The Ferryman by Leslie Thompson (black male authors TXT) 📖

“It is the same as ever,” replied Euryale from the cliffs of Hades. “Full and fearful. Be warned, the Norse witch seeks you.”
“What does that crazy bitch want now?” Charon snarled. Of all the fallen deities of the ancient past, the old Viking goddess of death was one that the Ferryman despised. Hel had never been the most stable of gods, and she enjoyed being cruel about it too. To add to her malevolent disposition, the woman was a filthy, lice-ridden hag on top, while her lower half was decomposing corpse. She had atrocious body odor consisting of blood, sweat, and rot. Her nasty funk was so bad that it offended the Heavenly Host, and the angels gave her gifts of soaps, perfume, and deodorant on every holy day.
Hel had been demoted from her lofty position as goddess to caretaker of the various creatures and monsters that inhabit the lower realms. She had raged at the loss of her social prestige, but took to her new responsibilities like a vulture to road kill. She was often seen wandering the Underworld with scores of beasts in tow, giving them treats and calling them her ‘precious babies’.
“Cerebus has escaped her custody and Hel foolishly suspects that you have stolen him away,” Euryale said. “It is her desire to confront you and demand the hellhound’s immediate return.”
“Thanks for letting me know,” Charon growled.
“Fare thee well,” called Sthenno as the boat slipped between the cliffs.
“What is Hel doing here?” Walter asked. “I thought the Styx was a Greek place.”
“It was. Hel’s dominion was absorbed when she was demoted. Lucifer rules there now,” Charon explained.
“Why not send her off with Hades and the others?”
“Probably because the woman is insane, and she has body odor so bad that even the angels fear to get too close to her,” Charon replied. “Hel is happy enough with her beloved pets.”
“She sounds like the crazy cat-lady,” Walter observed dryly.
Startled by the irreverent comment, Charon laughed for the first time in a thousand years. The evil, ugly sound provoked a fit of terrified weeping from the souls at the back of the boat.
“Crazy cat-lady,” he chortled. “I’ll have to tell that to the gorgons. They’ll love it.”
They emerged from the cliffs and entered a valley. At its center was an oblong lake with waters as smooth as polished onyx. The lake was surrounded by meadows filled with black pumice stones, bordered by a forest of thick brambles and twisted oaks. In the distance, mountains like black teeth bit at the sky made blood red by a distant inferno.
More than the hideous landscape, the creatures that cavorted in the valley struck horror in the ferry passengers. A massive flock of harpies with hags’ faces and vultures’ bodies swooped up and down on frantic souls and tormented them. Some distance from them was a large man wearing nothing but a holly wreath and small shimmering wings sprouting from his shoulders. He carried a torch the wrong way up, and waved a sword over his head. He laughed and bellowed as he charged spirits and stuck his sword into any that fell into his reach. In a small pocket of peace, caught between the torment of the harpies and the sword-wielding maniac, was another naked man with wings sprouting out of his temples. He sang sweet nothings to a group of befuddled souls that staggered drunkenly about. Occasionally, one of these drugged spirits wandered into the path of a harpy or the mad swordsman and was torn apart. The soul would reappear seconds later, and the naked singer would flutter to them and pop a mushroom into their astonished mouths.
“What is this place?” Walter asked as his sagging face contorted with fear. “Is this Hell?”
“Not at all. Hell is much worse than this,” Charon said. “This is the place where the redeemable sinners go to be rehabilitated and achieve salvation.” He moved the boat out of the current and poled to the nearest shore. His dark eyes scanned the gloomy landscape for any sign of Hel. He saw nothing to indicate that the hag was nearby, so Charon wanted to make this delivery as fast as he could, before she realized that he was there.
“So what is this place called?” Walter rephrased the question, his voice carrying a note of horrified sorrow. The tone sounded strange to Charon, and he saw that the old man stared morosely at the scene around him.
“We are in the Acheron region of the Styx,” the ferryman answered. “This is where most of the dead get off.”
“I see. And what happens to the souls who stay here?”
“The harpies torment thieves, liars, and con-artists,” Charon said pointing at the sky. Then he pointed to the whooping swordsman. “The guy with the sword is Thanatos. He gets his rocks off poking adulterers, bitch-beaters, and thugs with his big shiny sword. The fellow with the wings sprouting out of his head is Hypnos, and he performs pharmaceutical experiments on drug dealers, gamblers, and prostitutes.”
“Do they stay for all eternity?” Walter asked with a nod to the tormented.
