woke in darkness.

And she couldn't move. Not a single muscle.

She could feel, though.

She felt something around her face, blindfolding her even as if stretched down to keep her mouth sealed, and her cries muffled.

She felt strong, unyielding bonds around her wrists and ankles, holding her to what felt like a fairly sturdy bed like her own back in her hut. It certainly didn't yield in the slightest as she discerned she was being held by what must be leather shackles on her limbs, holding her down even as she belatedly felt something else.

A warm, wet tongue sliding across her furred sex.

She was naked!

Completely naked, and someone was licking her.

Her only lover in all her years was Roy Hinkley, the professor who explained how necessary sexual release was for healthy adults like themselves. She knew Skipper watched her, and even that old perv Mr. Howell, but whoever was licking her wasn't that big. Nor was he as methodical as Roy who did everything by the book. Literally.

That only left…. Gilligan?

It had to be him. Only…. Was his tongue that long?

She shivered as she felt the long, wet organ pierce her lips, and delve deep as a low, masculine hum almost drowned out her own gasping whimper of genuine delight as the tongue probed her intimate, sensitive flesh with surprising skill.

She tugged at the bonds holding her, but could do nothing but lay there and let that tongue probe deeper and deeper as she realized she was very close to actually climaxing for one of those rare times in her life since coming to the island. And not with her own fingers, or even Ginger's toys.

A moment more and she squealed behind the gag, in disappointment.

The tongue was gone. The presence between her legs was gone, and then she abruptly screamed again as she felt a thick, long shaft thrust hard between her legs, stretching and filling her as she had never been stretched by Roy, or even Ginger's borrowed toys. She felt her body's desires explode in her mind, and every cell of her overheated body, then she was suddenly climaxing as never before in her life.

And that had been just the first, hard thrust.

She felt the lean, muscular body settling atop her as the man, who had to be Gilligan, ground their bodies together a moment before his long, fat shaft pulled back, and stabbed deep again. The shuddering bliss of that mind-numbing orgasm had not even ended, and she was already feeling her body trying to react all the more as her unseen lover began to pump his fleshy pole into her like a trained lover who knew just what she needed.

She screamed, and cried helplessly behind her gag, wanting only to touch him.

To hug him.

To thank him.

All she could manage was the slight bucking her hips up to meet every hard thrust that seemed to sear her very flesh as she wailed in endless, ecstatic delight as that first orgasm barely faded before she felt another. And another. And another.

She was in heaven, she decided.

And at that moment, she knew she never wanted to leave!



"Mary Ann," Jonas shouted he joined Professor Hinkley near the foot of the only real mountain on the island. A volcanic cone riddled with caves.

"Mary Ann," Roy called out as he frowned even as he turned to face the stocky captain of their ill-fated charter boat who had just appeared near where he searched. "Don't tell me….?"

"She's gone missing, too, Professor," the balding skipper nodded grimly. "Ginger said she was headed toward the sea cliffs, since Gilligan likes to climb up there, and watch the ocean sometimes. But she never came back, and now we can't find her either."

"Terrific," the thinner man with a perpetual scowl sighed, throwing up his hands. "The last time this happened, we had intruders on the island."

"Do you think it might be headhunters again," Skipper asked as he looked around them uneasily.

"I don't know. For all we know, they both fell in a pit."

"Or blundered into the quicksand," Jonas frowned.

"Nonsense. I put a sign up to remind us about that spot," Roy huffed.

"Right," Jonas nodded. "And we all know my little buddy is going to watch where he's going, and stop to read signs."

"Maybe we should go check the wetland area," the man sighed. "It'll be easier than hunting through the honeycombs that fill the volcano."

"C'mon, Professor," Skipper snorted. "Even Gilligan wouldn't go inside a volcano. Would he?"

The graying academician merely arched one thin brow at him.

"Well, if he were thinking straight….. Wait. What am I thinking," he groaned.

