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“Do you get many visitors? How many people seek passage who aren’t—well, you know?”
The ferryman remained silent.
“You know, you’ll have two passengers for the return trip.”
Yet again, the ferryman remained silent.
Alice nodded. “Good talk.”
Alice removed her curved, brimmed witch’s hat and readjusted it on her head. Her eyes glimpsed the tips of her fingers as they lowered. She snapped her fingers, yet nothing happened. She snapped them again and again. Nothing.
Her fingers trembled. The loss of her magick weighed on her mind. Her magick defined so much of her life. It molded her, shaped her into the woman she became. Part of her essence was missing, so easily taken. A choice she freely made and would make repeatedly if it meant she could have Hugo back.
She placed her hand on the wooden seat, her fingers gripping the underside. She tapped the underside. The melodic fidgeting eased Alice’s sense of dread and anxiety. She stopped, shifting on the uncomfortable wooden plank.
The ferryman’s boat wasn’t the pinnacle of luxury. There were no plush leather seats. No cup holders. Nothing. There was only one seat, really. The ferryman stood, and there was a wooden plank in the front. Alice assumed the gap between her and the ferryman was for the unfortunate souls he ferried to the realm of lost souls.
The boat itself was simple. A wood craft. No discerning colors. The wood was a charcoal gray. The long oar matched the boat. A post in the front for the lantern swayed back and forth as they moved forward. The metal ring holding the lantern scraped the hanging hook, yet there was no sound. The only sound was the brackish water splashing against the boat and oar.
Alice slid across the seat and peered over the side. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the dark water. Alice had been running around so much recently trying to find a solution to bring Hugo home, so she never had time to reflect on herself.
Her eyes were tired, weighing heavily by her burden—her guilt. She could see it. There was a spark missing. She normally smiled, but she could only muster a half-smile to mask a sadness. The same mask Hugo wore when they first met.
She now understood the pain and agony he went through. The sensation of being completely alone and helpless. Not knowing what to do. Not knowing who to talk to because no one else understood the situation. Two kindred spirits formed by loss and grief and guilt. Alice splashed away her reflection. She could no longer view the person she had become.
A hand reached out from the water. Its pale, decaying form gripped Alice’s wrist. It tugged and pulled, attempting to drag her under. Alice screamed. Her body crashed into the side of the boat as the hand nearly yanked her over the side.
Alice fought back, attempting to free herself from its grasp. The more she strained, the more the hand pulled her under. Her fingers submerged into the frigid, icy depths. The cold numbed her fingers.
Alice slid off the seat, her knees on the bottom of the boat. Her waist dug into the side, the only thing keeping her from falling over into the water. She leaned back, freeing her hand from a watery grave. The decaying hand still held tight, trying to lurch her back into the depths.
“Help,” she cried. “Please help me.”
The ferryman didn’t respond or react. He relentlessly pushed the boat forward.
The hand mirrored the boat’s movement, seamlessly propelling through the water at the same speed. Alice’s knees dug into the side of the boat, doing their best to keep her fromspilling out. She wrestled to free herself, but struggled to break free from the decaying hand clinging tightly to her wrist. The more she struggled, the more she panicked, the stronger the hand’s grip held onto her.
“Please help,” Alice cried once more.
Nothing from the ferryman.
The black satchel slid across Alice’s back and crashed into the side of the boat. An idea flashed through her mind. It wasn’t much, but she had to try. With her free hand, she flicked her hat off back into the boat. She removed the satchel and gripped low on the strap. She swung the satchel, striking at the hand gripping her.
Each strike was fiercer than the last as panic and fear changed to anger and rage. She pummeled the hand until it let go and she was free. Alice yanked her hand and tumbled back into the boat. She picked herself up and sat back on the seat. She turned toward the ferryman.
“Thanks for the help,” she yelled in a sarcastic tone.
The ferryman didn’t respond.
Alice threw the satchel strap over her shoulder and picked up her hat. She placed it snugly back on her head, readjusting it a few times. She scooted to the center of the seat, avoiding the sides of the boat for the rest of their journey.
After an indeterminate amount of time, a light formed at the end of the darkness. They were nearing the end. Hugo was on the other side of the light. She was closer to her goal, closer to Hugo. Her heart beat faster and faster. Her fingers tapped nervously on the seat. Alice sat up straight, her back arched. She was ready. Ready for whatever laid before her.
The boat emerged from the darkness of the cave and into the lagoon. The dark skies roiled and crashed with lightning. The size of the rock cliff was immeasurable. It spread out as far as Alice could see. Its cliff face disappeared far into the clouds.A slight breeze whipped through the lagoon. A chilling breeze, when exposed too long, beat down on not only the body, but the soul.
Three knocks rang out into the sky. They grew louder and more frequent. It nearly drowned out the sound of wailing—the banshee’s wail. Alice arched her eyebrows as the ghouls wailed and shambled throughout the landscape. Painted white skeleton masks adorned their sunken and gaunt faces. Dark circles surrounded their eyes and where their noses should be. The image of death itself.
Alice caught her breath for a moment. The rest of her body frozen, she clenched her fists tight as her black painted fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. She gulped to clear her mind, freeing herself from an almost catatonic state.
