Klabautermann

They were taking the ferry to the island. Icy water, black. Johnny and Owen hated it.

Before boarding, they’d stood watching men drop weights from the tops of the traffic bridge to get the snow off. Yellow construction suits, harnessed, and up six stories or more, the men looked tiny.

Johnny felt nauseous from that moment and it had only gotten worse on the boat.

“Dude, go out on deck already,” said Owen.

“I won’t puke.” Johnny was pale, his skin as clammy as the condensation on the ferry windows.

“Wanna bet?”

Johnny closed his eyes and swallowed three times. He shook his head.

“C’mon.”

The wind was needles, but Johnny could finally breathe without gagging. Owen nudged his arm.

“'Tis the season for Nana,” he said.

“Over the ocean and through the ice,” said Johnny. They laughed.

Each year, their parents insisted on braving the winter storms to visit their grandmother on the island. Each year, the ice was thicker and harder to see, the ferries emptier. This year, Johnny felt that the air was gray all over, even near Owen’s bright red windbreaker.

Gray was not good. Gray meant storms.

“Mom thinks Nana will die before next Christmas,” said Owen. He stared out towards the mainland. “I don’t know. She’s still stubborn as ever.”

“Mom and her prophecies,” Johnny said. He thought about the men on the bridge. Me and mine, the thought.

Owen shuddered and huddled against his brother. “This is hell.”

Johnny couldn’t agree more.

***

Once, when Johnny was about seventeen, he asked his dad why hell was supposed to be full of fire.

After his typical joking around, his dad frowned and ran a hand along the back of his head. “I don’t know. Maybe hell isn’t even a place.”

“So what, then?"

“Does it matter, John?” his dad turned the question back to him. “Punishment is punishment, isn’t it?”

Johnny considered that. His thoughts clashed. Standing in the corner forever would be completely different than freezing in perpetual darkness. And that was utterly at odds with burning forever in excruciating light.

“If I could choose, I’d want an eternal time-out with no elemental damage.”

“Ha! Well, you got me there.” His dad reached for his shoulder. “Go ask your mother. She’s the thinker.”

***

Out on the water, sleet had begun to collect on the jostling crests.

“Let’s go back in,” he said.

“You’ll just get nauseous again.” But Owen followed him anyway.

Their mom rushed up. “You were outside? Boys!” She grabbed their foreheads, necks, and hands in turn. “Frostbite gets your nose first, you know. Come here, I brought a blanket.”

Owen rolled his eyes, but Johnny just shrugged. The blanket sounded nice. Together, they walked past the scant group of passengers. A few elderly folks paced the floor.

“Wrap up.” Their mom draped a thin plush throw blanket across their backs and tucked it behind their necks.

“Better?”

Owen chuckled, nodding. Johnny eyed an old man in a lemon-colored coat across the way.

“Be right back,” he said, and stood up, the blanket falling back on Owen.

“John, you need—!” his mom tried to say, but Johnny was already past the center seating area to the far windows. He introduced himself to the man, and shook hands.

“Can’t wait for land, huh?” he asked.

The old man widened his eyes and looked down, “I’m sure we’ll be fine. I…I’m a nervous sailor.”

“I’m not. And I don’t ever get seasick, you know. But I had to go out on deck just a few minutes ago.”

The man looked at him, surprised. “First ferry ride?”

“We come every winter.”

The man’s face hardened in a way Johnny hadn’t expected. The guy had the look of a kindly, Christmas-loving grandpa.

“So it’s not just me.”

He shuffled his feet and played with the zipper on his coat. He inhaled and said, “I’m not a nervous sailor.” He gestured behind him. “I love boats. Go sailing all summer long…” He sighed. “I don’t know what it is about today.”

The ferry creaked and groaned. The old man staggered and found a wall to brace against.

“Yeah, today feels…” Johnny gestured as if to suggest, Today feels doomed and cursed and like we’re all going to capsize and drown in a frozen sea.

The man nodded.

“Wish we didn't agree,” Johnny said.

