The man on the hill had long wooden hair and a hollow face with white eyes not meant for seeing. He carried a cane made of stardust and wore black boots covered in time. He was a bad man. I knew, because he told me.

He shouted down and told me to stay away. But up I climbed– up to the man and his tricorne hat, which he held with the ribbon-like fingers that crawled from under the sleeve of his long, glass shirt.

“Good day, girl,” he bowed, and I could see the worms dancing on top of his head. The pitch of his voice matched that of a roof, going high and then low. His breath smelled of muddled black cherries and spices from the world that came before. “Perhaps you did not hear my warning. This way is not the one for you.”

“I heard, but did not heed, sir,” I replied, presenting flowers from the valley below. “My parents came this way. I am their child, and so this way is the one for me.”

The man considered me, leaning down on legs with no knees, and looking with things other than eyes. He appeared at once curious and disinterested.

After several moments, in which I saw at least three souls slide down the man’s rubbery legs and into his black boots, he said, “Are these dying plants for your parents?”

I nodded, but said, “They aren’t dying, they’re freshly blossomed.”

“Then they are freshly dying,” he replied. “Go and leave them in the earth. Let their roots grow into the dirt and wrap around the bones of those you seek. It is best this way.”

This distressed me. I had not climbed so far, with so many plans of the way things would be, just to have some gatekeeper turn me away like a beggar at a banquet hall. I conferred with my Book of rules.

“Where in The Book are you granted the right to deny me?” I asked, shaking the pages at him.

I saw myself in his mirrored tunic and I looked angry, which I knew would be of little use. But before I could soften my face, my reflection winked at me, then ran away. Her giggles echoed through the man as if he were a canyon.

“Why does the child flee?” I asked, turning to see no one behind me.

“Part of you knows it is too soon to travel this path,” he answered, growing taller as he spoke.

“Liar!” I called up to the man. He had grown so high, I was unable to see his face for the clouds.

They were thick with emotions which had been left behind. “My brother took this path, yet you did not refuse him.”

“I did, for a time. But your brother brought with him the bottle, for which I have always had an affinity,” the man said, as he shrunk down once more from the grey-toned sky. He held a rotting, worm-covered apple which stank of regret and dripped with doubt. “He told me we would drink for a while, and leave decisions for later, where they belong. But this was a falsity meant to deceive me and rob me of my wits– for when I awoke, he had already gone.”

I cursed my brother for his trickery.

The man took a bite of the apple and braced himself against his cane as the hungry souls inside of him fought over the scraps of fear.

The worms made their way up to his head to join their families. I envied them.

On the horizon of things known and forgotten, across the sea that swallowed the sun, I caught a glimpse of a glowing flag.

“The ship is already approaching,” I told the man, pointing. “I shudder to think what its Captain will do to you, once he learns you have denied my passage.”

“Children should not shudder,” he said, almost apologetically.

The ship’s sails seemed to grow as the vessel approached, and its pace quickened. From the hill I could see hopes and dreams and happiness being flung overboard, making room for the rest.

The figure wearing the Captain’s skin was female. From a distance, I could make out her dark face and bright white hair. Her body’s girth was pronounced in all areas. I could hear her shouting in a language of the lost, as she lumbered across the deck. Her breasts were exposed and desperate souls scrambled over her belly, trying to suckle at them.

“She only allows the worst of things to nestle in her bosom,” the man said. “Your place is not there. At least, not yet.”

“What of those who are neither evil nor depraved?” I inquired, as uncertainty slithered into my ear. “Is there not a second ship?”

“The ship is the one you chose,” the man replied, as the worms in his head dropped to the ground and burrowed into the dirt.

“I made no choice.”

“You chose to climb the hill,” he said, pointing behind me. “Wait, child, and come again when your hair is grey and your hands are wrinkled. You may find this place much changed, and the ship more to your liking.”

His wooden hair turned to golden curls, and his white eyes rolled forward to reveal emerald green. On his hands were gloves made of galaxies, and each finger became a constellation. His rubbery legs stiffened and grew soft fur, and his black boots now glowed with the warmth of serenity found. A small soul pulled itself up from inside one of the boots and peered over the edge, smiling.

“Perhaps I have come to soon,” I admitted, “but you are still a liar.”

The man raised his brows, and waited for me to continue.

“You said you are a bad man, but you are not.”

“You may find you feel differently,” he said, smiling, “should I ever come down the hill to find you.”

# # #

James Wade lives in Austin, Texas, where he writes fiction for his wife and two dogs. His wife is encouraging, but the dogs remain unimpressed. He is a winner of the 2016 Writers’ League of Texas Manuscript Contest, and a finalist of the 2016 Tethered by Letters Flash Fiction Contest. His work is featured or forthcoming in Bitter Oleander, Skylark Review, Jersey Devil Press, Bartleby Snopes, and many other publications. Read more here: http://jameswadewriter.com

Photo credit: Larry D. Thacker http://www.larrydthacker.com