THE TWILIGHT

The Twilight

By EJ Fordham

I suppose the owners of the riverboat Twilight had a reason for naming it that. Maybe they liked the sound of the name. For me, though, twilight has always been the time of mysteries. It is an in-between state. A limbo between light and dark.

I had just turned thirteen, and my sister Rosemary and I waited on the river bank for the Twilight to arrive. That particular morning a dense fog hung over the water and invaded the woods along the riverbank. Fingers of mist swirled around our ankles as we waited close to the water's edge.

"When's it supposed to come?" Rosemary asked impatiently. She stamped the ground to warm her feet.

I didn’t reply. Rosemary was only two years younger and still childish. I shoved my fists deeper into my jacket pockets, trying to disguise a shiver. I fingered the two boat tickets folded up inside. They ensured our passage, so I made sure to hold on to both of them. I didn’t want Rosemary accidentally losing hers.

After a few moments, Rosemary broke the silence, "Mom said she'd be back before the boat arrived."

“Then she’ll be here. Just be patient.”

Rosemary sniffed. She cupped her hands over her mouth and blew a puff of warm air into them. The bubblegum pink tips of her fingers stood out against her pale skin.

I heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Here,” I said, and grabbed both of her hands. I interlaced our fingers and returned them to my pre-warmed pockets.

She hummed in relief and snuggled closer to me. “Thanks,” she murmured into my chest, the top of her head fitting just underneath my chin. Rosemary had inherited our mother’s straight blonde hair which she refused to comb. She had pulled it back into a ratty ponytail; the uneven bumps on her head poked up like horns.

“Welcome,” I replied absently, listening for any hint of the boat’s arrival. The constant buzz of cicadas drowned out the quieter sounds of the river, though you could still hear the yelp of a wild turkey hen or the sharp cry of a killdeer. I never understood why my mother called the river "quiet." To me, it was full of sound. And that's why I was alarmed when the river became completely silent.

I pushed Rosemary away and scanned the river.

“Hey—”

“Shhh!” I hissed.

Rosemary pouted but stayed silent as I stepped closer to the water’s edge. The water made no sound as it lapped against the muddy banks — no insect buzzed, or animal coughed. It was a vacuum of heavy, empty silence.

I craned my neck, trying to see through the fog, but it was no use. Goosebumps scurried up my arms and shivered along my spine. I was so desperate for any sound, any noise at all, that it was a relief when a thin wail rose up through the mist and hovered in the trees along the riverbank.

Rosemary and I swiveled to face the trees.

Was that some kind of bird?

“Lorey?” Rosemary’s voice quavered as she pointed into the shadows. “What’s that?”

I followed the line of her finger. There, barely visible through the mist, a dark shape swayed back and forth.

“Lorey?”

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. The words caught in my throat. That sound. That horrible, plaintive cry. It was coming from the undulating shadow cutting through the fog like an eel through silt.

“Lorelei?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

The keening grew louder as it bore down on us, but we were frozen, unable to move or escape the blackness that poured towards us. Its greedy fingers reaching, its terrible mouth gaping in a scream—

HOOOOOWHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!

The long powerful blast of The Twilight’s whistle jolted us and we both shrieked. I grabbed my chest as my heart slammed against my ribs.

“Shit.”

I expected Rosemary to complain and threaten to tell mom that I used a ‘bad word,’ but this time she only said, “It’s gone.”

I turned. She was right. The dark shape was gone, along with the fog, as if the boat’s whistle had chased them away.

Rosemary sniffed, but this time it wasn’t from the cold. Her voice trembled as she asked, “What was that?”

“Some animal,” I said, louder than necessary, trying to convince myself that I was right. “Just . . . some dumb animal.”

With the river now in full view, we could see The Twilight clearly as it approached. Three decks were topped by a Pilot House, all painted in baby blue and white. A bright red paddlewheel, wrought iron railings, and two smokestacks completed the Victorian flair. With the name of the ship emblazoned across the side of the first deck stern section, she conjured up images of Mark Twain’s America. Passengers already on board gathered at the bow and waved at me and Rosemary while raucous shrieks and hoots of the steam calliope's rendition of "Sweet Rosie O'Grady" echoed across the river valley.

“Mom’s not here yet.”

“There’s still time.”

The riverboat came closer, maneuvering into position to board new passengers.

“She said she’d be here.”

“She’ll be here.”

One wooden gangplank was lowered down and two deckhands walked towards us to offer steadying hands. Rosemary stared up at me anxiously.

“She can meet us at the next stop,” I shrugged my shoulders as casually as possible. “Mom knows where we are. It’s fine, let’s go.”

Rosemary chewed on her bottom lip but nodded. She took my hand and we crossed over the narrow span of water. Our footsteps clunked noisily against the wooden boards, disturbing the creatures in the water below us. Something large and pale swelled up to the surface then slipped back into the darkness. Leaning over to look, I teetered near the edge of the gangplank, dragging Rosemary with me. A deckhand grabbed us and steered us onto the boat. He laughed and told us many people lost their balance crossing over.

My cheeks burned as I handed over our tickets. “There was something in the water.”

“There always is,” he smiled.

The gangplanks were lifted and Twilight blew four enthusiastic blasts on its whistle. The dirty river water roiled as the paddlewheel churned the murk like a witch's brew.

As we pulled away, Rosemary shouted and pointed toward the shore. It was mom. She’d made it after all.

“You’re late!” I shouted with a laugh.

Rosemary joined in, “Too slow!”

Our mother waved frantically from the shoreline, shouting.

“What?” I yelled back.

She shouted again, but we were too far away. Rosemary and I continued to wave as her form grew smaller and smaller in the distance until she disappeared completely.

“Don’t worry,” I said, pulling Rosemary into a hug. “Mom won’t keep us waiting. She’ll board soon and cross the river with us.”

THE END