The mists around the swamps of Acheron were thin and settled low along the smooth surface of the murky water. The area was dark but not pitch. The opening in the earth that led to Acheron shed some light along the shore, and torches lined the path that brought the recently deceased to the river crossing. The swampland fed into several rivers, which flowed through long caverns beyond the view of the shoreline. The ravenous barking of Cerberus echoed through the caverns, reminding newcomers of the brutal punishment they faced if they did not abide by the strict rules of the underworld.
Acheron's shores were crowded with souls. The newer folks were aching to climb aboard the one ferry perched along the banks, while the true veterans among the penniless beggars knew better than to bother the old ferryman, sparing themselves the wrath of his swift oar and furious tongue. It wasn't the ferryman's business to care about the dead; it was only his business to get them into the underworld, for a small fee, of course. He figured it was the least he deserved for hauling their wretched souls across the river.
What he did with the money, no one knew, but they were sure it wasn't being used for bathhouse visits. Charon's unkempt, scraggly beard was caked with the grime of thousands of years of service to Hades. His pasty skin had a layer of putrid scum that even turned the stomachs of the deceased, and one wondered if his ruddy-brown, ragged garb ever left his body. Occasionally his icy gray eyes would glow hotter than the hottest furnace, and he would curse and spit on everyone attempting to get on his boat without paying the toll. His long oar came in handy for beating away souls as well. He hated beggars and wannabe stowaways. They made his job ten times harder than it needed to be, and Charon certainly wasn't running a charity. He wasn't sure what gave people the impression he was, but then, mortals were cockeyed idiots, the lot of them.
Charon swung his oar at another beggar.
"If ya can't pay the toll, then don't get near my boat!"
The oar came down hard on top of the beggar's head. The man stumbled backwards, wailed and rubbed his head. Charon would have commented on the man being a pathetic baby, but today was an especially busy day along Acheron and there were more souls to beat back. Already, a hag of a woman was attempting to sneak onto his ferry, port side. Charon took his left hand, grabbed the hag under her right arm and flung her back to the shore. She began to cry.
"But I was old and lived alone when I died! No one gave me a obol!"
"Old and lonely, huh? You must not have been doing much, right? Mingle on the banks for a century. It'll be good for your social life."
The woman was unamused by Charon's irony and proceeded to sob into the ground, but Charon was no longer paying attention to her. He was helping a young couple aboard after they paid their tolls. The two grinned happily at him; Charon sneered.
"Luckily we died together, my dear, sweet Aristomache," the suntanned, golden-haired man said, giving his lady a squeeze around the shoulders. She blushed in return, twirling a lock of her dark, wavy hair around a finger.
"Oh stop, Theophylaktos," she said through barely-stifled giggling. "You know I would've taken poison, had that bear not killed me, too. I guess hunting just wasn't for us; regardless, I never, ever want us to be apart." She reached up to give her lover a peck on the cheek, but something slapped both of them on the sides of their faces. In pain, they turned in the direction of their attacker. Charon was holding his oar like a bat while angrily shaking his head at the pair of love birds.
"No kissin' on this here boat! Ya got it? Now listen up, Arismustachio and Theofill...lactate... whatever your names are: Move to the back an' make room. I gotta lot of you dead 'uns comin' down the hole today an' this ain't no pleasure cruise! It's standing room only!"
A soul from the back of the boat whined. "Could we at least not touch each other? I have ochlophobia."
Someone else said, "Isn't it called demophobia?"
A third person said anxiously, "At least you don't have agoraphobia like me! Oh gods, I can't breathe on this thing!"
"Shut up!" exclaimed Charon while whacking away two penniless souls. His eyes shot out flames as he spun around in the direction of the complainers. "You're all dead! Nobody 'has' anything!"
The boat's occupants clung to each other in terror until Charon turned away from them and took his oar to more beggars. Someone mumbled something about Charon's foul odor actually worsening the angrier he became. They found his stench somewhere between "open grave in Carthage on a warm day following the rainy season," and "the day after the Phaleron Bay Seaweed and Mollusk Festival." That alone was enough to keep them quiet until the ferry reached the other side of Acheron.
Charon helped four more souls onto the boat while he shoved his crusty, bare foot into the face of a beggar and pushed him back. The man was quite adamant about being allowed onto the boat, and went on about how he should have a coin, really truly. He suddenly got fired up and cursed his no-good brother for swiping the coin from his mouth at his funeral.
"So the ol' bastard could buy a few drinks and rent a hussy for an hour, I bet," the man said, punching the air angrily.
"I don't give a damn about your brother! If it bothers you that much, go haunt him. Scare the holy piss out of him!" said Charon, pointing in the direction of the underworld's opening. The beggar nodded his head fervently in agreement and rubbed his hands together.
"Yeah. Yeah! That's exactly what I'll do!" the man exclaimed as he ran back towards the opening in the ground.
"That's the spirit!" cried Charon as he pumped his fist into the air, simultaneously giving another beggar a powerful uppercut to her jaw. He called to the man, "What's your brother's name? I'll put in a word with Melinoe not to accept his offerings."
"Damasithymos Onamak-"
"Never mind!" Charon waved the man away. He grumbled, "I'm sorry I ask any of you souls what your names are."
The man ran out of the entrance, all the while whooping and wailing and practicing his best "ghost face." He almost ran into Hermes, who was leading a large group of the dead down to the shore. Hermes was merrily humming a tune and had a redheaded nymph under his right arm. Charon looked entirely displeased at Hermes and his crew.
"More? What the hell is going on today, anyway?" Charon asked Hermes as he approached the boat.