“Be careful,” he said. Then he resumed pacing.

***

The ferry ride was never longer than an hour. Johnny estimated they’d been aboard for forty-five minutes, which, was probably pushing it. The rumbling below had grown louder, the storm so intense now that he couldn’t even make out the ocean. Another fifteen minutes seemed impossible.

He'd gone out on deck again when Owen had seen how pale Johnny’s face had become after talking to the old man.

“What’s with you?” he asked. Their feet had long since gone numb. “You never get like this.”

“Remember those guys we saw on the bridge?”

“They’re there every year, aren’t they?”

The deck lights made everything look like a fever dream, the snowy sleet swirling chaotically.

“I’ve never seen them before. One of them looked right at me.”

Owen laughed into the wind. "He was several stories up!"

Johnny didn't reply.

“Did that man say something to you?”

"No." He leaned against the deck wall. "I just…Don’t you feel like…”

“What?”

Johnny sighed, and shivered. “I don’t know. Like something's wrong but no one knows it yet.”

“Something wrong with what? The ferry or Nana? Those seem to be the only options on people’s minds today.” Owen laughed but Johnny saw worry in his eyes.

He didn't say the ferry because in that moment, he couldn't be confident it was.

***

Growing up, the boys had heard the stories of how their mom had been as a girl. A worrier, she'd flunked out of college and pursued eschatology.

“You should have seen the look on papa’s face. All that money... But it’s what she wanted. She always gets what she wants, even if it's a tragedy in her third eye.”

Nana’s eyes were wrinkled but sharp. Even now, Johnny couldn’t believe that she was declining. It was just Mom, worrying again. And maybe she did have visions, maybe she did think the end was nigh. But Johnny knew it had nothing to do with Nana. No one could predict something like that.

“You’re a smart one, Johnny,” said Nana three Christmases ago. “You know what’s what.”

“Me and my philosophical musings.”

She was trimming the tree while Owen snacked on cookies and his dad hunted for the star.

“Better those than delusions of grandeur,” she whispered with a wink. “You’ll keep your mother grounded.”

“Nana, mom never listens to me.”

“No, Johnny, she never listens to me. But I think she’ll come ‘round to your 'philosophical musings' if you don’t judge her.”

Now that the family was in its longest hour, so close, yet so drowned in grayness, fear, and old man hunches, Johnny was beginning to reconcile his gut feeling with the prophecies of his mother. Owen liked to laugh at it, but Johnny never had. Something about them had alway's rung true.

***

“She isn’t picking up, and I’m so worried, Jerry.”

“Don’t be, honey. I’m sure it’s the storm.”

“Nana is fine,” said Owen.

“I have the most terrible feeling,” she said. Her eyes darted around the ferry as she picked at the sleeves of her frayed coat. When her eyes made it to the man in the lemon jacket, she frowned ever so slightly.

Johnny studied her. “Did you see that guy on the bridge?” he asked.

She looked at him. “The short one? You saw him?”

“He looked right at me. He was hooked onto the bridge but he looked right at me.”

Owen frowned and stared at the two of them. Their dad looked intrigued.

“I’ve been worrying about Nana ever since. Like a grip on my heart,” she said tearfully. “Who was he?”

Johnny just shrugged.

Their dad chuckled. “You guys are such worrywarts. What do you want, a hole in the hull?”

Johnny inhaled loudly and looked up at the ceiling. “Well, now I kind of am, yeah.”

Owen laughed. “Better get your life vest on, John.”

Their mom jumped up. She was on the hunt.

***

Johnny had asked his mom about hell.

“Why fire?” he asked her.

She looked up from her book, something on the book of Daniel, and blinked. "I guess, in part, because of Dante. But also because of the lake of fire in Revelation."

“Yeah, but why fire? It doesn’t make sense,” he insisted.

“Why not?” his mom asked.

“Because it seems weird that there’d be light and heat in an eternal punishment.”

She grunted in agreement. “What would be better? Ice and darkness?”

