Karen Dies

“I’d like to speak to a manger.”

Charon looked up, in spite of themselves. This was a new one, not something many people said as they boarded the vessel to cross the River Styx. A few other souls were already sitting patiently in the little boat, accepting of their fate. The woman that stood defiantly before them, however, seemed very annoyed.

Usually by the time these souls made it to the edge of the river they were resigned to their fate. Sure, occasionally someone would try to plead with death, but when Charon is standing before you, an actual skeleton clad in a billowing black cloak, you eventually have to accept that your time on Earth is up. Charon had taken many forms over the centuries, but lately had stuck with the “cloaked skeleton” appearance. Most people seemed to instantly recognize that look, the Western classic.

Charon usually stayed mute, to match the “creepy Grim Reaper” vibe. If this woman found Charon intimidating, then she hid it extraordinarily well. She seemed unfazed by their appearance, so there was no other option but to speak.

“Excuse me?” they asked. Charon could hear their voice, deep and whispery, reverberating into the air. Usually hearing “death” speak would startle you, but again this woman seemed unaffected.

“Your manager.” She repeated. “I’d like to speak to who’s in charge here.”

Manager. Who did this woman think she was? Charon gestured with a skeletal hand to the dark, almost black river. “Ma’am, this is the River Styx. You’re being ferried to the afterlife.”

The woman huffed. “Well, I don’t think I should be here. You should double-check your records.”

If Charon still had eyes in their sockets they would have rolled them. Luckily all signs of skin, organs, and muscles had long faded away, so the woman couldn’t see their annoyance. Charon pulled out the scroll from beneath their robes and opened it.

“What’s it say?” she asked impatiently.

“It’s loading.” Charon replied coolly. Names and causes started appearing and disappearing on the scroll. They took their time to find her name, preferring to make her wait. They literally had all the time in the world. A few of the souls sitting in the boat shifted restlessly, but no one spoke up. Finally, a name popped up.

“Carolyn Johnson?” Charon asked.

“Yes, that’s me.”

Charon nodded. “Yeah, you’re dead.”

Carolyn shook her head in frustration. “No, no, I’m not dead. Someone messed up somewhere. I want to speak to who’s in charge.”

Charon groaned inwardly. This was going to be a process. “It’s not easy to get ahold of who’s “in charge” here. A lot of people want to get ahold of Them after they pass over, but it takes a long time. But to get to Them, you have to get on the boat.” They tapped their scythe against the floor of the boat for effect.

Carolyn shook her head defiantly. “I’m not getting on that boat. You let “Them” know I’m here and they can come talk to me. I can wait.”

Oh, she could wait alright. There was a strict policy on souls who choose to linger on the shore instead of crossing the River. It was frowned upon, to say the least.

Charon put on their customer service voice. “Unfortunately, that’s not really an option. I know you can’t really see through the fog or anything, but there is nothing outside of this shore. You can’t leave here; you won’t even be able to try.”

There was a flash of realization in Ms. Johnson’s eyes. Charon guessed she’d just thought of storming off the shore and then was surprised when her legs wouldn’t move. The feeling of no escape would usually do the trick, but still she strengthened her resolve.

“Well, I’ll stay on this shore, then.” She huffed. She strutted over and pointedly sat down on a large rock, one of the few landmarks on this ghostly shore. Charon clenched their skeletal hand discreetly under their sleeves. Deep breath, count to ten. The souls in the boat stirred restlessly again. One of them began to tap their fingers against the hull impatiently.

“One moment, please” Charon told them. No one reacted. Charon lifted their scythe into the air and levitated themselves out of the boat, gliding slowly over to Carolyn Johnson. In addition to looking cool, levitating also helped to keep sand out of Sharon’s feet and robes. They hated that. They stopped and hovered over Ms. Johnson, not close enough to intimidate her, but close enough she wouldn’t be able to ignore.

“I can’t force you to get into the boat” they confessed. “But the Managers won’t come here to you. They’ll send things after you that will drag you to the afterlife by force. Those things are a lot scarier than me, and the process is quite painful.” As scary as the journey looked, traveling with Charon was the first and easiest way of getting to the afterlife. What They sent changed depending on the soul in question: three-headed dogs, shadow demons, a sea monster from under the River. Made Charon’s little boat look like a luxury cruise.