Hermes shrugged. "Eh, apparently there was an earthquake in Helike. The whole city went under, but Charon, oh dear Charon," said Hermes smugly as he clapped the ferryman on his shoulder, "you should relish days like these. They keep us busy! Why, with all this running around, I met this sweet thing, and she's agreed to help me out this afternoon."
In more ways than one, probably, thought Charon as he lifted an eyebrow skeptically at the scheming Hermes and his afternoon friend. He nudged past the two young deities, held out his long oar lengthwise towards the crowd coming down the opening and addressed them unemotionally.
"Boat's full, folks. You'll have to wait for the next ride." He turned around and walked rather grumpily back to his boat, ignoring the tidal wave of moaning and complaints and fielding no inquiries about their waiting time. Charon grumbled about earthquakes and folks living so close to the ocean. If it wasn't volcanoes, it was earthquakes. Or sometimes both. And silly wars. Those stupid, asinine wars! Even the Olympians got into them, if only to have a bit of fun on the weekends. Or something. Who knew what those arrogant, ambrosia-eating pricks were doing up there, anyway. You had to wonder about a group of gods whose career goals involved bagging their own sisters.
Charon momentarily shuddered before boarding his boat and harshly rearranging the occupants for efficient ferrying. He smacked the young couple once more because they looked exceedingly thrilled to be together. How annoying. Once he was satisfied with the setup, Charon shoved his long oar into the swamp's bed and took off across Acheron. Hermes waved to him, wearing a stupid grin and squeezing his nymph's bottom with his other hand. She let out a squeal that apparently Hermes found delightful, because he started making out with her right then and there. Charon wanted to vomit at the sight of them. There was too much freaking love in the air today, he decided.
The rest of the trip was uneventful, though occasionally someone would comment about the lack of ornamentation in the caverns, after all, wasn't Hades swimming in gold? Charon shrugged and told them he wasn't about to request his boss set aside funds for interior decorating. Someone else asked if Charon knew any good sea shanties, to which he replied he only knew one: "The Next Person That Asks if Charon Knows Any Good Sea Shanties Gets Fed to Cerberus." The ride was pretty quiet after that.
Speaking of Cerberus, something seemed wrong to Charon as he approached the gates and the end of his journey. The closer he got to the gates the more he realized they weren't properly latched. And where was the dog? Charon dutifully scanned the area from his boat and told his occupants to stay where they were in case the dog was loose.
Charon anchored the ferry just shy of the shore and hopped off the boat, cautiously keeping an eye out for that damn dog. He gripped his oar tightly. He swore he'd turn the son of a bitch responsible for unlatching the gate into a pile of smoldering ashes. Worried murmuring came from the boat, and the group of souls huddled together and shivered in fear.
Charon used his burning eyes like a flashlight, illuminating the dim area around him. He listened closely as well, and suddenly the sound of trickling water fell on his ears. He moved carefully in the direction of the sound. Just then he caught sight of the three-headed dog relieving itself on a statue of Zeus just past the gates. Charon also heard slurred singing in the judgment hall.
The dog was still chained, thank goodness, so all Charon had to do was secure the gates. As he reached for the gate, however, Cerberus heard its rusty creaking and lunged at Charon's arm. It latched onto Charon, who began beating it with his oar.
"Mangy mutt!" he cried, jabbing one of its heads with the butt of the oar. He continued to curse at it, swinging his arm around crazily. Every time he managed to free the dog from his arm, one of the other heads would clamp down again on another part of Charon. The ferryman called out to the hall, hoping whoever was behind that drunken opera would come to his aid.
Finally, Minos appeared, stumbling down the corridor towards the gates with a pitcher of wine in one hand. He was too sloshed to assess the current scene in front of him.
"Oh, hey, Charon! Ol' buddy! Dionysus stopped by, and-"
"Just shut up an' get this damn animal off me!" Charon interrupted.
Minos squinted at Charon and watched him wrestle with the dog for a few moments. Realization came to Minos at last. "Oh! Well, you shouldn't be playing with Cerberus! He hates everyone but Hades."
"No shit." Charon rolled his eyes. "Now get him off me!"
Minos nodded and barked a wine-laden command at the hound. Thankfully the dog complied anyway, but not before stealing Charon's oar.
"Hey!" Charon reached for his oar, but the dog growled, taking full ownership of the long piece of wood. Charon changed his mind and shrugged. "You know what? Keep it." The dog trotted to the other end of its chain, took up a spot on the ground and began to chew away at its new toy.
Charon could tell Minos would be no help in shortening the leash, so he adjusted it himself, making entrance to the judgment hall easier for his guests. Minos watched while leaning into the wall and practically dunking his head into the pitcher. His face emerged, bathed in wine, and he grinned like an idiot.
"What brings you here, anyway?" Minos asked Charon.
The ferryman sighed and gestured for the arriving party to exit the boat. "I've brought ya some souls. To be judged. Which is whatcha do, ya know. When ya ain't three sheets to the wind!"
Minos pulled away from the wall and fell into Charon. "No worries. Rhadamanthus and Aeacus said they could judge without me. In case of a tie? We'll get Persephone."
"Yeah, I'm sure she'll love that," said Charon sarcastically as he pushed Minos away and walked back to his boat. After a few paces, he turned back to Minos. "If ya do see her, put in a good word for me."
Minos looked confused. "What for? You never need anything."
Charon grumbled again, pulling a long, petrified root off the cave's wall to use as a makeshift pole. "I do now. I need a new oar, ya dimwit."