
Ghost on the Boat

Spirit House Director and Mastermind behind our Tours, Acland, has been talking about the best 'behind-the-scenes' stories from his tours. Sick of hearing them, we decided to share the best with you - including all the chaos and charm that never quite makes it to the brochure.
Welcome to Travel Tales, a new series where we spill the wild, wonderful, and typically profane stories from our Spirit House tours.
A Story of Ghosts, Goats & Too Much Beer
What you don’t know about Tracey is that she can see dead people – all the time. The other thing you don’t know about her is that she can usually be found with a beer in hand – all the time. We're not judging, just pointing out some facts.
Surprisingly, we found her without a beer in hand (this wasn’t the surprise), calmly explaining over breakfast that she saw a ghost in her cabin the previous night (this was the point where we became surprised).
The group did what any rational adults would do: we judged her silently, wondering if she was drunk, mentally unwell, or if the boat was now officially possessed. Maybe she hit the trifecta.
Tracey didn’t need to use her psychic or paranormal senses to notice the concerned looks in our eyes. She turned to her husband, Simon, with a more concerned expression: “Back me up on this, or you’re not getting any mermaid sex.” She didn’t say it verbally, but her eyes did. (The mermaid sex part doesn’t factor into this story, but just know it’s there and will be another tale to be told at a later date.)
Simon burst into action, explaining that, beer or no beer, his wife is well known for her abilities to see the paranormal. He was obviously under duress, facing a possible mermaid drought, but we could see the sincerity in his eyes, shadowed with some quiet pleading.
You can see our problem:
Clearly, Simon is not a reliable character witness and has an agenda that none of the rest of us shared.
But our disbelief was interrupted when Tom, the owner of the boat, stumbled into the saloon, still sleepy or possibly hungover – the jury has always been out on his morning state – and asked what we were all talking about.
I explained, in a mocking tone – the only way to address a room when the mentally infirm have dropped a bombshell on you – that Tracey saw a ghost in her cabin the night before.
“Fuck,” said Tom. “Which cabin?”
That was an easy question, and Tracey got the answer right.
“Fuck,” Tom said again. “Where in the cabin, and what did it look like?”
Actually, he didn’t ask both questions at once. I just hate writing dialogue, but we were all getting intrigued.
“It was in the bathroom, and it was coming out of the mirror. It was an old man with long hair,” Tracey said very convincingly.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” said Tom. “Do NOT tell the crew, or your tour ends now and we’ll have to buy a goat.”
Intriguing, n’est-ce pas?
It turns out that a few months ago, one of the crew members was cleaning the cabin Tracey was now haunting. He had spotted a wispy, long-haired ghost coming out of the bathroom mirror (or “head,” which I believe is the sailing term). This crew member did not handle it like Tracey – he ran, screaming throughout the length of the boat, scaring the crap out of the crew and any passengers who could understand trembling Indonesian.
Time for some quick Indonesian fun facts: 98% of the country is Muslim and believes in one God, but 100% of the country believes in ghosts.
Remember when Tom said, “Do NOT (his capitals, not mine) tell the crew or your tour ends now?”
So, here’s what happened last time the poltergeist appeared.
After calming the ranting cabin boy down with a stiff drink, the entire crew mutinied, stopped the boat (which I know is what stopping the boat means), and refused to go any further. They wanted to evacuate immediately. This was very hard for the 12 Korean divers aboard to understand, as they were halfway through their trip. The Koreans, who don’t believe in ghosts (unless something was lost in translation), were angry about the interruption to their trip, but the crew refused to budge.
Tom called a meeting with the captain and the ringleader of the mutiny to work out a solution. As luck would have it, one of the crew members knew of a local “paranormal” shaman, witch doctor, whatever you want to call them, who lived on an island close by and would surely have a way to cleanse the boat of the ghost.
The crew agreed, and a course was set for the island. The local chief was summoned, and a car was sent two hours to a village to collect the... I like the term witch doctor, so let’s go with that... witch doctor.
The witch doctor arrived two hours later, boarded the boat, and confirmed the haunting.
A price was negotiated, and the witch doctor pulled various potions, unguents, and spells from his backpack and proceeded to exorcise the ghost from the boat.
The crew was very happy with this. The Koreans were still upset, as a full day was wiped off their itinerary.
Tom paid the witch doctor, but he wasn’t done yet. The witch doctor was wise, not only in the world of the paranormal but also in the laws of economics, particularly when it came to supply and demand.
It turns out that to be absolutely guaranteed the ghost wouldn’t return, a goat had to be sacrificed – and, conveniently, he knew a guy who could sell Tom a goat at a good price.
So, a goat was purchased and brought on board.
They had to sacrifice the goat – which they did. Then they cut off its legs – which they did. Then they hung a leg from each side of the boat, front and rear – which they did – until the appendages rotted and fell off the hooks into the sea – which they did.
Tom pointed out that the smell of rotting goat’s legs would stink out the whole ship and ruin the upcoming cruises – which they did.
The Koreans finished their trip after a delay of a day or two, but the following trips were marred by the smell of putrefying goat hocks. When guests complained or threatened to cut the goat legs loose into the sea, they were met with menacing stares from the crew.
We were all laughing about poor old Tom and the goat story. We were also contemplating telling the crew about the ghost so we could have a cultural immersion experience, as none of us – actually, only one of us – had ever seen a goat sacrificed before.
The sun had set, and the boat was gently rocking at anchor just off the port of Maumere. Then Tracey shrieked, “A big white man just went downstairs to our cabins.”
BULLSHIT – honestly, it was dark outside, we were at anchor off an Indonesian town that was lacking any white people, and we were now expected to believe some big Western guy came aboard our boat, passed the crew sitting on the only place you could board the boat, walked into the dining saloon, and down to the cabins without making a sound or saying hello?
Perhaps it was another ghost.
We spun around, eager to catch Tracey out and get her some mental help. As we turned, we saw, from the corner of our eyes, the balding head of a tall white man nonchalantly descending below decks to our cabins.
It was just a glimpse, and to be honest, our brains were having trouble connecting the dots – we were at anchor off shore, hadn’t seen another white person in 12 days, and it was dark. It was probably a ghost.
I ran down the stairs, and there, standing in one of the empty cabins, was a tall white guy unpacking his bags. Ghosts don’t have bags, and ghosts don’t introduce themselves as Stanislov.
Thankfully, Stan was a large Russian and very friendly, and we were all cowards, so he suffered no physical harm. Once we worked out he wasn’t a ghost, we assumed he was a thief. After all, English was his second language and he wasn’t very good at it, so it took a while to find out his story.
Thankfully, instead of hitting him on the head with a Bintang, we gave him one to drink and learned he was on board to make some repairs. He was supposed to be on the boat during the day, but his flight was delayed, hence the late-night arrival. Tom, the owner of the boat, had completely forgotten about it and hadn’t told us to expect a large, ghostly white, hard-to-understand Russian that day.
And so, with a ghost, a goat, and a whole lot of laughter, our journey came to an end...