"All right. We'll check the sand marshes first, and then we come back and determine a logical course of action to try exploring the caverns in the volcanic cone if necessary. Hopefully, we'll find Mary Ann along the way. She might have simply gotten lost."

"On this island?"

"Let's just go," the man told Skipper. "Standing here isn't finding anyone," he said irritably.

"True," he said, pausing as he heard the Howells in the distance still shouting for Gilligan.

"That's the Howells," Skipper murmured. "I hope Ginger is still okay."

"After the antics I overheard last night, I'm surprised she could even walk," the man muttered in obvious complaint.

"Says the man most likely to give a girl splinters," Jonas sniggered.

Roy frowned at him, and demanded, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"C'mon, Professor. A girl likes to get her clock cleaned sometimes. Ginger told me you haven't even gotten our little Mary Ann to cum yet."

"To…..? What? Skipper, that is not the kind of thing a gentleman discusses with another man. Mary Ann is a lady, and I treat her like….."

"Your grandmother. You got to really put it to her if you want her to squeal," the stocky seaman grinned. "Trust me. I know I'm not much to look at, but I've never had a woman leave my cot without a smile on her face," he boasted.

The other man tired not to blush as he stated quite blandly, "I'll have you know, Skipper, than I am very well versed in intercoital arts, and….."

"Inter-who? Professor, I'm not talking about that classroom stuff. I'm talking about screwing a girl's brains out so she can't help but giggle every time she looks your way."

"The way Ginger does you," Roy demanded irritably.

"Exactly," Jonas grinned smugly. "That feisty little redhead needs a good pounding now and then, and she doesn't mind admitting it. The fact I give it to her is what keeps her coming back to my bunk even though I'm twice her age….."

"And size," Professor muttered.

"What was that," Skipper demanded.

"I just said….."

"Ssssshhhhh. Listen."

Both men stood in the shadow of the volcano as they paused halfway down the slope toward the marshy side of the island.

"I could have sworn I heard someone scream just now," he said after a minute.

"We'd better get moving, and stick to the plan," Roy decided after a moment. "Chasing echoes will only have us going in circles, and wasting more time."

"Agreed, Professor," he nodded even as they heard Ginger's voice floating over the jungle as she called for her roommate.

"There. That's Ginger. So we now know she's still all right," Roy nodded as they turned toward the marshes where the quicksand was found.


Ginger stopped just short of the sign for the quicksand the professor had put up not long after their second month on the island. After Gilligan had inadvertently found the sandy deathtrap by blundering headlong into it.

She was still staring at the centermost patch of damp sand when the two men behind her appeared without warming, almost making her yelp.

"Skipper," she cried, and turned to hug him, genuine tears falling to dampen his faded, blue shirt. One of the last two he had left after seven years on the island.

"What is it, Ginger? What's….."

"Skipper. Take a look," Roy pointed grimly.

The big man did, and gave a loud gasp as he spotted a battered white sailor's hat that was familiar to all of them.

"Oh, no. Not my little buddy," he said as he hugged a weeping Ginger to him.

"He… He's not the only….. Only one," Ginger wailed, and held up a dirty ribbon they all knew Mary Ann wore when she made up her usual ponytail this morning. Her way of keeping her long, dark hair in order. "I found it…..I found it….. Over there," she pointed near one of the smaller pits, but one well within the danger area. A small length of vine still lay beside the larger pit where Gilligan's hat rested.

Ginger started crying again.

"Professor," Skipper turned to the man. "Do you think…..?"

"If they did go in there," the man said quietly, his usual pinched scowl lost in a pale, stunned expression that spoke of his own grief. "I'm afraid we probably won't even be able to get their bodies out. These islands… The base is likely pretty porous, and… I'm sorry," he said after composing himself. "But if they sank in these pits, Skipper, then we probably won't be finding their bodies anytime soon. If ever."

Skipper dropped his head. "My poor little buddy."

