Hayes tightens his grip on me just as a monstrous wave crashes into the side of the ship. The rickety boat groans and lurches like it’s seconds from splintering apart. Mr. Skeleton Face—Charon—raises one bony hand and waves, welcoming us aboard.
“Do wereallyhave to get on that?” I ask, hating how pathetic I sound.
“Just follow my lead,” Hayes says. “And whatever you do—don’t look Charon directly in the eyes.”
“Yeah, wasn’t planning on it.”
I keep my gaze down as we approach the ferry, watching each step carefully. The ground beneath glows scorched red-orange, like a Martian wasteland or one of my mom’s more unhinged oil paintings. Bizarrely beautiful, but in a way that makes your insides twist.
Eventually, the cracked, alien earth gives way to splintered planks as we step onto a creaky gangway. Dark water below slaps hungrily against the belly of the ferry. Thick, restless, alive. My feet hit a pale, weather-worn deck, and then, finally, we’re onboard.
The engine roars to life as the ferry lumbers forward. Another wave crashes, and I lose my footing, my feet skidding dangerously close to the edge. My heart lurches as Hayes grabs me, one arm snapping around my waist and locking me against his chest.
“You okay?” he asks, steadying me.
“Not even remotely.”
I exhale a shaky breath as he guides me toward the back of the boat, and we collapse onto a cold, rusted bench.
As the ferry pulls away from the shore, I grip his arm, my eyes squeezed shut like that will somehow protect me from whatever’s coming next.
The vessel creeps down the black river, and I try not to think about the ghosts swarming around us. Try not to feel the cold, pulsing shapes brushing past. But even with my eyes closed, I can sense them pressing in close. Thick and wet and pulsing with energy. Unrelenting.
This can’t be real…
Red sky.
Black river.
Ghost ship, steered by a skeleton man in a realm of shadows.
And then it hits me like a punch to the gut.
Oh God.
This is it.
I’ve finally snapped, just like my mother. Seeing things that aren’t there. Blurring the line between real and not. Falling into made-up worlds no one else can see.
Is this what it was like for her?
Is this how it feels to lose your mind?
Or worse—what if?—
“Wait—are we inHell?” I jolt upright, dread coiling in my throat. “Did that fall actually kill us? Is this… it?” I let out a weak, humorless laugh. “I mean, Ialways thought I’d end up in Heaven. But sure. Plot twist.”
Hayes snorts.
“You’re not dead.”
“How do you know?” I shoot back. “Dead people probably say that all the time. Remember the movieThe Sixth Sense?”
“Trust me. You’re very much alive,” he says. “And this isn’t Hell.”
I crack one eye open and glance around. Yep, sky’s still red. Ghosts are still swarming. And creepy-ass Charon is still manning the ship like some judgment-day crypt keeper.
“Sure looks like Hell…”
