Brad P. Christy/LUCIDIA/73,000

LUCIDIA

By

BP Christy

CHAPTER 1

Unnatural fog collected on Lucidia’s eyelashes, weighing them down as they fluttered open. The fog was dense enough that the full moon’s light made the mist glow a sickly brownish-gray. The smell of brine and mildew pushed down on her, filling her nostrils and coating her tongue. Her stomach cramped with each breath.

Waves sloshed against the sides of the small boat she was aboard, but the boat didn’t rock. Sitting on a slimy wood bench, her legs and butt were soaked with cold, stagnant water. An oar rhythmically swished and thumped against the side of the boat. The only other sound was a predatory growl, like that of a wolf or lion. 

An enormous silhouette stood at the other end of the boat through the fog. 

She tried to lift her hands to wipe the moisture from her face, but they stopped short with a metallic rattle. She grabbed at the shackles on her wrists, and yanked the chains.

“What?” she said, then snapped her mouth shut. The words were hers, but the voice was not. It was deeper, masculine. She touched her face, which was also not hers. She rubbed her throat. “What the hell?”

The bow of the skiff broke through the fog. A vast, moonlit ocean reached out in all directions. A canopy of stars reflected on the waves.

She looked over the edge, careful not to slip on the rotted boards. In the reflection, her twin brother looked back at her, still wearing the track uniform he’d died in. “Milton?”

As the fog receded, Lucidia felt leering eyes on her. She didn’t want to look, but, from the corner of her eye, the silhouette was coming into focus. She had to look, and when she did, she recoiled.

Dressed in a tattered cloak and greasy, black armor, stood the largest person she had ever seen. A matted cowl covered most of his face, but she could see a patchy beard and black teeth. The water around his feet was dark and thick with oil or blood, she couldn’t tell in the moonlight. His gauntlets squeaked as he pushed and pulled the oar.

Her voice shook, “What are you?”

He seemed to coo at the question. “I am Charon the Ferryman,” he said in a gravelly voice. “And you are mine.”

“No!” she shouted. “I’m not dead. So I don’t have a coin for you.”

Putrid spittle leaked down his beard as he smiled. “I’m afraid you are very much dead, worm.” He let go of the oar, and the skiff drifted smoothly through the waves. “And I have waived the fee.”

She scooted through the freezing water around her. “That’s against the rules.”

Chuckling, he stepped closer. “You are, let’s say, off the books.”

She tried to squirm away, but he snatched up the chains, and hoisted her into the air like a fish on a stringer.

She thrashed, punching and kicking. “Lucidia! Help!”

“No, no, let me go!” shrieked Charon mockingly. “Nobody can hear you.”

“I don’t deserve this,” she wept. “We were just running.”

“Aye,” said Charon. “You like to run, but that’s not all you did, isn’t that right?”

Lucidia felt a canker of guilt swell in her gut that she couldn’t explain.

An intense light flared in the East that slowly grew brighter.

She held her hands up to block the stinging light. “Is that the Lake of Fire?” she asked, cringing.

Charon sighed longingly. “Not everyone goes where they are intended to these days.”

A distant howl rose up from the light. The brighter the light became, the louder the howl became, and more she realized it was not the crackling of fire, but screams.

He swung her out over the water. Snapping off the chains around her ankles, they sunk into the icy depths of the ocean.

Waves swelled around her kicking feet.

With a growl, he tossed her overboard

She screamed and prepared to swim, but landed with a meaty thud. Waves pushed her around, but she didn’t sink. 

Charon smacked his oar across her back to force her away from the skiff. “Do you see that?” he said, pointing to the orange horizon. “That’s the sun.” He twisted the oar in his hands until it creaked under the pressure. She could see a smile under the ratty hood. “As long as you stay ahead of the rising sun, its rays will not scorch, blister, and burn you.”

Her heart thundered. The waves were solid enough to walk on, even run on. The sunlight was already making her skin turn red, and blisters were bubbling up. “Crap,” she said, and sprinted Westward.

Charon leaned on his oar as the skiff floated off. “Run, wrathful boy. The dawn approaches.”

*** 

Lucidia screamed and threw the purple comforter off her.

With a yelp, Aubrey, her best friend, sprawled out of bed then jumped to her feet. 

Taking deep panic breaths, Lucidia brushed back her sweat-matted hair and cradled her neck. It wasn’t real, she told herself, and deliberately slowed her erratic breathing like she’d practiced. The Christmas lights that Aubrey kept up year round bathed her in a soft, blue glow. This was real. She was awake now.

Aubrey clutched her chest. “You scared the crap out of me,” she said, wide eyed with a laugh.

Lucidia sniffed her dripping nose. “Sorry.” Her puffy eyes glazed over with tears.

Aubrey slipped back into bed, and hugged her friend. “It’s okay,” she said, shushing Lucidia. “And I love you and all, but if I start getting gray hair because of your recurring nightmares, honestly you won’t be able to stay over anymore.”

Lucidia laughed to keep from sobbing. “God you suck as a friend.”

“I know,” said Aubrey, rocking Lucidia in her arms and running her fingers through her hair. “I miss him, too.”

After her nerves settled a bit, Lucidia slumped back against the pillows. She couldn’t shut her mind off, too scared to shut her eyes. Six months of this same dream had left her beyond sleep deprived. Eventually, she reasoned, she’d just get used to the exhaustion.

Rolling over, she stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about that gravelly voice, but it was no use. She could still hear the Ferryman: Run, wrathful boy… the dawn approaches.

Pressure built up behind her eyes, pushing out the first of many, many tears. She held a pillow against her face so she wouldn’t wake Aubrey up again. At least one of them should get some sleep.