With a gasp I shot awake, lying on my back in the middle of an empty street. A heavy mist had rolled in, blanketing the landscape in a white haze. I picked myself up off the asphalt and put a hand to my head, expecting to feel some amount of pain, but to my surprise there was nothing. I pulled myself off the road and sat down on the curb, still trying to process all that had happened. Images were racing through my mind, too quick for me to make any sense of; a hand, a girl, headlights, then nothing. Staring into the middle distance my mind began to go blank, as it did the fog only became thicker until the world became a white-washed void.
Time passed around me, but I could not tell how long. All the while the fog refused to let up, keeping me trapped in my enthrallment. However, a figure appeared in the corner of my vision that broke me out of this trance, a dark spot in the far distance, seemingly stood atop the thick fog. Despite my inability to make out any details of the figure due to its distance, it gave me a point on which to focus in the white void, and so I watched the black smudge intently as it slowly grew on the blank canvas. As the figure approached, I began to be able to make out details about it. It was a tall, thin man dressed in a long flowing black tunic, standing atop a small boat which seemed to glide through the air atop the mist. The man pulled the boat up beside me, looking down on me from his perch.
“Martin James," he called out to me in a low voice, graveled with age "it's time you come with me."
Looking up to this man, our eyes met, and I was suddenly filled with a sense of comfort. His eyes were tired with dark circles underneath, but there was a twinkle of kindness and understanding in them. Almost subconsciously I found myself climbing into his boat. Suddenly I felt small, like a child seated upon his grandfather's knee. Shortly after I had gotten myself seated, the man took a long oar and pushed it with a mighty shove into the white mist below, its tip disappearing into fog.
"Th- thank you," I said in a shaky voice, looking back towards the man from my seat.
The man gave out an amused chuckle, "I haven't received so much as a thanks since the Greeks tried to pay me for my services." He must have sensed my confusion, after a short pause he began to speak again. “I believe you may have heard of me. My name is Charon, the ferryman. As a psychopomp it is my duty to guide dead souls to the afterlife.”
“Do you mean…”
“Unfortunately, yes my friend.” He said in a more somber tone. “While your actions were heroic, they lead to your death. But as far as deaths go, being hit by a truck isn’t the worst way to go. The fact that you didn’t even realize you had died is a testament to how quick and painless it was.”
“But, my niece…” I stammered
“Lily is fine. Where a soul appears in Limbo correlates to where they died on the mortal plane.” Charon explained “If she didn’t appear alongside you, that means the truck didn’t kill her.”
I let out a deep sigh, feeling more at ease. We continued traveling for a while in silence, the fog eliminating all sense of direction in me, forcing me to trust Charon’s guidance. As we continued, a thought began creeping its way into my consciousness, a dangerous thought, yet somehow it filled me with a sense of hope.
"This is a dream," I muttered to myself, but once the words left my lips, they filled me with confidence. I turned to face Charon once again and repeated myself with vigor. "This is a dream, I'm in a coma and this is all a hallucination."
Charon's face darkened, seemingly disappointed in my claim. His reaction sparked a new sense of dread in me that I could not place.
"This is a dream," I stammered again "a-and if I don't wake up, I might die for real!" My dread gave way to panic. The narrative I had formed in my head was compelling; it insisted that I do something to free myself from my current situation. In a moment of desperation, I stood up in the boat, my shifting weight throwing both myself and Charon off balance. Charon reached his arm out and steady me, preventing the small boat from rocking any further.
“Calm down, my boy!” He insisted, sitting me back down he jabbed the oar into the mist. While the fog still prevented me from seeing the boat’s movement, I could feel our motion halt.
“A psychopomp’s duty is to guide a soul to the afterlife,” he explained in a disheartened tone, “but I cannot force you to make this journey. If you wish, you may leave my company to chase after this fantasy you have created. But know this, souls are not meant to remain in Limbo. Remain here too long and it will drive you mad with regret. There is a chance that you may be found by another psychopomp, but there are thousands of souls trapped here in Limbo and never enough of us. Our code dictates that if you refuse to follow me, I cannot do more than what is reasonably expected to persuade you otherwise.”