"And poor Mary Ann," Ginger sniffed, still clinging to him.

"We'd better go find the Howells, and tell them the bad news."

"You…. You don't think they could have…..gotten out?"

"Considering the placement of the lost articles, and the fact we haven't found a trace of either of them all day," Professor said quietly when Ginger looked his way, looking genuinely hopeful. "It's unlikely," he admitted grimly.

"Tomorrow, I'm putting up a rock fence around this damn death ground," Skipper told them. "To keep anyone else from accidentally stumbling into it."

"We…. We should put…..put up…..a marker, too," Ginger sniffed. "Poor Mary Ann. Poor Gilligan," she wailed.

"Yeah," Skipper nodded as Roy simply stared at the hat. Partially buried, the damp sand displaced all around it.

There was no doubt. Someone had gone down there. And they hadn't come out.

"That's a good idea," he finally said. "About the marker, I mean," he told Ginger. "We should have a service for our lost friends, too."

"The first to go. I always thought it would be me," Jonas admitted. "Or one of the Howells."

"The Howells, yes," Ginger sniffed as they all turned away from the dangerous marsh. "But, you, Skipper," she asked.

"Hey, I don't deny I'm a big man, sweetheart," he smiled sadly. "My heart could always go at any time. I know that. That, or I always thought…..Gilligan….."

"Yes, we've all thought the same thing," Roy admitted. "He can be…..could be…a walking hazard at times."

The three said nothing else as they left the marshes, walking away in grim silence.

None of them noticed the small, lithe body in dark clothing that watched from the opposite side of the marsh with glittering eyes as they left. A lanky figure wearing a ruby ring on his left hand as he stood up, and loped back toward the foothills away from the direction the castaways headed.


Mary Ann still could not see.

She had woke to find herself dangling from something that held her upright now. Still bound. Still blind. Still gagged.

Yet the memory of that unrelenting, overwhelming pleasure still made her blood and body sing.

She gathered her feet under her, and stood up, having just enough slack to take some of the pressure off her arms and shoulders which were numb, and throbbing. The move filled her ears with the faint clink of chains.

She moaned behind her gag, and then heard someone moving nearby.

She tensed, waiting to see what happened next. Fearing it. Craving it. Yet not knowing what might happen.

For a moment she couldn't tell where they had gone. What they might have been doing.

Then her gag fell from her lips, and she gasped, sucking air.

And asked, "Gilligan?"

She screamed as something lashed at her still naked flanks, raising painful welts as the whip fell five times before the gag was pressed back into her drooling mouth. She whimpered, but could hardly protest. She couldn't even kick, since something held her ankles still as if fashioned to the ends of some pole that kept her legs splayed slightly.

For a long time, she heard nothing, then the gag was finally removed again.

This time, she didn't say a word.

She wasn't stupid.

This time, the whip didn't come.

She felt something pressed to her lips, and gulped fresh water from the cup. She moaned in pleasure, not realizing how thirsty she was until then.

Then the cup was gone, and a piece of fresh pineapple was pressed to her lips next. She swallowed it almost whole, being as hungry as she had been thirsty. She was rewarded with more fruit.

A few berries.

More water.

Afterward, the gag was returned.

She didn't even try to fight it.

Her reward was a finger that knowingly slid over her still strangely damp sex, coaxing her lust back to the fore before the man, (Gilligan, surely!), left her again.

But this man wasn't acting like Gilligan.

What if she was only being duped?

What if…..?

She realized it hardly mattered as she heard footsteps walking away. Leaving her.

Whoever it was, they had her fully in their power, and she wasn't going anywhere. Not unless they let her go. Only that wasn't looking as if it would be likely anytime soon.


The man in black moved around the edge of the clearing where the large huts were built to last after the castaways finally accepted they weren't getting off the island anytime soon. They had been repaired, refurbished, and redesigned several times over the years, but they managed to outlast time, tropical storms, and the castaways' own wear and tear as they tried to keep a semblance of civilization in their daily routines.

