The Ledger

Uncle Ford said he'd die on March 20, 2019, at 5:13 AM. And I believed him. It wasn't that he was a paragon of sincerity. Actually, fibbery and jokes were his occupation. It was just that... I wanted to. Ford was the only artist in my stuffy midwestern family, and he really got me. Where my parents seemed to have a search and destroy policy with art and levity, Ford literally made a living joking around the country. My dad wanted me to be an accountant or something, to represent the family name in a professional suit-and-tie manner. So Ford would bring me a pawn shop guitar in defiance, like he was battling them for my soul.

When he left Oklahoma for New York, I was ten and he was twenty, so seeing him on holidays was like seeing a long lost big brother. He would load me up with beer and nudie mags which I hid in the woods behind the house, you know how it goes. One of those times he came back with this manic excitement and that proclamation about his dying day. My parents said he was probably on drugs, and I can’t say I disagreed. But there was something in his eyes which contrasted his usual gags, something about them seemed to sing that chiding “I know something you don't know.”

The date was approaching and I was oblivious. I was wasting my twenties at a manufacturing plant where I made just enough to keep alive. I found myself wrestling through another pointless workday when I felt odd, light.

Whatever inkling I had that something was going wrong was retreating, like my vision, into a blissful well. All I felt was soft, hot pain on my brow. All I smelled was grease and iron. All I heard were subdued machines, a lullaby easing me into nothing.

A week later, I found myself in a doctors office adorned with backlit brain scans. I was half naked with a sewn up gash through my eyebrow, and some kind of tumor in my head. The doctor circled stuff on the scans and waxed on about improbable odds.

I tried to deal with the news in healthy ways, of course. I spent most days tipsy, yelling at my cat. I was lazing around, buzzed on the couch when my phone rang. It was my mother; Ford was in the hospital. I checked my watch: March 18th.

I flew into New York City the next day excited for a change in scenery. When I made it to his room I gave the open door a few faux raps as I entered. Ford looked up at me with a big grin. He looked good, save for the cast on his leg. It had been years, but he was handsome and healthy as ever.

“August! My favorite hippy nephew!” His stare went flat for a moment as he really took me in. “Jesus kid, you look like how I feel, what’s up? How’s the-uh... ?” he said those last words tapping his temple. I knew I looked spooky, I had lost ten pounds before the incident and another four since.

“Well they want to do surgery, but It’s not good odds.” Ford let out a long groaning laugh.

“Hey, two dying guys walk into a hospital, it's nearly a proper set-up.” I chuckled.

“Well at least one of us is going out on time." I gestured to his leg. "I just thought it would be something cooler like a bar fight or autoerotic asphyxiation.” Ford sat up, feebly squirming into a more conversational position.

“Everybody dies on time, August.” He let this ring in the room with his trademarked mischievous gravitas. “Anyway, I’ve got twelve more hours, don’t count me out yet.” At this point we were both sporting self-indulgent grins.

“Guess so.”

“I’m glad It’s just you and me.” His gaze went low like a kid about to ask for candy. “Hey, grab that shoebox over there will ya?” I was still standing awkwardly at the foot of his bed in the small room, I hadn't even acknowledged the chairs on the wall behind me. I palmed the thin Converse box and offered it to him.

“No, no, that's for you, your bequeathment” I sat and tossed the lid open. The box was brimming with cash.

“Shit Ford!” I shut the box and looked around in paranoid fashion while Ford laughed his ass off. “What are you doing bringing this here? You’ve got a broken leg, you aren’t going to die. Put this in a bank!” I was sweating.

“Awe August, I thought you were a believer!” I felt like crying. I was moved by the gift, but I knew he had totally lost it.

“You aren't dying.”

“Yes I am, August, and I’ll prove it to you, now shut up and listen to your uncle.” Ford was more serious than I had ever seen him. “There’s somewhere around twenty thousand in there, but that’s chump change. There are two coins in the box, fish them out.” I leaned from my chair, shut the door, and did as I was told.

The coins were buried in feathery bills. I excavated them and shut the box quickly. When I held them up to ford, they looked weird with farsi-like letters.

“That's it.” he said with his knowing smirk. “There’s no way for me to prepare you for what you are about to do, but I’ll keep my advice short and ADHD friendly. Get on the ship, work through the pain, and don’t get greedy.” I didn’t know what to say, he really was having some kind of delusional episode. I figured I’d play along.

“Ok, how does this work?” Ford scooted himself, hauling his bum leg over to make room on the bed.

“Hold those coins in your hand, lay down here, and close your eyes.” He patted the open half of the hospital bed. I decided to humor him. I went to the bedside and plopped down on my butt, eyes closed.

