Beneath the churning swell of the dead river, a lonely girl sank. 

Down deeper and deeper, they pulled Autumn till they froze her to the marrow, an icy chill robbing her of what little warmth remained. 

In the depths, the raw and unwelcome touch of the dead groped all along her near-nude form. She could hardly move. Entombed by the packed ghosts who all sought to seize a small semblance of her life, to claim what remained of her.

To claim her before the river added another soul to its profane collection.

Pale clammy hands wrapped her everything up; throat, limbs, eyes, and heart. They glid through her flesh like the wraiths they were and once again Autumn felt a violation in her innards.

So she thrashed in the deep, soul-churned waters.

Seeking salvation and freedom.

Her body drifted along with the raging currents until she collided with colossal force upon an ancient rock anchor deep within the riverbed. The last gasp was driven from battered lungs to bubble to the surface, but she struck free from grasping dead hands. In her moment of wild desperation, she kicked off that ancient rock, intending to reach the surface. 

The chilling hands grasped for her again, but they were too slow.

Towards the surface she fled, swimming for all her worth with burning lungs.

Before her very eyes, ghostly visages drifted; each moaned and wailed, begged, or raged for her. Asking her to save them, to free them. It was a blending cacophony of wordless agony. The cries threatened to drown her mind just as much as the river threatened her failing mortal body. 

With a gasp of shuddering relief, Autumn broke the surface and sucked in the sweetest air she’d ever tasted. Yet it was only for a moment as those forlorn phantoms yanked her below into the gloom. 

Into the endless river, she sank once more.

Frenzied blows sailed harmlessly through the souls that clung to her form as she fought the inevitable. 

As she fought against her drowning fate.

Again and again, she’d breach the surface and draw in enough air to fill her battered lungs before being yanked below. 

Down below, a stronger soul stirred. A ghoul rose free from the silt as it awoke, drawn by the wild thrashing of a living soul. The scent was irresistible to the watery dead, so it lashed outwards at the gathered ghosts, driving them away till it alone remained. 

In its victory, it clasped its blubber hand tightly around Autumn’s ankle. The sudden pain the grip brought broke through the frozen numbness. She lashed out with a panicked kicking and, much to her surprise, landed a solid blow to the creature. Seeing a foe before her she could strike, she pummeled the creature with a surprising viciousness till it fled in agony. 

Angry, the creature circled the wavering mortal, waiting for the moment she faltered.

Despite her reprieve, she was flagging. Her valiant efforts to resist the pull of the dead had left her drained and the chill of the river had sapped her till she felt as warm as a block of ice. 

The other shore lay far away, too far for her weakened limbs to carry her. 

She dipped below, her nose barely above the icy surface as her kicks became more and more languid. 

As she plunged under once more to the joy of the awaiting ghoul, a bony hand clasped upon her neck and hauled her free of her watery grave. Someone subsequently dumped Autumn into an old rickety boat and, like a drowned rat, she flopped about, heaving for air. Great gouts of soul-tainted water escaped her in heaving wretches. It pooled in the boat's bottom that she had found herself in. 

It was ancient, its wooden planks practically rotted away to nothing. From where she lay, she could spy the souls glaring up at her from below. 

With great effort and force of pure will, Autumn dragged herself to her knees to gaze upon her savior and her eyes beheld a startling familiar sight. The ferryman, an elderly and very weathered skeleton clad in a well-worn black robe, punted the boat along the river.

It awaited her with a deathly silence.

“T-Than-nks.” Autumn shivered out.

The Ferryman’s eyeless gaze bore into Autumn as she waited. It seemed annoyed and almost amused by her presence. Almost as if it had been awaiting her, or at least a traveler like her. 

“Few dare to swim within the river. It is not meant for swimming.” 

The Ferryman’s voice resounded like the deep emptiness of a dried-up well. 

Autumn didn’t trust herself to speak; she didn’t feel qualified to speak with the personification of death, even if she wasn’t near naked and freezing. Fortunately for her, the Ferryman didn’t seem to care for her to respond. They continued talking as she attempted to warm herself up. 

“There is a toll, you know. If you had wished to cross, you only had to pay.” 

The Ferryman spoke with an amused tilt. 

Autumn cast about her person and took in the nudity of her body. She had nothing upon her, let alone the presumed coins to pay for her passage across the River Styx. Fearful of being cast back like an undersized fish to the hissing ghoul below or hauled back to the shore whence she had come, she asked the only thing she could think of at that tense moment.

“Can y-you take an IOU?” she stuttered with cold and fright. “At the v-very least, don’t t-take me back. There is a h-hunt after me.”

Already she could hear the baying of hounds in the distance.

“Ahh, one of those stories. Very well, two coins for two favors. I have seen your future mortal and I will collect one day. So mote it be.” 

