Canto 5: The Crossing

Suffice it to say that in his physical life, the boatman was a literary critic.

After some time, the small rowboat reached shore and the three of us wordlessly boarded. The boatman, shrouded in a black cloak that hid all of his features, save two bony hands, stood motionless at the bow.

“Ye cannot enter here,” wheezed the boatman. “Ye do not belong in this realm, nor have ye earned passage to this place of punishment.”

“Ah!” said King, smiling an embarrassed smile and reaching into his back pocket. “They said I’d need this.” From his wallet, King withdrew a folded, plain white envelope. He passed it to the boatman, who weighed it in his hand before cautiously tearing open the top flap. From inside, the boatman withdrew and began counting a short stack of U.S. bills. He grunted, satisfied, and shoved the cash into a pocket of his cloak. “Be ye warned, outsiders,” the boatman bellowed. He grasped the oars and took a seat. “My boat does not ferry souls but to one shore and one shore only. Ye must find another way out of this most cursed realm.”

“Good, good,” harrumphed Fitz. “Carry on, then.”

The boat creaked and swayed as the boatman pushed the craft away from shore with one of his oars. The rest of the journey, however, the waves of the lake seemed to carry and toss the craft forward with far more effectiveness than the boatman’s futile rowing.

An hour passed in near-silence. King grew more and more somber as the boat drifted on. Both Fitz and Ernie seemed inches from slumber, leaned against each other at the stern. Joan seemed to have an unpleasant smell stuck under her nose, wincing with every lurch and creak of the boat.

Eventually, a distant shore came into view. “Look!” I shouted. “It’s-“ I stammered. “It’s moving!” King pushed his glasses closer to his eyes, but otherwise seemed unsurprised. The shoreline, growing thicker and more defined with every foot we sailed forward, appeared to be alive, inconstant, squirming.

“Look closer,” said King.

I strained my sight across the waves, struggling to make out this curious sight. Within minutes, I had my answer. There were people. And not just people. Creatures of every sort, size, and shape stood among them: dragons, elves, dwarves, gnomes, giants, aliens, merpeople, all gathered in a tight, squirming cluster on the beach. It reminded me of Mardi Gras in Miami.

“Look at his face! Recognize some of them now do ye, King?” the boatman chuckled maliciously. “Ye would now, wouldn’t ye?”

“Shut up,” said King, his voice calm, steady, intimidating.

The boatman continued to laugh but said nothing else. King had his sights trained on the shore, a blank expression that hinted slightly of sorrow draped across his features.

“A-Are they-?” I stammered.

“Characters,” answered Joan. “Yes.”

“A-And this is-?”

For a long moment, no one answered. The only thing that could be heard was the rumbling of constant thunder, the sloshing of the waves, and the creaking of the small boat. Then, the boatman burst once more into laughter.
      “Welcome,” he said through bellows of laughter, “to Character Hell.”

Author's Note

Again, please bare in mind that this is fiction, a spoof, no less. And I assure you, my version is far less blasphemous than the original Inferno, so no comments about religion. Thank you.