I sat stunned, like a child after being scorned. His serious tone snapped me out of the delusion I was creating.
“It’s not fair.” I said dejectedly. Charon sighed heavily
“It rarely is.” he replied.
With these words of understanding having passed between us I watched as the fog which had up until this point had white-washed the entire world dissipated, if only slightly. If I focused, my vision could just barely begin to pierce through the fog, allowing me to just barely see the outline of the buildings of my hometown which lie beneath.
Seeing that I was not about to leave his company, Charon began piloting the boat once again. With the building outlines providing me a frame of reference I could see that we were traveling at a comfortable pace, mainly following the street paths. While I could recognize that the buildings belonged to my hometown, I had difficulty pinpointing where we were for a majority of the time.
I was peering through the fog, trying my best to figure out our location when suddenly another figure materialized from it. It was that of an older woman. She was hunched over, her head darting back and forth like a feral animal detecting danger on all sides. Morbid curiosity kept my eyes locked on this woman. I was about to point out her presence to Charon, but before I could, our eyes met as she suddenly became aware of our presence.
“Charon!” She yelled in a fury, darting up to the boat, but stopping short, almost as if she did not dare come any closer “I told you to stay away from me!”
As she approached, I started to recognize the figure. It was the old librarian Anna Smith who had died in her sleep a few months back. The local children had started a rumor that she wasn’t truly gone though and that her ghost still haunted the library.
“And which wayward soul have you ensnared now you terrible demon?” She continued in an accusatory voice. Charon just stood silently, ignoring the old woman’s rants the way one might ignore a beggar on the street, “Is that young Martin you have in your boat there?” She seemed appalled by the thought, “Martin!” she began calling out to me, hurriedly trying to match the boat's pace from her own safe distance, “While I am very sorry to see you in a place like this, I am more disappointed to see you associating with this devil! Come out of that boat this instant and join me! Don’t let this devil tempt you with his promises of an afterlife, after all, he’s the reason I am here! He’s the one that killed me!”
Her voice became more aggressive and more urgent as Charon steered the boat away from her.
"Such a sad soul," Charon muttered as we pulled just out of earshot from Ms. Smith "so self-absorbed that if she couldn't come to accept her own death, then nobody else should."
I had known Ms. Smith in life. She had always been a well-meaning woman; however, there was no denying that in her old age she had begun to grow bitter. There was a small part of me that felt the need to defend her from such a vicious attack.
"What did she mean when she said you killed her?"
With that question Charon sighed and hung his head.
"Being a psychopomp is a thankless job. Often you are the first thing people see after they've died. Some people are just looking for someone to blame. Anubis, Thanatos, Grim all of them have been accused of being an incarnation of death in the past. To her, I'm some demon who stole her soul away and is trying to tempt her away from some noble path. The best I can do is hope Azrael finds her soon, he's always had better luck with her type."
His response was filled with an air of sorrow and regret. I could tell that he wished he could do more for her, but her mind was already made up. I looked back to see Ms. Smith’s figure trembling in the distance, halfway consumed by mist. Just then we heard a blood curdling scream which seemed to surprise even Charon
“DAMN YOU, MARTIN! YOU DESERVE YOUR FATE!”
The curse chilled me to the bone, but not long after it was said was its source completely out of sight.
After our encounter with Ms. Smith, I began feeling hollow inside. I could sense that Charon had wanted to do more for her, and that mentality was beginning to brush off on me. I looked back towards the direction we had left her in. The fog had continued to fade even further, causing the surrounding world to appear in black and white, but still she was nowhere to be seen. I let out a sigh, and having heard it, Charon reached down to put a hand on my shoulder. That simple act of reassurance soothed my nerves, allowing me to put the experience behind me for the time being.
