Disappear: Into Shadow

- CHAPTER TWELVE -

Bong.

The lonely bell's toll echoed again. Looking around, Michael found himself in thick pea soup fog once again. He could only see a matter of feet in any direction, but felt Death was once again standing next to him. From patches where the heavy fog cleared, Michael guessed they were on the sandy banks of a river. What little black water he saw moved with a fast current. As it rushed past, the water steamed as though fed by hot springs.

Michael squinted, hoping to peer through the fog. Turning to her, he asked, "Now what?"

"We wait for our ride. He shouldn't be long."

"Our ride?"

"Yes, the one who can carry us across."

Michael thought back to his most recent life. With some difficulty, a memory percolated to the surface of his mind. A memory he thought long forgotten. "Not Charon?" He asked.

"The Ferryman himself."

"I thought he was a myth."

"He's as real as any of us. After all, I'm a myth," She answered. "In these places, everything ever imagined is real, Michael."

"How's that possible?"

She knelt down by the river's edge, dipping her fingers in the water. Her fingers traced phantom images amongst the ripples. "A few moments ago, you wondered how you could feel without possessing a body. You still feel because we exist in thought. The mind is where feelings, emotions and dreams live. What a body feels is interpreted in the mind, and that's where you find yourself now." Her patterns finished, she rose, facing Michael, "We're in the buffer zone. A neural storage ground for broken human consciousness. There are three layers acting like filters between the physical world and the other world. These are almost limitless flat places lying between the physical and the spiritual."

"The fog?

"Yes. Between Heaven and Hell, the fog is everywhere. It's the caulking, a fabric between the physical world and the world of the spirit. Holding the various worlds and realms together. These places are for souls unable, unaware or unwilling to let go of the physical."

"Hold on, how could you not know you're in Hell?"

"Sometimes that's a very difficult thing. I warn you, this is a confusing place."

The fog rolled about, clearing over the flat and fast moving black water.

"Here he comes," She said.

Michael scanned the water to catch a first glimpse of this mythical figure. He was not disappointed. A shadow wreathed in a red glow began to form. It grew larger and darker until a vessel pierced the bank of fog on its approach to the Stygian shores.

The tall curving prow of Charon's boat was a carved dragon's head. Its eyes burned a fierce red in contrast to the blackened oak of the figure's face. The light of the eyes seared through the fog, clearing the air. The fog hanging about the shoreline caught the light. Diffused, it bathed them in a warm red aura. The craft's body, reminiscent of a Viking longboat slid out of the fog until finally its stern broke into the clear air.

Swathed in a flowing, black hooded cloak, a tall, hunched figure was at the helm. Michael, his jaw almost touching the sandy ground, could not see a face in the shadows of the ferryman's hood. Charon gave his punt one last push against the riverbed, gliding his craft the remaining few feet towards his waiting passengers. With a whisper against the sand, the boat came ashore.