“Maybe not ice, but cold. And darkness, yeah.”

“That makes sense.” She leaned back and pondered. “If God is the source of light and hell is eternity without God, why would there by a source of light? He’s also life. So warmth seems illogical too…”

She hunted around for her Bible.

“So it can’t be both, right?”

“What can’t?” she asked. “Oh. I don’t know. Revelation is so metaphorical, honey. It’s hard to know exactly what it all represents. Why are you so curious?”

He shrugged. “I think I’m always the most scared in winter, when it’s dark more than light and everything is cold. Fire doesn’t have the same dread. And I want to fear hell.”

Her face softened. “It’s more important to fear God, John. He’s the one who will decide where to put us and He’s perfectly just. If you want to be away from Him, that’s all hell will be. I don’t think it’s as important to know beforehand whether it will be cold or hot. It’ll be everything God is not.”

He smiled. “Sooo…it’ll be dark. Probably cold.”

She laughed.

***

Stupid Owen and his foresight. Johnny coughed over the rail and wiped his mouth. He felt a bit better.

His mom had given him a life vest. He sighed and buckled it on.

"It’s not going to sink, you know."

A voice startled Johnny out of his reverie. He looked around for the source of the voice and found a short man perched on the deck rail.

He had a face like a smashed plum and bruised hands. He looked like a Christmas goblin.

"Plus, you’re too close to the island now for it to make that much of a difference," he continued. "You’d get off the ferry no problem even if the hole managed to overwhelm the flood chambers between here and there."

“So there is a hole?” Johnny asked, trying not to stare too rudely.

“A hole, yes. But define 'is.' There was a hole until I repaired it. It was quite sizable, too. Probably some debris from a cargo ship. Then again, coulda been my presence on the bridge…” He winked. “I’m tricky like that.”

“Who are you?”

“Name's Klaub. And I'm joshin'. I don't cause the wrecks, despite the superstitions. Your mom gets her signals crossed, doesn’t she? You’re much brighter.”

Johnny choked back a laugh. “I think I’ve lost my mind.”

“I knew this ferry was doomed from the outset, and so did you, kid. I’m drawn to doomed vessels. Tis the season.”

“The old man I talked to had a bad feeling. Did he get in your head too?”

Klaub smirked. “I just said you’re bright. Don’t disappoint me now.”

“What?"

The little man tilted his head. For a flicker of a second, Johnny saw the older man from inside the ferry. Then he saw Klaub again.

"You're him?" he asked. The goblin smirked. Johnny pinched his nose, head spinning.

He perched next to the man. The railing was searing cold, but he just gritted his teeth. "So am I gonna die? What’s the point of you?"

Klaub sniffed. "Won't answer rudeness."

“Sorry.”

Klaub eyed Johnny shrewdly. He puffed a sigh and crossed his arms. “‘Spose I’m here to warn you of your doom. To help, if I can.”

They sat in the howl of the arctic winds for a while. The waves moved noticeably more like gelatin, the ice collecting more and more thickly, then cracking with each crest and fall.

After a few minutes, Johnny said, “You said you knew the ferry was doomed from the outset, and that I did too. But…Why didn’t my mom—I mean, why did she still come aboard, even if it was a result of her wires being ‘crossed’ or whatever you said?”

Klaub frowned. “Think you answered your own question there, kid.”

“But even if she interpreted it wrong, her gut feeling has been one of terror this whole trip.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And?”

Johnny thought about it. “We could have missed this ferry. We could have called Nana and told her the weather was too bad. She would have understood. If the issue was really the ship…it just doesn’t make sense why my mom is the one who’s wrong when she wouldn’t have risked all of our lives on a faulty ferry just because she feared her mom might be sick. Why would she ignore the issues with the ship?”

Klaub cursed quietly. “You’re too smart, kid. No, no—that’s not a bad thing. I think tonight, it’s…” The little man rocked precariously on the rail then paused, head tilted. “Oho! Hear that?”