“You’ve gotta lay down, August.” As I obliged Ford’s voice sang so sincere in my ear “I love you, kid.”

As soon as my head hit the pillow I woke up. I mean to say that I closed my eyes, rather horizontal, and then I was standing, chilled. I breathed in and my lungs screamed. I retched violently and opened my eyes, they seared in the peppery air. I stood on a wharf which divided a white flat expanse with a black sea of smoke. Wretched green light illuminated the space which fumed with bile in some cosmic digestion.

To my left a pier reached into the smoldering ocean, and a mighty ship rose from the blackness. I curled up to gather myself but the burning kept coming, I couldn’t think. What did Ford say? Pain, ship, he’s prophetic. I made my way swaying down the pier blinded by tears when I ran into something. Clearing my eyes for the eightieth time, there stood the captain, an imposing pirate. He must have been eight feet tall. He snarled through his thick, braided, beard holding out his hand in suggestion. It was then that I realized that I was still clutching the coins in my hand. I put one in his vast mitt. He seemed satisfied. I was seated and lashed to the side of the ship.

It wasn't a moment later that the ship began to move. The captain Yared orders in some lost tongue, and the ship ghastly followed his orders, ropes furrowing to his barks. He manned the helm with wrathful elation as the ship Pitched and pinwheeled through the dimensional tempest. My senses were brutalized by the impossible forces, wherein I vomited myself unconscious.

When we finally landed the captain came to detach me from the ship, and escorted me off with shoves and grunts. The immediate sky was filled with an enormous looming castle of red granite. I stumbled along a stunningly crafted stone staircase that led me up from the dock to the castle. I plodded upward half-blind for a long while trying to regain my equilibrium from the voyage. I passed several thresholds when a gentle voice called from an adjacent door.

“August, August Laughlin.” My ruined vision could only make out blobs of color, but I followed the scent of tobacco through the heavy doors. I could make out a library with a few comfortable chairs, and a desk where stood a silhouette. “Sit, please.” I did. There were sounds of hurried scribbling from the other side of the room. “Your uncle left you quite a gift.”

“What, did he sell his soul?” The scribbling stopped and a long inhale preceded slow footsteps in my direction.

“No, August. Your uncle is far too smart for that old schtick." He seated himself. "No, your uncle and I struck an accord. One private show here in The Realm, in exchange for three questions and a favor.” I thought I got it so many times, Ford’s final joke, but this was better than I could have dreamed. A celestial joke just for me. I laughed, laughed almost to death right in front of Old Scratch.

“All right” I said wiping away the first good tears in days. “Two questions and a favor?” I couldn't believe where I was.

“That’s right.”

“Can you stop my cancer, stop me from dying so soon?” The thin silhouette in the chair scribbled again, I thought I made out a little black book. “What is that?” Damn my ADHD.

“To answer your questions in that order, First, no I cannot.” The voice seemed almost remorseful. “You will die on time like everybody else. Second, this is my ledger. Should I barter with fate or men, this is my tool to transit the appropriate funds and requests across space and time.” I began trembling in quiet rage. I was burning all over. I just wanted somebody else to hurt.

“I want the book.” the figure seemed taken aback.

“What?”

“Your ledger, that’s the favor I want.” My anger seeded to fear as the shadow lurched forward in lividity. Ancient choral tongues whispered from every pore in the library. Something thudded hard against my chest, and the calm voice became a screech.

“I am not cruel August Laughlin! Fate grips us all, and If I were you I would leave now, lest I wring your soul dry before your eyes!” With that I gripped my parcel and stumbled off with a quickness. The demonic whispers frothed into a concerto, causing the room to quake. As I breached the office the figure called out behind me. “Fate requires a price to be paid, August!”

Racing like a lunatic I fled down the stairs, falling terrifically several times on the way. I made it to the pier, where the Captain stood waiting palm-forward, I paid him quickly, and lashed myself to the ship with my prize clutch tightly to my chest. I was ready to go.

When I stepped off the ship I woke up. I mean to say that I was In the hospital again. My ears rang. I was still dazed from the journey, still clutching my book. Nurses flooded the room pulling me up off the bed. It was Ford, he was gone. It was an embolism. A clot had broken off from his femur and cut off blood to his lung. I looked at my watch: March 20, 2019, 5:15 AM.

On my flight home I wondered what to do with the book. Ford said not to get greedy. The shadow said that everything has a cost. I just wanted to live a little longer, what could really be the cost of a few more years? I tried writing something: cost, August Laughlan, life, extend.” These words evaporated and one appeared in their place, I didn't get it. What the hell is a pandemic anyway?