Last night I dreamt about the Ferryman.
This was the third time that I had seen him and his narrow boat that collects lost souls from the world of the living. I knew that he had come for me.
It had been a cold winter’s night and I had crossed an almost deserted road, when from out of the night a car had hit me flying. I was carrying heroin and smack to a nightclub where my trade would be appreciated. The living was a good one and paid well, but the competition was fierce. Those who had been keen to take my trade had marked me down. As I lay semi-conscious, the lights of the car came back and I heard a door open. Footsteps came towards me and fingers went through my pockets, relieving me of the packets I had brought to trade. I felt the boot, as it hit my side and the noise of the car as it disappeared into the night, before I dropped into uneasy sleep.
I found myself falling. It seemed forever until I hit water. I may have been falling upwards or down. I couldn’t tell. All that I knew was I was in a dark wet place held fast by stringy weeds. I was alone, terrified and lost when I heard the chug, chug of an engine. The sound was as if many people were turning a shaft with great effort at the limits of their strength. It was almost the sound of a great millwheel being turned by many hands.
A light began to show as a long narrow boat began to hove into sight. There were nets hanging from the roof down the sides and into the water. There were many people at the bow, bathed in light from the inside, all wanting to help me. The skipper put the boat into reverse to slow its motion almost to a stop and I reached for the nets to climb aboard. To my mounting horror my rescue did not seem to be so easy. As I reached for the nets, the strands undid and I could not grasp the ropes. The boat began to drift on by, as I struggled to get out of the dark water. Soon there were no nets to grasp and I found myself at the back end of the boat.
At the back, wrapped in a black cloak with a broad-brimmed hat pulled over a misshapen head was a huge manlike shape. His orange eyes were like a cat’s, with wide slits to see in the gloomy darkness. The hands were strong and bony, ending in talons that could tear a bear apart. He unshipped a cruel looking boathook and swung it across the canal towards me and motioned me to hold onto it. As he did so, his hat fell to the side showing two sharp stubby horns projecting from his forehead. His teeth were sharp, pointed and showed when he smiled.
Before the hook touched me I felt myself falling again and I heard him call, “I will come again!”
There were bright lights and pain. I could here voices taut with concern calling instructions.
“Stand away!”
“We got him. Insert drips.”
“Close him up.”
“Take him to recovery after the plaster sets.”
I dropped back into sleep and found myself stood at the back of the narrow boat with the Ferryman.
“Look into the hold,” he said and pointed to the open hatch.
He held me helpless as a small child not yet out of nappies. I could not move and could not shut my eyes. Down in the hold was the engine. My ears had told me right as although a city boy, I had never seen or heard a millwheel. That is what I saw being pushed round and round to turn a propeller shaft and chained to it were the souls of the damned. They were naked, thirsty and hungry, covered in their own mess and stood in a pool of stinking urine. Down there with them were black scuttling things that fed upon them as they toiled. I watched as the bite-marks faded away only to be replaced by sharp little teeth chewing, chewing at their unprotected flesh. At the edges of the hold were other things holding whips.
I screamed!
“This is what awaits you. The boat will judge the next time we meet and if the nets refuse to let you come aboard the bow; then here is where you will come. Always there is a need to turn the wheel to drive the boat. I sail the waterways of mankind’s folly, eternally seeking lost souls to take them to the last lock and judgement. Remember this when you return to the world of the living. Wherever you go, I shall find you. Think carefully about your life and what you do with what is left of it!”
Again; bright lights and pain.
“Stand away!”
“Again!”
“We’ve got him. Nurse, stay with him and hook him up to life support.”
Again I fell into deep slumber.
Morning came and I opened my eyes to find that I was safely in a hospital bed. The pain was constant, but I could cope with it. I couldn’t cope with the visions. Over and over again I looked into the engine hold of that long, dark narrow boat. That hold was a picture of the hell I put my clients in, with the things that I sold them. They could not get away, but I could. I promised myself that my own addiction would be mastered and I would do some good in this world.
The years passed and I found contentment by joining agencies that worked in the poverty-stricken areas of this troubled world. I dug wells and ditches, taught my language in backwoods schools. I even fell in love and reared my own children to be my helpers in my new career. Now I grow old and wait for the soul collector’s final visit. I can only hope that when the boat judges me it accepts that I have done my best to make amends.
I close my eyes and at the edge of my sleep I am aware that he is coming.