The sliver of a moon was rising over the island as he moved closer, glittering eyes fixed on one hut as he walked closer to the hut where no one was home.

He slipped inside, and went to the small suitcase he knew belonged to Mary Ann.

Not that he intended to dress her any time soon, but he was looking for a few things he might have use of in the near future.

He opened the case, and smiled, finding just what he was looking for without much effort.

He then turned to Ginger's carelessly stacked luggage, and added a few things to the small pile he intended to carry with him.

Carrying the small bundle he made out of a very short skirt, he stepped back out of the hut, hearing the soft grunting of carnal lust that he knew well enough by now. He walked to the hut where the Howells were snoring away the night as he then moved past the sullen Professor he spotted staring into the darkness of his own dimly lit hut as his single candle sputtered, and then went on to the Skipper's hut.

He considered starting his new game with them now, but felt it was too soon.

Something told him it was too soon.

Best to wait. To stoke the anticipation. Then, when the moment was right, he would act.

Something very devious had been woke in him of late, and it had been leading him in a clever, and infallible fashion since he had found that old trunk washed up on the far side of the island. He accepted the guiding, glancing inside only briefly to see Ginger's dark head bobbing over the shipwrecked captain's pale, rounded belly.

He grimaced in disgust, and then walked away unnoticed.

Not yet, he thought to himself. Not yet, but soon. Very soon.

Carrying his bundle, he returned to his own hideaway, and the waiting pet he was training to accept his every whim as her new will.

She would be his first slave. Then she would help him train the rest.

The thoughts did not actually fix in his mind as the lean, black-clad man loped away from the small encampment. The demon in the ring he now wore kept those thoughts from actually forming in his conscious mind. When the time came, he would have the power to command the body of his new host as easily as he did his simple mind.

Until then, he would feed off the host's bitterness, resentments, and secret lusts to build his own strength, and accomplish what he had done many times before with many previous hosts.

For the demon in the ring was both ancient, and powerful. Many of its hosts had been as infamous as he was in certain circles. Never before, though, had he discovered such an easily led host, or a contained circle of slaves that would ensure his host's needs were met without betraying himself to those that might yet stop him.

That had happened before, too. Even he, powerful as he was, could be thwarted if he moved too far, too fast, and gained the notice of certain others.

This time, all he needed to do was remain cautious and clever, and he would own seven souls without risk. Souls he could then use to return to the greater world beyond this small isle to begin forging another empire. And this time, no demon-hunter would even be around to stop him when he was at his weakest. This time, he would win.

The host himself cared only for the cow left hanging to season in her own fear and passions for his feeding.

After being exiled from the world of men for decades, he was finally free, and he intended to enjoy himself. First, his host would become his new acolyte. Then he would capture the souls of every hapless companion on the island. With nothing to stop him, he would finally rise to power as he deserved. For there was nothing to prevent his plans this time. Nothing at all, the demon sniggered secretly in his ring, and in a dark corner of his host's unwitting mind.

Stepping back into the hidden cavern where he had made his new home, he walked over to the dangling slave meat, and cupped one of the ripe, round teats. The girl whimpered, proving she was still awake, and daringly pressed her breast forward into his calloused hand.

Nicely done, he thought. She might just be as easy to break as his host.

Time, he thought, to play.

The thought made his fused mind and flesh joined to the host swell with anticipation.


Ginger walked over to the man stretched out on her cot. Dropping the skirt that was all she wore, she straddled the man's hard sex, and settled down to impale herself on that long, hard pole that filled her so nicely.

She rocked her hips, groaning as she felt her lover reach for her breasts, fondling then as he pulled her down by her rubbery nipples to feed them to his hungry lips. Even as she felt his cock pulsing, filling her with hot seed, she shuddered in rapture as she looked down to see…

"Ginger! Ginger, what's wrong," Jonas shouted as he burst into the hut to shake her out of her nightmare. Roy was right behind him, still wearing his frayed trousers, and now sleeveless shirt.

