The Boatman, page 4
My hands trembled, but I squeezed them together.
“Let’s wrap this up and get home. Ezra looks like he’s been cut up pretty bad.” I steadied Ms. Mabel and walked to the pine box.
“We’re not going to talk about what the fuck just happened?” Ezra asked, a humorless laugh tinging his voice.
I glared at him. “What do you want me to say? That we got too close to a nest or something?”
He chuffed but didn’t say anything.
“Let’s finish this and go home, okay?” Cracking open the casket again, I stood at Larry’s feet. “Final confession is about to start. Anything before we begin?”
Silence. Esther had started to cry, silent tears dripping from her chin. She wrung her hands, shifting weight from one foot to the other.
“We consign Larry Hamboldt, son of Dianne Mabel and husband of Esther Hamboldt, to Sheol. As is tradition, we confess his sins to God and offer toll to the Boatman.” I swallowed hard, peering at the sky. No sign of the birds. Still, my heart drummed away.
“Larry was a sinner. He fought. Gambled. Cheated at cards and stole from his friends and family. He drank in excess and—” I looked at Esther, ready for anything. “—frequented the sin of adultery.”
She tensed up but remained staring at the ground.
“But, he confessed, as men should, and we absolve him of these Earthly short-comings. With this toll, we put him in the ground.” I pulled two silver coins from my breast pocket, laying them neatly on Larry’s stitched eyes. “May he pass to Sheol and find peace he didn’t know here in Potter’s Field.”
I closed the coffin softly.
“Amen,” we said in unison.
Picking up the hammer and nails from the table, I lined the first one up, sending it halfway home in a single blow. I finished it with the next strike, circling around and hammering the rest in, one by one.
Once I was finished, Ezra walked around and stood near the top of the coffin. I took the opposite end. With a grunt, we lifted him off the ground, shuffling to the hole.
As we approached the edge of the grave, the ground crumbled under my foot. I scrambled, clutching onto the corner of the casket. Tried to save myself but the wall of the grave collapsed completely, pulling me to the side and into the grave. The casket fell lopsided, sliding into the hole.
Larry rolled inside the box, the sudden shift flipping the box and yanking me onto the lid. I sprawled out, shoulder and back pressed against the rough wood.
One of the coins finished rolling around, ringing against the pine as it spun to a stop.
“Goddammit!” I yelled, scrambling to my feet and to the surface.
Ms. Mabel looked at me wide eyed. I took a deep breath but it did nothing for my nerves.
“I’m sorry you all had to see that. I’ll fix this and get him covered. You all head home now.”
Silence. The setting sun pressed down on me. Thought about just joining Larry in his rest.
“Everyone is welcome for drinks this afternoon at the saloon. On the house,” Ezra said, waving people away from me.
“Thank you, Ezra.” I stood, brushing my pants. Futile. “Get that cut looked at. I’ll find Des after a while, let her know pokers off.”
He nodded and left with the rest of them, leaving me and Larry.
I stared down into the hole. His casket laid cocked in the hole, one corner dug in so tight I’d have to dig him out to lay him correct. The coins fell off his face. Be surprised if they didn’t.
Would have to fix that.
Even in death, he was a pain in the ass.
5
Obelisk | Sawyer
People treat me as if I were some storybook wretch. Like I’m out here stalking people with my ledger in one hand and a beatin’ stick in the other.
The truth is much more simple.
I help people. They come to me with need and I provide. Fair terms. Clear expectations. But God help me if I come knocking when it’s time to settle.
People don’t appreciate that too much.
The fire fought to stay lit. Wet logs coughed smoke more than they burned, the wood drowned from a week of miserable rain. Most of the towns in these parts were near underwater by now. Maggie and I had been lucky. Mud thickened the trail but it hadn’t slowed us much.
She was steady as… well, a horse.
Smoke coiled into my eyes. I stirred the logs, not that it did much good. The can I was cooking hissed, nestled against the coals and not snug in the least. Beans for dinner. Again.
