Caskets laced with burning cinnamon.
Must be an effort to cover the smell.
After all... they're just boxes dumped into the catacombs.
Right at water's edge.
Barnacle et wood is underhand... a tiny glowing companion guides me further into the lake.
Much further than I had ventured blind.
I always feared what dwelled in the infinite echoing caverns.
Seems those instincts were well justified.
Why are there deadmen in my empty?
Murmuring dead at that... I can hear their sorrowful whispers from my gondola.
I bear no ward to keep them from me.
The light has retreated.
The voices grow more desperate.
They can feel me here.
They can see the life in my veins disturbing this temple.
Restless...hungry...weary...empty voices.
Something thumps on the side of my boat.
A rotted hand... a gaping snarl, hollow maggot eaten eyes.
Silent pained groans heard in my heart.
I think to strike the ghoul with my oar...
But what harm can a skin-sack of bones do?
I have my first faire of the night...
Hopefully my last.
No such luck
pine boxes creak open
Dead flop into the water
and haul themselves over the edge of my tiny vessel.
In moments my water line has crept up to nearly capsizing us.
No sitting room- so they pile together in a vile stinking, teetering stack.
Dozens... and I know not where they are bound.
Not another word or pained sigh exits their bodies.
Taxi-ing used to be a people business...
but those days are dead...
I can only assume,
we're all headed for the same place.