"Ginger, you were having a dream," Skipper tried to calm her as she woke with wide, fearful eyes.

"A nightmare, more obviously," Professor drawled, his shirt hanging open to reveal a surprisingly muscular chest.

"Boy, you weren't kidding," she moaned, gasped, and pulled a blanket bought from the Howells for the cost of a blowjob over her naked body. Not that both men hadn't seen her, but when you're in bed, you just feel more modest.

"What was it," Roy asked her. "You sounded as if the devil himself had risen up after you."

"Funny you should say that," Ginger shuddered. "I…. I dreamed I was…making love," she smiled at Jonas. "Only, when I looked down to kiss…..him…..it was Gilligan."

"Okay, that can be scary," Skipper smiled wanly. "But a nightmare?"

"He was….he wasn't all Gilligan. It was him, but he looked…..like he was a monster, too. With red eyes, and horns, and everything."

Neither man said anything.

"Well," she asked, holding her blanket to her chest.

"Frankly, I'm at a loss. Dream interpretation isn't my strong suit," Professor told her. "Still, it sounds like you're feeling guilty, and are trying to make things up to our lost friend in the only way you know how."

"What's that mean," she shrilled.

"Well, I just meant that being a Hollywood actress, it's natural for you to think….."

"Professor, I'd stop right there if I were you," Jonas told him.

"Consider me stopped," he sighed, noticing Ginger was looking more angry than scared now.

"Want me to stay with you," Skipper asked her as the professor simply shook his head, and left.

"No. No, I….I'll be fine," she told him in a quavering tone.

Besides, she was still a little confused herself.

It had felt so real.

Seemed so real.

"Just yell if you change your mind," the big man smiled. "I may not be an egghead, but I'll do my best to keep you safe from the bogeyman," he told her with a very masculine smile.

"Thanks, Jonas," she smiled, using his given name only when they were alone. It was just her way. "I'll be fine."

"Okay. You know where I'm at if you change your mind."

She waited for him to leave, then slowly pushed the blanket down to confirm what her mind was already telling her.

She stared down at the glistening trail of white fluid that reflected the moonlight spilling into her open window.

Not her own, but…..male semen.

Only she hadn't even been with Jonas in two days as they were all working hard to refill the water and food stores before the monsoon season hit again. She was ready to suggest that they move in together all the same, but Jonas was hardly the kind of man that would welcome an arrangement like that. Oddly enough, he was worse than the professor when it came to women in some ways.

He could make her scream, sure, but the rest of the time he was as clueless as…..

"Gilligan," she murmured.

"Yes, my pet," a familiar voice growled from behind her.

She turned to stare at the red-eyed shadow staring down at her. His long, fat shaft dangling as it dripped just inches from her face.

Ginger gaped up at him, and fell on her face as she passed out cold.

The man only chortled.



"What is it, Skipper," he asked as the man turned from assessing the wind and temperature as he prepared to monitor the possible storm conditions ahead of them.

"Look," the big man pointed at the strange device on his door. "I woke up this morning, and that was…..just there."

"How curious," Roy murmured, reaching out.

"Don't touch it," he slapped the man's hand when he reached for it.

"Skipper. It's obviously just some kind of joke. A few beads and feathers in a childishly designed….."

"It's a M'tubi hex, Professor. I've been cursed!"

Roy dropped his head, shaking it.

"Really, Skipper. Haven't we gone through this before? Besides, if there were any M'tubi on the island, I think we would have noticed. Especially since we'd all be dead!" "Maybe they just want to make us suffer first," the superstitious old sailor said uneasily.

Roy rolled his eyes.

"Someone is obviously just playing with you. These beads and feathers could have come from anywhere, and….."

