Last Account of the River Styx

I sat alone on the bank of the river, gazing absently into a dull twilight sky rendered by a sun that had already set. Toying with the two silver coins in my hand, I tried to revive any recollection of how I had come to this place.

It seemed an eternity that I waited there, in the dimming light. At once, I became aware of a sound other than the metallic scraping of the coins sliding over one another in my palm. Nearly imperceptible, but it steadily grew louder, and closer. The soft sloshing of the tepid water of the river.

I slowly rose to my feet, trying not to produce any sound myself. I stared out over the water, trying to pierce the growing darkness and the fingers of mist rising off the river's surface. It proved futile, for even the newly arisen moon was of no aid in that endeavor. I continued to listen even as the sound drew nearer.

Presently, I was able to determine a shape against the darkness of the sky and water, though it seemed to be of an even deeper shade than it's surroundings. I was filled with a sense of foreboding; an instinctive dampening of the soul. The boat came ashore soundlessly. The pilot, hunched and garbed in a heavy black cloak, stood motionless, clutching the long staff used to pilot the sleek vessel, silhouetted by the moon.

I approached the figure only hesitantly. As I drew near, it outstretched it's hand in a prolonged gesture. I deposited into it's skeletal fingers the two silver tokens. Clumsily, I climbed aboard the vessel, and seated myself at the prow. I watched as the pilot pushed off from the barren shore, and turn, the dull moonlight gleaming across it's grinning, alabaster skull. Then my gaze returned to the river and its obsidian waters.