With the fog having dissipated as much as it had, I was finally able to begin piecing together where we were. At the edges of my senses I began to detect motion from within the remaining mist. Charon seemed to notice it too as he was intentionally steering the boat away from the movement. I guess he noticed my attention shift from the far distance to what was in front of me as he felt the need to explain.
“Limbo sits just above the mortal plane. The two can’t help but bleed over from time to time; that’s where their concept of ghosts comes from. What you are seeing is what it’s like from the other side of the veil.”
Now able to view more of my surroundings, I occupied most of my time staring out upon my old hometown, soaking in its scenery one last time. Upon reflection, it surprised me that despite how long I had been traveling with Charon that we had not yet departed the small town, as though for all this time we had been together we had simply been meandering. I was pondering this when something caught my eye in the near distance; it was my childhood home, exactly as I remembered it. At its sight, a sense of desperation flooded over me.
“Charon!” I called out, barely capable of hiding my emotions “That’s the house I grew up in! Where my parents live!”
“It would seem as though it is,” Charon said, seemingly indifferent to the revelation. His lack of interest in the topic concerned me; every fiber in me being told me I needed to be in that house.
“We have to go over there” I demanded
“What for? It’s nothing you haven’t already seen in life.”
I could feel myself losing my patience with his disinterest
“I need to be there. I’m going, with you or without you.”
I felt ashamed as soon as the words left my mouth. I knew that I was using Charon’s guilt over Ms. Smith, and who knows how many other souls, against him, but I was beginning to grow desperate.
“And what happens if you do not find what you are hoping for?” He asked sternly. “If this is the path you wish to follow, I will accompany you for the time being, but if you cannot move on from what you find, I cannot stay with you any longer.”
With seemingly a heavy heart, Charon pushed down on his oar and brought us closer to the house. Before we had even come up to the curb of the street, I was already beginning to pick myself up out of the boat. Touching ground, I didn’t even wait for Charon to come with me and made my way straight for the door.
Reaching the doorway, I found it to already be open. The mist from outside hung heavily inside; in its movement I could see faces and figures of people I had known. Friends and family gathered together for one reason, my funeral.
I wandered aimlessly through the faded image of my old house, my mind having gone numb with grief as the mist slowly grew into focus, revealing the image of who lied beneath. Charon had made his way to the house as well but had stopped short from entering. He looked upon me with pity, but made no attempt to join me within. As I continued to pace through the house, I felt tears beginning to form in my eyes seeing all those present, knowing that they were mourning me and not being able to talk with them one last time. I had been struggling to bit back the tears and joining in the choir of stifled sobs which had slowly begun resonating in the quiet house.
A soft breeze blew from the open door, dissipating many of the hazy figures leaving only a handful remaining. My mother sat on the sofa, profusely sobbing into her hands. Next to her was my sister, doing her best to comfort her, but clearly holding back tears herself. Staggering, I sat myself on the other side of my mother, I began to break down and started sobbing into her ethereal shoulder. For a while no time seemed to pass as my mother and I mourned for each other, separated by the veil of death. I couldn’t bring myself to leave her side and realized why Charon was so reluctant to my being here. I raised my eyes towards the door frame, to find Charon still there, but it had been obvious that he had taken a few steps back from the last I saw him. I began feeling myself growing bitter seeing that he had begun his departure from me. How could he take me away from the people that I loved! It was cruel! It was unfair!
I had begun slipping further and further into my own self-pity when I caught the slightest movement by the door. I breathed in a shaky breath and stood up from my place next to my mother and began drawing myself closer to the source.
Alone in the corner of the room, just out of sight of any peering eyes, sat a little girl. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks had been wet with tears, but none were currently flowing from her eyes. She was staring at her hand perplexed, as if she was trying to make sense of everything that was occurring. A sling hung from around her neck, in it a fresh plaster cast unblemished by the signatures of her peers.
I placed my hand on top of Lilly’s head, and crouched down to look her in the face. In her eyes I saw fear, confusion and sadness, but I also saw strength and resolve. I planted a kiss on her forehead, which miraculously she seemed to recognize as she looked up in surprise, placing her hand to where my lips had touched.