"Professor, I know M'tubi work when I see it!"

"What is it now, Captain," the still erudite Lovey asked as she strolled over just then, wearing a very soft silk sheathe, and carrying a bamboo parasol. Of them all, the Howells still had enough clothes for another seven years, but accessories were fading fast, and hence, the bamboo parasol Roy had made for her. "Not another disaster, I hope? Frankly, we've had far too many of those pesky things the past few weeks."

"I've been cursed, Mrs. Howell," he told her, pointing at the native symbol. "Look!"

"Really? How strange. Thurston and I have the same quaint little ornament on our door, too. We thought you left it as some kind of middle-class offering. You are middle-class? I can never tell," she smiled guilelessly.

"Mrs. Howell, you have the same thing on your door?"

"Well, yes. Didn't I just say so? Really, captain. Is your hearing going already?"

"Professor, what about your door," Jonas asked uneasily.

"I didn't actually notice. I got up, had breakfast, and went right to the weather station.

"Days like this," he said, eyeing the clouds overhead. "Makes me really miss the radio."

"…..and the Honolulu weather station predicts the storm front will cross the northern islands, headed directly for the West Coast of the Mainland. Meanwhile, there remains a small craft advisory out for the area, and all vessels are advised to seek safe harbors for the next few days as….."

Roy snapped the radio off after they found it playing in the Howells hut, buried under a pile of worn shirts he was selling as rags, or raw materials in exchange for labor or whatever else he needed of late.


"These batteries have been dead for over four years," Roy said quietly as he turned the radio over, opened the panel, and saw the same, corroded batteries that had finally died despite his best efforts to recharge them.

He closed the panel, eyed Skipper, and turned the knob again.

"….news, a manhunt continues for a local man who killed fourteen men and women before disappearing a year ago without a trace. The only clue the police have is a general description of the man who was described as pale, thin, and dark, and could always seen wearing a ruby ring in a silver or white gold setting."

Now Skipper turned off the radio.


"Skipper, I adamantly state that I do not believe in the supernatural. Only I'm at a complete loss as to how to explain this."

"Pardon me, gentleman, but at the risk of sounding gauche, why the devil are you chaps pawing through my castoffs without so much as a coconut being offered in return?"

They turned to stare at the billionaire, and without a word, Skipper turned on the radio.

It now played a rather odd up-tempo song none of them recognized.

"You found batteries? Egad! Did another crate float ashore? Did you find….?"

"It just started working, Mr. Howell," Skipper told him. "But I'd like to know about this, too," he said, turning off the radio to point out the M'tubi talisman on his door. The exact same design as the one on his hut, he had already noticed.

"Oh, me and the Mrs. thought you left that, captain. It does seem the kind of provincial offering one of your caliber would leave as a gift. Why, I can't imagine," the aging tycoon sniffed.

"Something is definitely going on here," Professor Hinkley nodded as Skipper switched on the radio, and it continued to play.

"Let's leave it on, and listen for the weather again. Meanwhile," Roy decided, "Let's check out the other huts. And I suggest we explore the island again. Someone, or something else is here. And after Ginger's crazy dream last week, I'm starting to wonder if it's not a what."


"You heard about it, too?"

"Nonsense, old boy. It's just….about three days ago, Lovey had the most peculiar dream. I'm surprised you didn't hear her yelling, it was so disturbing she even broke her diamond bracelet flailing about."

"What did she dream?"

"Well, to be honest, I'm almost embarrassed to mention it, it was so bizarre," he chuckled nervously.

"Try us, Mr. Howell."

"Well, and this is completely on the Q.T., mind you, gentlemen," he said with a hushing gesture. "Lovely said she woke up, and saw Gilligan standing over her. Only it was a seven foot tall Gilligan with horns, and the most ghastly red eyes. And he was…..making her engage in the most deplorable act of lewdity."

"Lewdity," Skipper frowned.

