Chapter Text
“This was the story of a man named Stanley.”
Stanley was standing in the middle of the street on which he had lived for the past fifteen years, surrounded by small pieces of glass. It was not what he remembered doing before, although he had never been the most observant person, nor the most focused one. It would not be the first time he had ended up somewhere else that he had planned to.
“Perhaps you have a few questions for me, Stanley”.
The voice caught his attention. It was deep and firm, with some sort of absolute certainty to it. The person to who it belong was standing a few meters away from him, barely a silhouette visible despite the sky not being fully dark yet. No one else was around, which was unusual for the time of the day. There should have been a few passer-bys, coming home from a long day at work, or bringing their kids home. The voice spoke once more before Stanley could think of a reply. After all, he didn’t know the man in front of him, and was not willing to engage in any form of small talk at the moment. Not that it would have been easy even if he had wanted to, not many people knew sign language anyway.
“I see you are not the talking type. Well, let me do that one from you then. You, my dear Stanley, have died.”
The statement took him by surprise. He was feeling absolutely alive at the moment. Only a few moments ago, he was cleaning his windows, which was a way overdue chore and then… He looked again at the shards of glass around him. Oh. So that was that then. It had been a few months since he had noticed that the fixings of his windows were getting loose, but he had never bothered to repair it. He glanced around once more. The street was different than usual. More quiet, that was for sure, but most importantly, were the end should have been, there was now a large area of water, with a small wooden boat close to where the silhouette was standing. He had never actually believed in any sort of afterlife. His family wasn’t religious, and any God had been some sort of abstract concept for him. Standing there now, in front of this being, was uncanny. Death was supposed to be a vast emptiness, a lost of consciousness, and nothing more. Still, he was feeling almost as he was alive, his body as tangible as it had always been.
“Now, let me introduce myself,” the voice continued. “I am the Ferryman. I am here to take you across the Dark Waters, and into the afterlife.”
The silhouette gestured towards him, inviting him to get closer, and Stanley followed instinctively – what else was he supposed to do – taking a glance at the being as he got closer. The Ferryman was tall, entirely dressed in black with a long hood covering his face, almost a perfect representation of what Stanley was expecting to see as the incarnation of Death itself. He should probably have been scared. After all, he was dead. That was the expected reaction when you were told that your life had just ended. That, or anger, sadness, regret. Perhaps even relief in some cases. But there was nothing. He simply kept walking, getting closer to the boat, and reached for the hand that the Ferryman had extended to help him board the small ship.
“Before we proceed, I would like to ask you one final question. Do you have any last words?
Stanley considered the question. What would that change? No one would hear it anyway, so what was the point. It wouldn’t make any difference. He shrugged, before simply signing:
“No.”
*****
“You see, Stanley, this is the tragedy of your life. It is barely one, barely has enough essence in it to tell a significant story. Or even a short one for that matter. And I am a master at storytelling, I know how to work with almost anything. But even for me, this a challenge.”
Since they had boarded the boat, the Ferryman had not stopped talking for more than a few seconds, complaining with great details about how he found Stanley’s life boring and disappointing in everything. The boat they were sitting on was small, without any roof or cabin and only a few benches, leaving almost no space between Stanley and the Ferryman, who was standing at the front of the skiff, navigating the water with a long pole. So, that was death. A large sea, with no horizon in sight and a being that didn’t stop talking. Trying to ignore the Ferryman’s ramblings, Stanley let his mind wander, focusing his eyes on the vast stretch of water barely lit by a small lantern attached at the front of the boat. It was more peaceful that he had imagined. The horizon had disappeared some time ago – around one or two hours, for what he could tell, although he wasn’t sure time had kept its meaning here – and they were now surrounded by the gentle waves of the water, in which he could see the reflection of the dark blue sky.
“No, no Stanley, this is not going to do it.”
The voice of the Ferryman, a dry and annoyed tone, pulled him away from his reflections.
“You see, I am the only reason you’ll arrive safely on the other side of this sea, the only one able to do this job. The least you could do would be to be slightly respectful and listen to what I’m saying wouldn’t it?”
Stanley sighed. That made some sense, but the conversation had been far from pleasant until now.
“What if I was deaf?” he signed.
“Well that would be different. I can’t expect the impossible for people can I?” signed the Ferryman in reply.
Now, that was new. Not many people knew how to sign, and even less had bothered to learn after finding out Stanley was mute. If the sign for ‘no’ was easily recognisable by the vast majority of people, he had not expected the conversation to go any further. Though it did make sense. People of all nationalities died, so the Ferryman was probably able to communicate using any existing language.
“Especially when they already struggle to do what they actually can,” added the being, with a slight annoyance in his voice. “Now, you are not deaf Stanley are you?”
He shook his head.
“Good. Let me summarise if for you now, since you apparently haven’t been paying any attention. No partner. The only one you ever loved left you when you were 26 because you were too boring and she wanted to live a more fulfilling life. You know, we can’t really blame her though, can we?. Who would want to commit their life to you, Stanley? You almost ended up homeless, as no job wanted to hire a 26 year old man without any skills or proper experience, until your cousin found you a position in his firm. And from there, you spent the rest of your life pushing buttons on a computer in the day and going home in your tiny flat at night, until you died, a few hours ago, without any notable friend that you would have made during this time. Barely any acquaintances.”
