I left the castle grounds and strolled along the beach. The tide lapped the sandy shore and fog blanketed the water’s surface. I’ve ventured along this shoreline my entire life. I know its cracks and crevices, its tides, its forgiveness. I know the raging storms. In this state, time seems eclipsed by an awareness of the moment in which I seem stuck.

A faint rhythmic slurping cut through the dense air. I stopped at the water’s margin and listened. Slurp, whoosh-whoosh. Slurp, whoosh-whoosh. I waved my hand through the cold mist. Slurp, whoosh-whoosh.

The sound ceased. A wooden boat with a stout man perched at the stern cut through the fog. The man swayed the motor’s rudder and landed the fragile vessel on the sandy shore.

“Oh, hello,” I called out forgetting my mortality.

“’Allo!” The man waved a fat hand toward me. He disembarked and dragged the boat’s bow up the incline lodging it deep in the sand.

“Wasn’t expecting you so soon. I’m here to ferry you across the water.” His sausage fingers rimmed with darkened nails implored me to board the boat.

Stunned, I stood silent. Is he speaking to me? Can he see me? Can he hear me?

“Well, whatcha’ waitin’ for? Get in, girl. Chop, chop. I’m a leaving with or without ya’.” He clapped his rough hands together as if persuading a stubborn herd of cattle.

Paralyzed, I cannot embark on this venture with him. My stomach clenched. Is it my luck he’s turned up?