The Ferryman

The Ferryman


Chapter 1:

The endless pitter patter of rain showered onto the now-darkened roof tiles of the brick wall houses. The dim moonlight illuminated the slightest of cracks, yet all that could be seen were the drops that splashed onto the pavement. But when dawn broke, only a light drizzle trickling down the gleaming stone paths could be heard.
Wandering the town of Arlos was Andreas, pacing through the foggy streets dimly lit by rusty lamp posts and lanterns, an apple in his fingers. Gloomy alleyways nested themselves between every building, giving refuge to the rats and bugs. The ground underneath squelched as he tip-toed around the moss and debris that had gathered up during the rain. He was careful not to ruin his ruffled tunic that was gifted to him by his mother, it was the only pair he had. He stopped at the door to his house, its design, identical to the many other brick homes. He heard screaming from inside, one burly and the other, old, as if speaking in archaic tongue. Rotten planks snapped as he climbed the stairs.
“I’m home!” A glass vase shattered against the brittle walls. The interior of the home was shabby, a fireplace was situated in the hearth and placed in front were two laid-back chairs. Sitting on one of them was a lady of age, her flesh melted along her bones, her eyes losing their vivid glow, and a face grimaced with disgust. She was sick, anyone could tell by her figure. Skinny, raggard, chapped lips with a raspy breath.
“If only you didn’t exist!” She yelled, throwing another vase; Andreas liked that vase, it was given to him by his uncle, “and if that father of yours was more competent.” A shy creak of a door can be heard upstairs. Andreas dragged his feet across the damp carpet littered with booze and porcelain shards.
“Here’s a gift.”
“An apple?” She spat.
“I got it from a friend down the street.” Stole… from a friend, but they never saw my face. She took a bite, her teeth chattering as she chewed bitterly on the fruit. Andreas gazed at her in pity, she had once been a gorgeous maiden. He could imagine her hazel skin warmly glowing by the fireplace, she would laugh and tell stories about the men who pursued her and the man whom she fell in love with. But now, she was none of that.
“How is father?” Andreas saw her fingers twitch.
“He’s upstair, still crying over his friend,” She grumbled, leaning back, “that senile fool has yet to forgive himself.”
The rain stopped and the chirping of crickets soon followed. The sun was now bright in the cloudless sky. Andreas sat alone by the riverside, skipping rocks and watching the ripples disperse back and forth. He sighed, a swift frown, it was a frequent occurrence… almost practiced.
“How many days have I sat here,” he whispered to the birds, “months? Years?”
Another rock skipped. He had an elegant way of living, cross-legged with arms intertwined, as if posing for sculptors. A charming melancholic expression and a faint sapphire glow from his eyes. For that, his mother hated him for his beauty, ranting about how he stole her’s; maybe the curse was her unwillingness to leave that pride. It was after the sun began setting that he had stopped scrambling the sand for rocks.


Chapter 2: (First person)

I remember that day my father came back from the war, he was a noble soldier, boisterous and tenderhearted. I was young, small enough for him to carry me with one arm. But today was different, he was not the man I knew, he didn’t have the bright blue eyes, the effervescent smile, nor the figure.
“I am sorry, Andreas,” that was the first time I heard his voice tremble. I always saw him as a bear, his back towering like a giant, and his legs, the trunks of oak trees. There was nothing in the world that could hurt him as much as this did. I sat on his lap and tugged at his leggings. I wasn’t old enough to talk.
“Drew, what happened?” mother…no. Lady Harlost yelled from the kitchen; what is there now was a mere shade abandoned by her
“I killed a man… someone I knew,” he sobbed, “he shouldn’t have died for my sake.”
“Who?”
“Polus, I killed him. I still remember the sight of blood on my blade… he told me something about a curse, and he wanted himself dead,” the soldier choked on his words. He didn’t want to continue, it pained him to retell the event. I remembered Lady Harlost hugging the three of us, gently whispering prayers to soothe his cries and soon after the leaves turned orange in Autumn, mother became who she is now. All while the fireplace burned bright.
The first argument started a month after mother’s hair began shedding. We heard a horrible shriek from her room during a foggy night, strands of golden hair were scattered on the wooden floors along with the broken remains of a comb. And then we found her, weeping in the closet. The neighbors had called the guards, suspecting of a scandal. It was a restless night. I watched all of it happen and didn’t lift a finger.
Time flew, and climbing oak trees became a pastime for the children in the town. The soft sounds of rain were masked by the noises in the tavern of rowdy bards and bearded men gulping steins of beer. I stopped leaving the house while father and mother argued; they wouldn’t hurt each other in front of their child.
“Aren’t you tired of fighting?” I would mutter, but I was too afraid to let my words out.
“Stop crying already!” Mother yelled from her chair, it was still in pristine condition. Nothing yet reeked of booze and rot, only a clutter of armor piled in the corner with the odor of sweat. It was peace waiting to be shattered.