Behind me, Maggie chuffed and swung her tail, clipped the brim of my hat and nearly knocked it into the fire.
“Easy,” I said, catching it before it dropped into the embers. “Those sugar cubes I gave you back in town are starting to feel like charity.”
She whinnied. Mocking me, maybe.
I found myself arguing with a horse more than most would find normal.
Tried to pick up the can from the coals but my glove was too thin to stop the heat. Drew a sharp breath through my teeth and dropped it, watching it roll on the ground. When we made it back west, I’d see to it we ate properly.
Steak for me. Molasses oats for her.
Anything was better than swamp-smoked fucking beans.
Something caught my eye as I leaned over to grab a spoon. Fast. A smeared, black blur in my periphery. I sat up straight, squinting into the woods. Maggie quit chewing, raising her head off the ground to look as well.
Crack.
Behind me. I whipped my head, turning on my seat to look. Nothing there, but Maggie’s haunches were twitching, irritated.
“Who’s out there?” I yelled. No use. If it was a person, they were up to no good and wouldn’t respond. If it was an animal then the best I could do was scare it.
Maggie grunted, a sound I didn’t recognize from her. Stood my hairs on end. If she was spooked, I was spooked.
Laughter, children’s laughter, rang out from the trunks in all directions. They were above me, around me, nearly in my head.
I pressed my hands into the ground to stand. The earth squeezed like a wet rag and sucked my palms in. Scrambling off the ground, I took a few steps away from the fire. The water had risen above my hem almost as quick as I could stand.
Maggie took a tentative step to me, offering the saddle. I mounted, chills skittering over my skin.
A cool, wet breeze rustled through the limbs above.
“Off he goes, pays his tolls. Two for the eyes, one for the soul.”
Children singing. The same that were laughing only a moment ago. The song pressed against my ears and eyes like I dove too deep in a lake. The words scratched at my teeth, pooled on my tongue. Acrid, yet sweet, almost—
“Off he goes, shoes of clay.”
I dug my heels into Maggie’s sides.
“Go!” I choked, fear cinching my throat.
She didn’t need me to say anything. Before the word left my mouth, she darted, whipping onto the road and ramping up to a full gallop. My knuckles blanched on the reins, lungs gripped by terror.
“The worms are waiting deep below.” The words dangled off the tip of my tongue.
I knew that song. Wanted, no, needed to join in. I kept opening and shutting my jaw, ready to join, but something deep in my gut warned me not to sing. Wasn’t sure how long I could keep fighting it.
The woods whipped past, branches knifing at my face. One slashed across my cheek, opening it up. Warmth ran down and seeped into my week old beard. The trees pressed in, bending over the path. Maggie’s breath chugged, head bobbing up and down with each gallop through the rising water.
“Off he goes—” I clapped a hand over my mouth, biting down on my tongue hard enough to draw blood. A thousand insect legs crawled my scalp and down the neck of my shirt, but stopped dead before I finished the song. The words came before I could stop them, in time with the ghostly children.
“Come on, Maggie,” I encouraged, tapping her light on the neck. Something was right on our tail. I could feel it. Didn’t dare turn. Its hot breath bared down on my neck. I flinched, waiting for whatever it was to sink its teeth into me.
Maggie cut a corner, leaping through a tight gap between trees. She felt it too. She would never take that risk. My chest weighed down, the edges of my vision closing in. Shivered as I leaned into her run.
The mud was getting deeper. Maggie groaned, protesting. She kept on, muscles tight under my legs, trampling through it the best she could.
“Just a little further.” I leaned forward, ducking some branches and keeping the wind off my chest.
We rounded the next bend, moonlight cutting through the canopy in silver slices. Standing in the beams were two ashen children dressed in white. They held hands, smiling at us as we approached.
Maggie screamed in a way only horses can, her hooves digging trenches in the mud.
The sudden stop threw me. I dropped the reins, scrambling to snatch them as I went airborne, but it was too late.