Ms. Johnson’s eyebrows went up in shock. “Are you trying to intimidate me? Well that won’t work, and don’t think I won’t tell your superior about that.”

Oh no, please don’t cost me my luxurious job of ferrying dead people across the River for all of eternity. Charon thought bitterly. They didn’t enjoy their work, but there were much worse jobs to be had in the afterlife. Better try another approach.

“Ms. Johnson,” they said, “I understand this can be a hard time. But we’re like going to the Post Office: nobody really wants to be here, but if you’re here then you’re here for a reason. So why don’t we work together and solve the problem?”

The woman scoffed, pretended to inspect her nails. “The “problem” is you people think I’m dead and I’m telling you I’m not.”

“You are” Charon insisted. “Living souls can’t access the shores of the River Styx.”

She just shrugged. “Well how could I have died, then? I wasn’t sick, I don’t remember any sort of accident.”

Charon flicked open the scroll again and started speed-reading. “It looks you had some sort of stroke, apparently while you were sleeping. You were probably dead before you realized what was happening.”

Again Ms. Johnson scoffed. “Well, that’s ridiculous; I’m too young to have a stroke! That doesn’t even run in my family!”

“It is rare,” Charon agreed, scanning through the “additional notes” section of the scroll. “but it does happen. And it did.”

“Well either way, I’d like to contest it.” She crossed her arms in a bitchy way and just glared at Charon. Charon did their best attempt at a polite shrug.

“I’m afraid you can’t contest death. It’s…final.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “Then I’ll stay here. What is this, purgatory or something?”

Charon clenched their scythe a little in frustration. “It’s kind of purgatory, but not really.” Ms. Johnson didn’t seem to like that answer, so Charon kept going. “Look, everything gets better after we cross the River. I know it looks dreary, with the fog and the black water, but believe me, this is the worst part.”

Ms. Johnson peered off into the shoreline, even though she couldn’t see anything. “So, what, that’s like Heaven?”

“Ehhhh we don’t like to label it. Everyone has their idea of what death will be like: they have different names for it, different expectations. In the end it doesn’t really matter; everyone goes to the same place and it gets sorted out from there.”

The woman’s finely-groomed eyebrows shot up. “So, what? Do bad people go to bad places?”

“Not quite” Charon admitted, annoyed they had to explain this when this woman would get this spiel again at Orientation. “It’s more like, in death you’ll spend some time processing all the bad things you did in life and the regrets you had. And for some people that takes a long time, and for others it doesn’t. But, you have an infinite amount of time. And once you’ve dealt with those regrets, things get better.”

Ms. Johnson nodded slowly, her face starting to soften. “Death seems complicated.”

Charon nodded their hooded head. “Yes.” They admitted. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Carolyn Johnson looked over at the boat already full of souls They were all older than her, folks who knew their time was coming and had made peace with this fate. They looked so content, just sitting there waiting to go to the afterlife. A few of them looked in her direction with understanding pity. Tears welled up in Carolyn’s eyes. “I wanted more time.” It was practically a whisper.

Charon felt the tension go out of their bones. “I understand.”

“There were so many things I wanted to do, so many people I haven’t spoken to in…” her voice trailed off. Charon said nothing. They knew they didn’t have to. Carolyn laughed bitterly. “Guess I’m already working on my regrets, huh?”

Charon just nodded. Ms. Johnson got to her feet. “Alright, boatman, I guess we should go now.” Charon led the woman to the boat, to the empty seat waiting her. Once she was settled in, they pushed off the beach with their scythe and the boat began its usual journey across the deep black waters. The passengers were silent, as they always were during this part. Eventually Charon couldn’t pick Carolyn Johnson out from the rest of them. They hoped she’d find her peace soon enough.

This story was written from a prompt provided by this Writing Prompt Generator from Service Space.

For anyone interested, you can sign up to my email list and I’ll notify you when a new story/blog is posted, plus share a few fun facts or stories on what I’ve been up too lately. Welcome back!