A deep rumbling came from the ferry. It creaked and groaned and moaned for much too long. Then a big force rattled the boat, making Johnny lose his balance. He fell backward with a shriek, plummeting towards the icy water.

Before that inevitable crash against the half-frozen waves, Klaub cursed and leapt in himself.

Crash!

Johnny, in his life vest, was treading water as if in slow motion. His eyes were growing fog.

"Here," said Klaub. "I gotcha."

“H-hell,” Johnny stuttered. “It's—I’m—in—”

Klaub flipped Johnny on his back and swam parallel to the ferry. He fiddled with something on his belt and suddenly they shot out of the water and back up to the railing. They dangled there, dripping water. Johnny reached numbly. "Mom—blanket," he croaked.

“Scheiße,” muttered Klaub. He hauled Johnny up and over the rail with many grunts and curses. Then he spread his hands palm-out toward him and moved them down slowly. After tracing his entire body, everything—clothes, shoes, skin and hair—were all perfectly dry.

“Now,” said Klaub after repeating this on himself. “Go call your grandmother.”

***

Owen was deep in conversation with their dad.

“...brother has always been that way. Nana always knew how to get him to stop worrying like your mother—”

“Jerry!”

“Come on, hon, laugh at yourself for once!” He turned back to Owen. “He just needs to see Nana again. ‘Tis the season for some reason, eh?”

Owen rolled his eyes.

Johnny slowly made his way over. He gave a quick smile, then sat next to their mom. She handed him the blanket again and went back to staring mutely at her phone.

“Has she answered yet?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It rings, but goes to voicemail.”

“Let me try.”

"What difference—?" She pressed her fingers to her eyes. "Okay." She handed him the phone.

It rang once, twice, three times, and just before the fourth—click.

“Hello?”

It was not Nana’s voice.

“Um, hi, I’m trying to reach Rita?”

“Oh! Yes. I’m so sorry, I just found this phone like a minute ago. Does she live in the building?”

Johnny swallowed hard. “Yes. Apartment 108?”

A pause. Then, "I'll run you to the room."

“Thanks.”

Everyone looked at him. He shook his head. Not yet, he mouthed.

“Sir?” asked a male voice.

“Hi, yes…Uh—”

“I’m Tim Rike, a paramedic on the scene. Is Rita McLaughlin a relative of yours?”

“My Nana. Is she…?”

Tim cleared his throat. “Is there anybody else I could speak to, a parent…?”

Johnny passed the phone to his mom. He stood up and walked over to the windows where he’d spoken to Klaub earlier. He began to pace.

Here to remind me of my doom and help if he can, he remembered. "Why had he followed them from the bridge?"

“I don’t always get it right, kid. I’m sorry.”

Johnny whirled around. Klaub sat just off to the side, dressed as the old man from before.

“What do you mean?”

He sighed. “I knew something was wrong inside the ship. It’s always a physical problem, so I assumed that’s all it was today. There was a hole, remember.”

“The ferry would have made it, you said.” Johnny ran his hands through his hair.

“Spot on,” said the old man with a smile. “And I was wrong about your mom. You weren’t though. Looks as though your Nana’s advice was well-taken.”

Johnny’s thoughts spun. “You knew, though. You didn’t get it wrong. You’ve been watching me all day.”

"It’s true, I have been. And you did fall in the water, if you’ll recall. But I didn’t know about your Nana. Didn’t realize the doom was in your family’s destination, not the ferry’s.”

Tears filled Johnny’s eyes. The sky out the window had turned black with night, the lamps illuminating and causing the snow to glow on the metal railings and deck. He felt as though he understood something. The cold, the dark. It made sense at that moment.

“Everything that God is not,” he whispered.

Even at sea, in the middle of winter, he knew that he was miles away from any kind of hell. He knew that in spite of the slush of the cresting waves and the unimaginable cold that had suckled at his spirit when he’d fallen in, he’d known warmth from the kindness of this man. It had a soft, poetic beauty to it.

He took the seat beside Klaub. “I don’t feel nauseous anymore,” he said. And he broke down crying.