“Only until Judgement Day. Most of these souls will reform and be allowed to ascend to Heaven. Those who refuse to see the error of their ways will be sent to Hell.” Charon watched Walter digest the information, wondering why he looked so ill. “If you’re going to puke, do it out of the boat. I don’t want to smell ecto-plasmic stink for the rest of this trip,” he snapped. Walter nodded and turned to face the outside of the boat. With no sight of Hel, Charon beached the ferry on Acheron’s shores.
In every trip, there was always a portion of souls who refused to get off the ferry and face the consequences of their lives. They begged and pleaded, or they denied any wrongdoing and shifted blame. Charon could see the stains on their consciences like blood on snow and showed no kindness. Under normal circumstances, Charon simply let them fret themselves into fatigue and chucked them onto the shore like sacks of fertilizer. Then he would yell, “Come and get it!” and watch the harpies collect them as he pushed back into the water.
However, with the threat of the crazy cat-lady hanging over him, he didn’t have time for a leisurely soul disposal. Charon grasped a long handled hammer he kept to fend off pesky demons, beasts, and enthusiastic angels and braced it over his narrow shoulder. He glared down the length of the boat, noticing that there were plenty of fighters in this cargo.
“This is the last stop for most of you primates!” Charon announced. “Anyone who resists will be dealt with quickly and severely!” He brandished the hammer at them to prove that he meant what he said. Several of the potential troublemakers became immediately complacent. Still, a few individuals remained determined to be stupid. Charon moved through the ferry, shoving the appropriate spirits on the shoulder and snarling, “Get out!”
When he reached the incorrigibles, he simply cracked them on the skulls with the hammer and tossed them into the sand. With the boat nearly empty, Charon glanced about to make sure he hadn’t missed anyone. There were three men and a woman looking smugly relieved to still be there, and two small, weeping children left onboard. Someone was missing. He looked at the shore and found Walter standing among the departures.
“What the hell are you doing?” Charon shouted. “Get your wrinkled ass back on the boat!”
“I’m not staying?”
“Do you want to stay?”
Without answering, Walter hopped back on the ferry and sat back down with a relieved smile on his face.
“What were you thinking?” Charon snarled. “Do you have any idea how much paperwork I would have had to fill out if you went missing? Then there would be angels and demons destroying the place, trying to see who would get to you first. This place would be a mess for decades.”
“My apologies,” Walter said warmly. “I truly believed I belonged here.”
“Are you a petty criminal?” Charon snapped.
“No. But neither were most of those people,” Walter pointed to the hysterical crowd on the shore. His eyes suddenly widened with fear and he gripped the bench hard with his gnarled hands. “Let’s go!” he cried.
Charon could smell the source of terror for the stoic old soul. Hel’s stink wafted into his nostrils and curled his lip into a sneer.
“Where is my baby?” Hel shrieked from the water’s edge. Behind her, the monstrous hound Garm burst out from the twisted oak forest with all the gleeful energy of a house sized puppy. The crowd saw him and let out shrieks of terror and fled for their dead lives. Like any four-eyed canine, Garm gave chase. He barked happily with his long tongue lolling out of his fanged mouth.
“I don’t have time for you!” Charon snarled at Hel. “Go find Cerebus on your own and leave me alone, you wretched hag!”
Hel regarded him hatefully then moved in a blur. She was on the Ferryman, clawing and biting, before he could bring his hammer up to defend himself. He fell with the death goddess howling and clinging to his chest like a rabid spider monkey. Charon struggled to keep her from setting her rotting teeth into his flesh, and fended off blows while she plaintively cried for her beloved baby.
“Pardon me,” Walter said suddenly. “But isn’t that Cerberus over there?”
Hel glared at Walter where he stood at the back of the boat with the remaining souls. The men and woman cowered behind him, and the two children bawled into his legs. Smiling, Walter pointed to the place where Garm was frolicking about the hordes of panicked souls. Outraged at having their fun interrupted, the harpies assaulted Garm’s four eyes while Thanatos and Hypnos stabbed blades and pummeled their fists against his legs and torso. The hound barked and snapped at the angry creatures and had a grand time.
“My baby!” Hel squealed and jumped into the lake. She shrieked affectionate platitudes as she paddled rapidly for the far shore. Walter laughed at the sight as Charon rushed to get the boat back in the water.
“You do know that the hound was not Cerberus,” Charon said as they reached the end of the lake and left the chaos in Acheron behind. They slipped unnoticed into Lethe, the River of Forgetfulness.
“I know,” Walter looked pleased with himself.
“You also realize that if Hel hadn’t been fooled, she would have ripped you to shreds and eaten you,” Charon said.
“Then it’s a good thing that she is as blind as she is crazy,” Walter replied. “Think of the paperwork you would have to do then.”
“I’m trying not to,” Charon growled.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” the old man said.
“I didn’t thank you.”
“I know,” came his cheerful reply.
“Then stop acting as