He was drowning.
The cold current crushed him for it was just that, cold, cruel, and merciless. The boy fought against it but he was losing the fight and his flailing limbs slowed.
One by one his functions started shutting down. First went his sound. He stared up at the light, at the surface, through his soundless watery prison, and he had only one thought.
Air. He needed air.
Then went his vision. Now he was burning, he was on fire, and he couldn't see.
Air.
Air.
Air.
His heart shut down.
He was dead.
But wait! He wasn't.
The boy opened his eyes. He was standing in a freezing, dimly lighted room before a marble desk, and at it sat a cold, inhospitable-looking man. The man had dark skin and strangely blond hair. His eyes were bleak, and he wore an expensive-looking suit.
"I was dead," the boy whispered, then spoke up.
"I was dead. I drowned," he said, his voice trembling. It was frigid, and he rubbed his skinny arms.
"Indeed," said the man. "You do seem to be dead, but something isn't quite in order."
"Where am I?"
"Oh, you know. Regular process for mortals. You die, you pass into the Underworld, I ferry you, you're judged, and so on and so forth. Well known process, are you familiar with it?"
The boy shook his head, his teeth chattering. "Who are you?"
"Pity, I thought you could read." He jabbed a finger at his chest. A silver nametag above a black rose read Charon. "But anyways, as I was saying, something is definitely not right. Let's see. Cause of death, fell through the ice and drowned- at least you didn't lie about that- at age seventeen. Hmm. You should be able to proceed normally, but there's some sort of force delaying the process."
"What?" The boy's frightened brown eyes scanned the room. He decided that he was hallucinating and slapped both palms to his forehead. "Wake up, Jack, wake up," he muttered.
The man remained oblivious. "Only a few cases where this has happened before," he murmured darkly, and his empty, hopeless gaze trained itself upon the boy, Jack.
Jack fidgeted. "Um, what do you do, again?"
"I," Charon straightened importantly, "am a ferryman."
Jack wasn't sure if he should be impressed or not. He settled for a simple "Oh."
"I ferry souls back and forth the River. Unfortunately, I also have the task of babysitting them." Charon gestured to something behind Jack. The boy turned.
He could barely make out the shapes in the room's scant light. They were wisps of shadows, bare outlines. They whispered and muttered and drifted. The room's temperature seemed to drop even more as Jack stared at them. Apparently he himself was one of them, but when he gazed down at his own deerskin cloak, he appeared to be solid.
"Stupid ruddy moon, always making special orders," Charon muttered. "Why doesn't he just take them all?" he said angrily, sweeping an arm towards the spirits.
"Well, mate, it appears that you have been given a second chance," he addressed Jack again.
"Second chance? You mean I'm gonna live again?"
"Well, in terms for simple minds such as yours, yes. You're going to live again. For me, it's going to be a rather complicated development to document in my paperwork. I do hate complications," Charon sighed.
Jack scratched his head. His teeth were still chattering. "Okay. I'll try not to mess up again. Probably gonna stay away from frozen lakes from now on."
"Good luck. One less soul I have to deal with. Ruddy moon," Charon grumbled again, then grinned devilishly. "And Jack?" Jack was no longer looking up at the face of a man. He was looking up at a skull with hellish voids for eyes. "You better get used to frozen lakes," the skull said.
Jack's vision went black.
The boy was in the lake again, but he was floating upwards now. He broke the surface of the iced pond and before he could see the bright light of the moon, he could only recall three things.
It had been dark, and cold, and he had been scared.