I pitched over the top of her, momentum hurling me forward and dumping me down a steep hill. The ground slammed into me, igniting a sharp stab in my ribs before tumbling down the hill. I caught every branch on the way down, the boughs slicing at my exposed flesh at each opportunity.
Mud coated my clothes, my mouth, my hair. The world spun and spun, painting me in a heavy coat of brown before finally crashing into a trunk at the bottom of the hill.
White sparks of pain lit up my vision, quickly replaced by ink-blots. I tried to gulp a breath but couldn’t. My lungs were stunned and no doubt busted a few ribs. Sitting up, I gasped for breath, panic rising with the water around me.
The ground was actively trying to drown me. My head spun. It didn’t feel real. Couldn’t be real.
Dirt and iron mixed in my mouth. I gathered up enough blood on my tongue to spit it out, the mud wad slapping the thin layer of swamp that cast a long blanket. My chest relaxed, allowing me a full breath that settled my spinning head.
I looked back up the hill. Maggie stood, silhouetted by the glassy moon, pawing at the mud.
She was trying to find a way down to me, but didn’t seem as agitated. The children must be gone.
“Stay up there, Mags,” I called up the hill. “I’m coming back up.”
She huffed, teasing the ledge. She knew better than to follow me down, but I did appreciate the concern.
I found a root on the hillside. I dug my toe in, muscles already tightening from the tumble. Bounced on it twice, testing it. Solid.
I put my weight down, searched for the next foothold.
The root snapped and dropped me back down, nearly on my ass.
“Goddammit!” I shouted.
The water rose another inch.
“Off he goes, pays his tolls. Off he goes, pays his tolls. Off he goes, pays his tolls—”
I froze. They were looping. Closer now.
Fuck no.
I threw one last look at Maggie and dipped into the forest. The ground bogged down, deep puddles and red-brown tacky mud where ground used to be. I trudged through, curling my toes to keep my boots. Each step touched my knee to chest just to suck free from the slop.
My lungs burned. Legs dragged. Couldn’t do this much longer.
“Off he goes, pays his tolls. Off he goes, pays his tolls. Off he goes, pays his tolls—”
My throat sung but I kept my mouth closed. They were in my skull, two ghoulish children skipping in circles around my dying brain and poking at the back of my eyes.
I stumbled forward, barely catching myself in the dirty slog. My palms planted in the mud up to mid forearm. Something cold and hard touched my hand. It crumbled under my touch. Still managed to grab it before standing.
Dripping, I pulled my hand out of the water. A yellow-white antlered skull—a human skull—looked back at me, globs of thick earth dripping out of the bottom and slipping out of the sockets.
I dropped it, a pathetic noise falling from my lips as my stomach bottomed out. It splashed back into the murk as I stumbled backward.
“Off he goes, pays his tolls. Off he goes, pays his tolls—
—RUN!”
A monstrous roar cut off the song, screaming an otherworldly warning.
I sprinted, feet sloshing through the path. Mud clung to me like a second skin, weighing me down. My muscles burned hotter with each step.
Trees grew closer and closer, the gaps between them shrinking. I twisted my shoulders to sneak through a tight clearing. Attempted to jump over a root but my boot sank deep, propelling me forward into a curtain of moss.
I tumbled, crashing through a nest of tiny spiders. It broke open, covering me. I rolled on the ground, gasping through swamp and bugs.
Scrambling to my feet, I ripped my shirt off, spiking it to the ground. Little black legs skittered over my chest and arms.
Panicked, nonsense noises left me as I clawed at my skin. I wiped my hands over my flesh, smearing spider guts all over. Didn’t care. Vile creatures.
Shivering, I picked up my shirt and beat it on the ground. Dry ground. In the frenzy I hadn’t realized the water had disappeared. Hard, ruddy clay stretched out around me, slicked from the rain.
A relieved breath exploded from me.
The singing was gone. The water was gone. I turned on my heel.
