Chapter 5: Soul Ferryman Secrets

I fell in love with Natalie because of her death date.

Some people fall for a smile, a laugh, a spark across a crowded room. I fell for a number—a date only I could see, hanging over her like a silent badge of fate.

It’s hard for a Soul Ferryman to find a partner.

We don’t get the luxury of chance meetings or slow dances under the stars. The universe is picky with us, and the rules are stricter than Sunday school.

Besides matching birth dates, the two must also die on the same year, month, and day.

It’s cosmic bureaucracy—if your paperwork doesn’t line up, you’re doomed to walk alone. Soul Ferrymen aren’t allowed to leave behind unfinished business.

Meeting both conditions is harder than finding a unicorn.

The odds are astronomical. Sometimes I wonder if it’s just a cruel joke the universe plays on us Ferrymen.

The first time I met Natalie, I saw that she would die on the same day as me.

I remember the moment—standing behind her in line at the grocery store, watching the numbers flicker above her head, matching mine digit for digit. My heart skipped a beat.

Later, I asked for her birth details under the pretense of talking about zodiac signs. After checking, I was moved—she was my destined one.

She thought it was cute—me, fumbling over astrology apps, pretending to care about Mercury in retrograde. If only she knew I was checking the universe’s most ancient ledger.

But I never expected something would dare to target her.

I’d lived by the rules, played it safe. But now someone had broken the contract, and I’d never felt so powerless.

That’s outrageous.

I gritted my teeth. No one messes with fate and walks away unscathed.

Originally, I wanted to take Natalie and my mother-in-law out for a meal. After such a scare, they were in good spirits, picking out a restaurant.

Natalie wanted Olive Garden. Janice preferred Applebee’s. I said I’d pay—anything to make them smile again. But the countdown above their heads made every laugh sound like a funeral bell.

But knowing they could die violently at any moment, all I could picture were scenes from "Final Destination." I quickly suggested we go home and rest—after all, so many people were coughing lately, and we shouldn’t spread it.

I made up an excuse about a stomach bug going around, forced a smile, and steered everyone home. The fear gnawed at me, every second ticking down louder in my head.

My mother-in-law was a little upset, thinking I just didn’t want to spend money.

She grumbled under her breath about "cheap men and their cheap excuses," but I didn’t care. I just wanted them safe, away from anything sharp or flammable.

But I was anxious to find the Ghost Granny and get their life spans back, so I had no time to placate them. I summoned a few wandering spirits from behind the garbage bins outside and had them hover around Natalie and her mother, giving them chills.

I whispered into the alley’s shadows, calling on the local haunts—the kind that hang around Dunkin’ Donuts dumpsters and the old football field. Their cold presence kept Natalie and Janice huddled inside, complaining about the draft.

That was all those ghosts could do, but it was enough.

A little extra paranoia goes a long way. They double-locked the door, unplugged every appliance, and kept the curtains drawn. Perfect.

I quickly advised them to stay home and rest for the next few days, and even bought them medicine.

I picked up some NyQuil and tissues at CVS, left them on the kitchen table with a note: “Rest up, no work, doctor’s orders.”

Normally, they should stay home and avoid going out to escape disaster, but I knew they wouldn’t listen if I said that outright. So I secretly stuck Soul Ferryman talismans on their backs, marking them as "reserved souls." Even if they died, other Soul Ferrymen wouldn’t be able to take them away.

I waited until they were watching TV, then brushed their jackets with my thumb, leaving an invisible mark—my personal signature in Ferryman code. It glowed faintly, a promise that no other Ferryman could touch them.

Once that was settled, I sped off in my pickup truck to a private club near Silver Hollow.

The club was one of those places you only find if you know where to look—no sign, just a green light over a heavy steel door. I parked next to a BMW with vanity plates that read "GRIM1." I took a breath, checked my hair in the mirror, and grabbed the takeout box.

Carrying a takeout box, I walked in and saw Derek playing video games with a group of long-legged, Instagram-famous girls.

Inside, the air was thick with vape smoke and the sound of laughter. Derek lounged on a velvet couch, PlayStation controller in hand, surrounded by girls who looked like they’d stepped out of a TikTok challenge.

One of the girls glanced at me and motioned for me to drop off the food and leave quickly.

She barely looked up from her phone, nails clicking as she texted someone with three million followers. “Food’s here—put it on the table,” she said, barely hiding her annoyance.

Derek saw it was me, jumped up in fright, and shooed the Instagram models out like a flock of chickens.

He hit pause on the game so hard the console beeped. “Out, everyone—seriously, emergency meeting!” The girls groaned, grabbing their purses and rolling their eyes as they filed out.

"Caleb, why’d you come in person?" He hurried to greet me.

He looked nervous, smoothing his hair. “Bro, what’s up? You trying to get me killed with a pop-in like that?”

Derek is the most famous rich kid in the state—maybe the country.

His dad runs half the banks in Ohio; his face is always on somebody’s Snapchat story. If you want to get into any club, you drop Derek’s name.

But he also has another secret identity: Soul Ferryman.

By night, he’s one of us—a collector of souls, sworn to the same code, carrying the same burden. Not that most of his friends would ever believe it.