"You know," Thurston said, using his thumb to pantomime sucking. "She was absolutely flabbergasted. She didn't even believe the boy knew about such things."

Roy frowned at Jonas, and remarked, "The same dream image Ginger saw? This is….quite remarkable."

"Remarkable? Professor, with those curse totems on our huts, I'm starting to think Gilligan's haunting us. Or maybe some island spirit possessed his corpse, and…."

"Really, Skipper. I am certain there's a logical explanation for whatever is going on. We just have to figure it out. Now, let's just go check the other huts, and….. That's odd," he said, noticing the radio was not coming on any longer.

"No. What was odd was the thing coming on in the first place," Skipper told him.

"I have to agree. How do dead batteries suddenly come back to life," Thurston demanded.

"How do M'tubi curses get on our doors when there isn't a footprint around here other their our own," Skipper asked, looking down.

"So, it's a curse? Well, I'll just…."

"Don't touch it," Jonas wailed, grabbing his hand before the tycoon could grab it. "It's certain death to handle one of those things without protection."

"Protection? How do you protect yourself from curses, my dear man? Tell me, and there's a cool thousand right here for you right now," he declared, pulling out a very worn stack of bills from a pocket.

"Really, Skipper," Roy sighed, and took the totem down from the door. "Let's check the others, and get the one from your door. It might give us some clues," he said, tossing the totem onto the table near the Howell hut with utter indifference.

"Funny. He doesn't look cursed," the older man told Jonas as he eyed Roy who was walking toward his own hut.

Where a third totem hung from the door..

"Strange, I didn't even notice that being here this morning," Roy remarked as he picked up the obviously hand-crafted device.

"Face it, Professor," Jonas grimaced as the man fearlessly examined the apparently native construction in his hands. "You wouldn't notice anything unless it came between the covers of a book!"

"I hate to say it, but the captain's right, old boy. You are a bit of an egghead at the best of times."

Roy glowered, but shook his head, and went to Ginger's hut.

She's doesn't have one."

"Unless she already took it down," Thurston remarked.

"Took what down," a soft voice asked as they turned to see Ginger coming up behind them wearing only her peach skirt, and a very, very thin halter that wasn't even fastened due to its lack of buttons.

"Great horny toads," Thurston gaped at her more than obvious nudity which even Ginger usually tried to cover during the day.

"Don't you mean horned toads?"

"I said what I meant," Thurston exclaimed as he stared at the redhead's full, found breasts that stuck out like firm, round balloons from her golden chest that revealed she really did sunbathe nude.

"Ginger," Professor held up the totem he had taken from his own door. "You didn't see anything like this on your door this morning, did you?"

"On my door? No. I didn't seen anything on my door," she murmured softly.

"Ginger? Are you okay," Jonas asked.

"Peachy, Skipper," she smiled, and sauntered past them to enter her hut. "Now, if you boys will excuse me, I'm going to take a nap. I've spent all morning working hard, and I really need some rest."


"We've been up less than an hour," the tycoon frowned as the door closed in their faces.

"Did she seem…..distracted to you," Roy asked.

"I don't know about her, but I certainly was," Thurston chortled.

"Now that you mention it. She has been acting a little odd lately. Ever since her….dream," Jonas murmured.

"Gentlemen, there may indeed be more to this dream business than we realize," he said, taking the totem to the table to lay on the table beside the other one.

"Skipper, go get the other….."

He paused, noting Jonas' expression.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," he muttered, and went to get the totem from Skipper's door.

"There. You see," he pointed a moment later after he had brought the native construction over to lay with the others.

"See what," Skipper asked, trying hard not to actually look at the totems.

"The arrangement of the beads. Each one seems to indicate an ancient Cyrillic glyph. Wait. That makes no sense. Let's try this….here, and this one….."

"Professor," the skipper asked, watching him rearrange the totems in a different order.

"Professor," the billionaire echoed the captain. "What is it?"