Stumbled backward.
“What the fuck?”
A tall, impossibly black spire stabbed out of the ground in the center of the clearing. It hummed, more vibration than sound, and throbbed. It was cut out of reality and I stared into the depths of nothing.
My head spun, trying to focus on it. My eyes couldn’t decide if it was close or far away, vision blurring at the strain.
It didn’t feel built. My legs itched for me to run. This was old, older than I was supposed to see. Looking at it froze every muscle in my body and spun my head. It took all I had to turn away.
The woods formed an imperfect circle, mossy curtains drooping off branches that shivered in the breeze.
I looked around. Invisible eyes bore down on me from all directions. None of this felt real. It was like I was watching a play about a man gone insane in the swamp and I was the headlined cast.
“Maggie?” I hollered. The sound disappeared right in front of my lips, pressure growing in my ears. No sound, not even the bullfrogs warning me.
A slow step forward. Then another. The closer I got the more it evaded logic. My eyes stung trying to look at it.
It wasn’t that it was black… it was nothing. A space erased from sight where something should have been.
My skin grew hotter and hotter. Sweat pooled at my belt, mixing with the soak. The hum swelled. The weight of it pushed on me, yet drew me in. I could almost touch it. My head swelled, filling every inch of what I couldn’t see.
My hand raised, almost on its own, palm out. A knot formed in my throat, so large I fought just to get a good breath. I expected it to slip right through, pull me in, erase me from existence.
The closer I got, I saw my hand’s reflection.
No. Not my hand.
A child’s hand. Streaked in strips of black, decaying veins.
I pressed my hand to the spire. The other hand moved with mine, pressing back.
The moment we touched, water flooded out of my lungs.
I doubled over, vomiting up filthy swamp onto the clay. Tears stung my eyes as I fought for breath, heaving again. And again.
My body convulsed, a final effort to shake loose from the horror.
I was going to drown. Silty water scratched at my throat, water rushing over my fingers and pouring out my nose. I pushed as hard as I could, clearing it from my body.
A final, horrific burst of dark, thin vomit poured out of me. I let out a wet cough, blinking blur out of my eyes.
The ground rocked back and forth.
There was nothing. No hand. No hum.
Two girls walked around from behind the spire. I threw myself back, slipping in my own stomach and the peeling top layer of clay. They reached me before I could find any purchase.
One crouched, grabbing my foot. Her eyes were black and glassy, shimmering in the dim light.
She opened her mouth, dark liquid leaking out.
“Help us.”
6
Frog Song | Desiree
“He was just up the road here.”
I pointed past Sheriff Yellow and into the dark, his horse slogging through the soup to the poker shack. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even ask about the man I saw die.
Just put on that dumb cowboy hat that worsened his baby face and off we were, back into the haunted forest.
“Did you see anything? Maybe who or what attacked him?” He craned his head toward me, face twisted into concern.
I paused, clenching my jaw. He wouldn’t believe me, and definitely didn’t want him to think I was crying wolf.
The image of those two children standing in the path stuck in my head. Dripping, skin striped with decayed veins—
I shook my head.
“No, just him. Didn’t want to stick around in case whatever did that was close behind.”
Yellow’s hand drifted to his gun. It always did when he felt out of control. The people didn’t take well to his lanky authority. Most times, he joined the fights he tried to stop.
I felt for him. He wouldn’t want me to.
“Probably just a bear, Des.”
“Just a bear?”
Yellow snickered under his breath. I frowned.
We entered the wooded path. I looked up, forest looming over me. Whatever remained of the twilight faded through the canopy. Air congealed around us, the frogs finally starting up.
“Grab my lantern, would ya?” Yellow asked. His grip tightened on the leather. He wouldn’t admit it, but he felt it too. Something was off.
I twisted, fumbling the snap that secured it to the saddle. The clasp gave me trouble, but I freed it and clicked the ignition twice.
Nothing.
Tried again. Same result.
“Troubles back there?”