I stood up, a small but present smile growing on my face. I took a small moment to drink in my family one last time before rejoining Charon outside. Stepping through the doorway, I found myself awash in a world of light. All the fog had completely been swept away allowing me to see for miles, much further than I had been able to while living. Color too had returned to my surroundings, appearing much more vividly and vibrantly than before. Looking carefully, I could still see the outline of those living on the mortal plane, but for the most part they had been drowned out by the vibrancy of the colors around me. However, in the distance, dark figures peppered the landscape, dark splotches on an otherwise pristine image. I gazed around, both soaking in the beauty while also wondering what the figures could be. Then I noticed one figure, pacing back and forth at the entrance to the library, looking upset, but also worried. It was Ms. Smith; these were other souls, still waiting to move on into the afterlife with no psychopomp to guide them.
Stood next to his boat, Charon looked upon me with a glimmer of pride in his eyes, nodding in approval at my ability to make peace.
“Well done my boy, you have overcome your grief and are ready to move on to the afterlife.” He made a gesture to the air beside him as a pair of doors made of golden light appeared.
“You could do that the whole time.” I teased jokingly.
Charon let out a brief chuckle. “I’m not the one who did this” He corrected me, “this is your gate. Psychopomps are not gate keepers, nor are we physical guides to the afterlife, we are emotional guides. You can’t pass on to the next life while you are still bearing the burden from the previous one. Now go,” he commanded me, “A new life awaits you.”
I approached the gate slowly and softly placed my hand to the handle. I took a breath of anticipation in, but before I could push it forward my eyes caught a glimpse of the dark smudge in the distance that was Ms. Smith, still pacing in front of the library, then to another figure by a bus stop waiting for a bus that would never come, and yet another figure stood in the middle of the street looking straight up to the sky. Charon saw my hesitation, in a moment of confusion he silently pressed me for an explanation.
“What about the other souls?” I asked him
“They will eventually have to accept their fate like you have, some manage to do so on their own, but without a psychopomp, many will be stuck here for a while. It's a shame really, nowadays there are never enough of us to help everyone. The best we can do is help those we can.”
My hand fell from the gate’s handle. “I can’t go.” I whispered, “Not if there is something I can do to help them.”
“My boy,” Charon said in bewilderment “what exactly are you saying?”
I thought for a moment, but the more I dwelt on it the more certain I became of it.
“I want to be a psychopomp.” I declared with unwavering confidence.
“Well then,” he said, grinning widely and patting me firmly on the back “go ahead. My job was to get you to this point. What you do from here is your choice. But however far you go, and for however long, remember you can always return here when you're ready.”
With that, Charon climbed back onto his boat and gave me a wave as he pushed off and traveled out of sight. I took a good long look at my gateway and nodded to myself as I stepped down to the town below me.
A dark figure paced back and forth through the fog of the void. The moment her words left her mouth, Ms. Smith had regretted them. She did not really wish the young Mr. James any harm, yet she lashed out at him in such a cruel way. She couldn’t bring herself to leave the spot at which it had happened, debating furiously with herself whether she should try to chase after him through the fog to apologize, but every time she took a step in the direction he left her she remembered the face of that horrible Charon that he was with. To think that he would ally himself with death! What is the purpose of life but to fight back against it! That’s how she came to be as old as she was, she thought to herself proudly. But in that moment she realized that conviction was the reason her long life was so unchanging, going to bed each night, not tired from her day but from life itself. No one gets to live forever; it was foolish of her to not take advantage of the life given to her. Now the only thing left for her to look forward to was the eternal embrace of death. Maybe that was why she was so unwilling to follow Charon when he had offered to guide her. She knew now that she was afraid that the afterlife too would be as static as the life she had left behind.
Lost in her own contemplation, a warm and familiar voice called out to her through the fog.
“Ms. Smith” it asked, “would you like to take a walk with me?”
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