"The glyphs. This can't be right."

"What can't be right?"

"Each one indicates a concept. Ancient peoples used these Cyrillic pictographs to tell stories. Or to represent ideas. If memory serves, this triad represents a phrase used by many religions, and has but one meaning, but…. Why would natives even use these glyphs?"

"What does it say," the two men with him demanded.

"This one says, in essence, enter. Or entering in. This one, Hope lost, or abandoned. This last one suggests…..gates."

"Let he who enters these gates abandon all hope," Thurston gasped.

"Professor. Tell me you know what this means," Skipper said.

"Logically…? I haven't a clue."


Roy looked stunned as he looked around uneasily before admitting, "Illogically, this suggests someone has opened the gates of hell on this very island. And we're all damned."

"I knew it," Skipper moaned. "I just knew it."

Roy's chin lifted, and he stated, "But I refuse to believe it. It's either a bizarre coincidence, or…."

"Or," the other two men asked hopefully.

"Someone else is on the island, and playing games with us again."

"What about the dream-ghost of Gilligan," Skipper asked.

"A clever ploy to play to our grief, and unnerve us," the professor nodded. "Gentlemen, I think tonight we should stay up, and try to snare our interloper."


Mary Ann bowed at his feet, her face wrapped in a featureless mask that hid her visage.

She wore nothing but seamless leather cuffs bound around her wrists and ankles that looked as if they had formed in place around her slender limbs. Her turgid, cherry nipples were adorned with silver rings that supported small, silver bells like the one also dangling from her new cleft ring.

A small, black sun was tattooed around her navel, and despite her leather mask, she was moving around her master without any indication she was hampered by her apparently sightless condition.

She refilled a silver cup he drank from, and held it back out for her to take.

When he wished, she fed him bits off fruit or fish from the plate she readied for him earlier.

And she would always bow, and eagerly suckle his tireless rod without ever daring to even speak to him in spite of the fact her gag was more often removed now than not so she could use all her orifices to please her master. Which she did without a word spoken between them after almost three weeks of careful, firm training that led her with little doubt of her new role in his life.

Just last night, she had given him a fine show, helping him break in Ginger after she was summoned to the master's presence after he had first claimed her just two weeks ago.

Two weeks of nocturnal visits had been all that were needed to influence the selfish hedonist, and break her to her new master's will. Once the smug redhead's fear faded, she had realized their master gave her nothing but pleasure.

Of course, Ginger had yet to feel the master's discipline, but even that made Mary Ann shudder in wanton desire. Just the brush of his whip made her wriggle happily, content he deigned notice her. She, who so foolishly ignored him all these years.

She didn't yet know the redhead's role in her master's plan, but she knew hers, and did not resist it as she accepted her place at his feet.

Having given him his drink, she knelt over his lap, sliding her lips over his pulsing shaft painted with the redhead's juices. She knew, because she had tasted them long before now. At the first, she didn't care for her companion's games. Now, she reveled in those games, knowing they pleased her master.

That was enough for her now.

"It is almost time, little slave," he called her, leaning back as she took his hard shaft deeper into her throat, sucking skillfully, just as she had been taught. "Very soon, you'll have plenty of company. But you shall be the first among my pets. Just as you will be but the first to birth my unholy progeny upon this world, and overwhelm this realm once and for all with our kind. For this time, we are miles away from anyone that could possibly stop us," he chortled, and grabbed the slave's head to forced himself even deeper into her mouth to spill his seed directly into her throat to fill her belly.

And add to the growing corruption already well rooted in the little pet's heart and soul.

He watched the brunette bobbing over his unsated flesh, knowing that every stroke only added to her chains that now bound her soul to his service, and added to his power.

Very soon now, and even the old shrew would be his.

And through the women, the men, who would become hapless slaves to his will by extension.

And then in time, once more, the world would be in his grip.

Once he figured a way off this isolated island.