As the Ferryman spoke his last words, Autumn felt a blazing heat upon her eyes, as if someone had pressed two burning coins into her sockets. It was over in a flash, but she clutched her eyes in pain all the same. Autumn did not know what this grim reaper would call her for, but she had no choice. Not at least if she wanted to live. 

Through the soul-filled waters, they drifted, each content with the silence nestled between them until the ferry beached itself against the opposing bank. Autumn wasted no time in alighting and moving away from the shore lest she be swept in again.

“Fret not, young mortal, we shall meet again. I’m already looking forward to it. Oh, and go left.”

With that final ominous piece of advice, the Ferryman parted ways with Autumn. She stared bewildered after the boat that grew distant within the hazy fog that drifted over the river of the dead. 

Somehow she had survived not only the clawing grasp of the river but an encounter with the personification of death. 

As her eyes swept back, she caught movement upon the bank opposite to her. Far in the distance, a shadowy figure emerged from the forest edge to scowl her way. A wolf that stood in a parody of a man, something one might create if they had heard what a human looked like without ever laying their eyes upon one. 

Long, thin limbs draped down from a twisted torso that was matted with rough hair. Legs bent in unnatural ways, never the same twice each time you dared to look, and a jaw split into four like a flower, letting a long tongue of blood fall free.

As it drooled upon the riverbank, it let out a gurgling rasp from its ruined mouth.

“Sweet snack, come. Let me taste, let me eat. Many are the ways to ford this river. Wait, wait and I’ll taste/eat. Hehehehe.”

The beast stood alone. Autumn guessed it was an outrider of the Wild Hunt, or perhaps just the fastest. She didn’t doubt they’d have ways across the river of the dead; it was their home after all, but she hoped it’d at least stall them long enough for her to rest somewhere. 

Autumn lamented the state of her clothing as she surged to her feet. The waters had finished what the woods had started. Now she stood upon her bloodied feet, clad in nothing but fear, water, and blood. The chill of the night played upon her skin like a musician on a harp, plucking her skin into a landscape of rising bumps. 

She turned away from the hideous gaze of the nightmare and limped into the towering forest with as much dignity as she could muster in her exhausted state. 

Ahead of her, she noticed that someone had carved a path into the trees and roots. They had somehow urged staircases to work themselves from and into the trees along the way, as well as bridges out of still-living vines to cross gaps that would have been near impossible to pass otherwise. While certainly odd-looking, Autumn was just thankful she didn’t have to pick her way through bushes and overgrowths anymore. 

As her mind dulled with endless exhaustion, she dreaded that there was no end to this twisting path.

Yet luckily, it was not to be so.

Further along the path was a signpost. However, as she drew closer, it became clear that the ravages of age had rendered it completely illegible. The sign of civilization spurred her on.

Faster, she limped along the elaborate path that weaved around and even through a few of the trees until she reached the end. 

Another clearing greeted her. Thankfully, this one was clear of fairy rings and ghoulish courts of fae.

In the center of this clearing sat a strange house that looked to have been grown, much like the path before out of living wood. Vines of wood had sprouted from the muddy earth to entwine each other into a beautiful lattice and formed a quaint little cottage upon a stone base. On top was a triangular roof that capped the home, completely overgrown with grasses and wildflowers. At the very back, a stone chimney that peaked above the roofline was utterly wrapped up in creeping vines. 

No smoke drifted into the night and no light shone within the few dark windows or below the sturdy wooden door.

It seemed nobody was home and by the state of the grounds, nobody had been here for a long time.

To the right of the dilapidated building had once been likely a lovely little garden. Now it was a veritable maze of utterly fantastical vegetables; bright fruits of all shapes and sizes alongside equally bright flowers.

The sight of which set her stomach ablaze with hunger. She’d not eaten since they had taken her and who knew how long ago that had been, if time even applied here? 

To the opposite side of the space was a broken-down chicken coop. No animals chuckled within and judging by the smashed-in straw roof and slashed-apart timber, some large wild animals had ravaged the animals within a long time ago.

Of what the back of the house looked like, Autumn had no sightline to see.

Separating her from the high grasses of what may have been a lawn once was a waist-high wall that was as shattered and gaped as an old man’s grin. Stones lay scattered about and an old rotten gate hung limp in its housing. 

A single touch sent it tumbling into a heap.

As Autumn strode past the broken gate, she gazed upwards and saw what the dweller of this home had been using the chickens for. Hanging from the trees to encircle the clearing was a series of bird skulls fashioned into intricate designs. 

Like dream catchers conjured from a haunted mind. 

Each swung in the slight breeze and their crumbling and hollow sockets followed Autumn as she woozily stumbled across to the doorstep. 

While only spoken of in stories and fairytales, it was clear to Autumn that the rotten dwelling before her was a witch’s abode. 

She wondered what was worse. 

That there was nobody home? 

Or that someone was?