There was a small pause in the speech for what Stanley imagined was some sort of dramatic effect.
“It is almost an actual tragedy. However, even that would require some interesting features from the main character, something for people to see themselves in, and you lack all of it.”
Stanley raised his hands, ready to protest, to correct what the Ferryman had just said, but quickly let them down again without signing anything. He had nothing to protest over what had just been said. Maybe the shock from his own death had finally passed as his throat tighten and his stomach suddenly felt heavier. The Ferryman was right. Apart from his work, he had not been doing much of his life, to avoid saying not done anything at all. Woke up every morning of the week, got ready quickly and went to his office, where he pushed some buttons. He could barely describe any more what the purpose of it had been. Maybe some testing of programs or something like that? He had stopped caring early on, constantly repeating the same routing over and over again. Liking stability was a thing. But it had became this only thing in his life. When was the last time he had had a friendly chat with someone that was not a coworker or a shopkeeper? He sighed and the Ferryman paused for a moment. Stanley looked at the waves that were making the boat pitch gently. He had not taken many breaks lately either. Had almost forgotten how it felt to… Well how most things felt actually.
“I see that it’s slowly starting to sink in, Stanley. But it’s too late now, far too late to change anything. Why do you people always realise things when you can no longer fix them?”
Stanley didn’t have any answer to the question. Things had kept coming, one after the other, again and again, without giving him the opportunity to stop. That was how life had been, a pile of things to solve, to deal with, without the time to do much more than simply survive.
“Easy to say when you’ve never tried it, isn’t it?” he replied with fast gestures, furrowing his brows.
“It doesn’t seem that you have tried much more than me, if I want to be fair.”
Stanley ignored him. That crossing would be over at some point or another, he simply had to wait for it. The Ferryman started speaking again, and he did his best to avoid giving him too much attention, focusing once more on the gentle pitch of the boat.
*****
The Ferryman had stopped talking for the past few minutes, which was a first since the start of their journey. Stanley laid down on one of benches. It was nice to had a moment of quiet after everything that had happened. He looked up to the sky. It had gotten darker since he had boarded on the skiff, going form a deep blue to a rich black. A few lights were present in the sky, reminiscent of stars and constellations that he used to watch when he was much younger. It wasn’t starts though. The lights were closer, and brighter than how they were on Earth. More colourful as well, with various shades of yellow, red, blue and green. He glazed at them, noticing their movement across the sky, going away and slowly coming back.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” The voice of the Ferryman was calmer than before.
For once they agreed. It was beautiful.
“It’s lovely.” Stanley smiled.
They didn’t say anything more. There was nothing to add. It was peaceful, and beautiful. Stanley felt his body relax. He closed his eyes, focusing solely on the movement of the boat cradling him, and the comforting sound of the waves, letting his mind drift away.
*****
When Stanley opened his eyes again they had reached a shore and the boat was now moored to a small wood pontoon. Form his position, Stanley was able to distinguish stairs surrounded by old yellow handrails emerging at the end of the wooden path, before quickly disappearing in a fog bank.
“So, this is the end of our journey.”
The Ferryman stopped for a moment, giving enough time for Stanley to properly wake up and sit. That was unusually kind of him. Although, he had probably realised that speaking to him would not make him act faster and that it would probably have the opposite effect. Stanley firmly pressed his hands together, trying to ground himself. More new and unexpected things then. He wasn’t even sure he had actually managed to process his own death. He knew it was the case, but he didn’t feel any different. Still the same Stanley, except that he was now on a boat, with the strange being for sole company.
“I’ll have to ask you to get off the boat now. Please follow the path until its end, and you will arrive where you are meant to be. I can’t say this has been a pleasant journey, but at least it was a peaceful one.”
Stanley felt his stomach drop. Of course the Ferryman would be mocking him once more – Stanley had heard this kind of jokes hundreds of time now, but it would be a lie to say he had ever gotten used to it –, except for the fact that his tone was not exactly the same one as during the trip. He was speaking a bit slower, with his voice slightly deeper. Maybe to make sure he was actually being listened to this time.
“Farewell Stanley,” added the being.
Stanley sighed. The path in front of him felt weirdly familiar and inviting, despite its run-down appearance, and for an instant he was tempted to obey the Ferryman. After all, he had spend his entire life following orders, and doing exactly what he had been told, without complaining. But for what? Where had that lead him? He had died at 43, alone, without having accomplished anything meaningful. Sold his time for a company that would never miss him. If he was lucky, maybe his boss would send an email to his department, announcing his tragic passing and a few of his coworkers would have a drink in his memory one Friday night. So, perhaps it was time for a change. If he had spent his life following orders, maybe he could spend his death doing the opposite. A deep breath was no longer necessary, but he still took one by force of habit, gave one glance at the path, and jumped in the dark water.