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She died doing what she loved best: petting the dog that had chosen her.
One moment, her hand was buried in thick, spotted fur; the next, her mother was bawling, and the dog was howling, and her grandmother was closing the eyes of the frail body that laid in her bed.
Her mother hugged the body, and her grandmother hugged her mother. The dog continued to howl, with no one to comfort him. She reached out to him — then paused, noticing her hand.
She glanced again at the body, just to be sure — its withered husk was bony, cheeks sunken, hands naught but skin and bone. Her own hands looked almost healthy — plump with vigor, though the color was gone — as if she had never been sick at all. She raised her hands to her face. It felt... whole. Round and smooth as it was in the days before she’d fallen ill — before she’d ever known how eyes too sunken and cheeks too sharp and lips too dry felt on her face all too well.
For the first time in what felt like years, she grinned.
“Do not howl, my friend! I am here!” She reached again for the dog that had chosen her — the dog she had grown up with, the dog with whom she had been raised — her dog — but her hand could not touch him. Her words could not sway his howling. Her mother continued to weep.
It was then she understood.
She was dead.
Her mother, her father, her grandmother, her sisters and brother — her dog — they could not see her grin. They could not hear her tell them she was fine — indeed, better in death than the corpse that lay on the bed beside her. They could not touch her hand, though her dog licked the corpse’s hand. They could not hug her one last time, though her mother hugged the corpse, burying her head into its chest. They could not card their hands through her hair, though her grandmother’s hand wove patterns into the corpse’s hair. They could not play together in the streets, or huddle together to listen to her grandmother’s stories, or eat dinner together and make her father laugh.
And they never would again.
Her grin slipped from her face, and tears spilled from her eyes, unable to touch the ground when they fell from her cheeks.
She was dead.
And she could never go back.
She knew what came next. She had buried three grandparents and a little brother in her lifetime. She thought she was prepared to see it from the other side; but it was surreal to see her own husk of a corpse laid out like this, naked and bare, washed and anointed with oil and clothed with a reverence that had never been directed to herself in life. She supposed it still wasn’t for her in death — it was for what was left over after she had passed. For the withered corpse her former body had become.
An old, weathered obol was placed in the corpse’s mouth, and she felt it beneath her tongue. She dared not open her mouth, lest the obol fell and was lost forever, condemning her to wander along the shore of the Acheron, unable to cross over to the other side. It was difficult to keep her mouth shut when her family entered, one by one, to visit the corpse. She wanted to speak back to her grandmother — to comfort her mother and father with words. When her siblings came, all she could do was listen as they spoke, and as they wept.
Then came the ritual she disliked most. She could barely recognize the women gathered around the corpse beneath their dark robes, but she knew her mother was at the front, leading the rites, sobbing and screaming her grief as she chanted the verses, as she pulled out her hair, as she hit herself. She wanted to tell her mother to stop hurting herself, but even if she could open her mouth, she knew her words would have no effect. Instead, she forced herself to watch on. This was her prothesis. She couldn’t look away.
Next came ekphora. She walked with the procession before dawn as they brought the corpse to its final resting place. She remembered the last time she had to do this — how tired she was, both with grief and with a need to sleep. This time, though she was grieving, though her emotions had run in circles and left her with a numbness like before, she was not tired. She did not need to sleep. Perhaps she would never sleep again.
She watched as the corpse was lowered into the ground — then turned away from it, watching her family instead. Watching her dog as her youngest sibling hugged him tight. She hoped her family would love him and cherish him as she did. She looked up from her dog — then froze, eyes wide. Someone was staring at her. Not at the corpse. Not at her family. Her.
He was dressed all in black, and he had a sword sheathed at the hip. His mouth was set in a scowl, and his eyes were hard. Not cruel, but not kind, either — rather, they bore no sympathy nor pity. She couldn’t help but stare at his great, dark wings, which she knew were there to take her away from her family.
The sword, the dark wings and dark clothing like in that play her father loved — this was Thanatos, she was sure of it. She raised her chin to him, meeting his gaze with her own glare.
“Are you ready?”
His voice was low and monotonous — uncaring, even — but the question made her falter. She took one last look at her family, mourning her passage. Her mother and father held each other, and her grandmother held her mother’s hand. Her siblings huddled together, as they did when the nights were cold and the storms were fierce. But there was an absence where she normally would have stood, holding her youngest sibling to her. Instead, the youngest held close to her dog, and her older sister held the youngest. A new arrangement. A new configuration, to fill the hole she’d left.
She turned back to Thanatos, blinking tears from her eyes. She nodded.
He rolled his eyes, extending his hand towards her. She glared at him and took it, not daring to look back lest she be tempted to refuse him.
The wind picked up around her, and she was whisked away.
It could have been an hour, or maybe a minute. Or was it a second? Time was strange when she didn’t have the living to anchor her to it. But the next thing she knew after being whisked away from her family was being dropped unceremoniously onto the bank of a river. She caught herself with her hands and was almost surprised by the lack of sting. Picking herself up, she glared back at Thanatos — only to find that he was no longer there. She was alone.
Her shoulders sagged, and she sighed through her nose. This was really it. There was no turning back. Not if she didn’t want to wander this side of the Acheron, lost in a world to which she no longer belonged.
She surveyed her surroundings. Gray, rocky hills behind her. Gray, turbulent water before her. Gray, endless fog ahead of her. Gray, tepid sky above her. Gray stones beneath her gray, sandaled feet. Everything was gray.
She sighed again and sat beside the river, hugging her knees to her chest. She missed her family. She missed her dog. She missed being able to sit and read with them, and she missed playing with them outside with the sunlight heating her skin.
She missed being alive.
She did not know how long she sat there, staring at the water and the fog. She only knew that one moment she was staring at the shapes the fog and water made; and the next, those shapes solidified to become a boat, its ferryman slowly guiding the boat to shore. She stood then, taking a step back to give the boat room to berth. As it landed, the ferryman — Charon, she knew — drew himself to his full height. He towered over her, scraggly beard and hair nearly hiding his eyes, which bored into her. She stared back at him. He seemed to be waiting for something — some sort of reaction from her — and she went to open her mouth to ask him what he wanted, to tell him to quit staring, but her tongue tripped over the coin in her mouth.
Oh, right.
The obol.
She pulled the obol from her mouth, wiped it on her clothes, and held it out to him. He stared for a moment more before nodding, taking it from her, and putting it in a pouch. He then reached out his hand to her. She grasped it, and he pulled her onto the boat, careful to keep her from touching the water of the Acheron. As she settled herself, he pushed off, sending them away from the shoreline and into the fog.
The trip was long, and the fog thick. At times, she could barely make out Charon on the other side of the boat. That was okay. Though she had been full of words in life, and though her tongue was finally free to speak its mind, she found she didn’t want to speak. What she really wanted to do was cuddle her dog, and reassure him that she was okay. But her dog was far away now. Or rather, she was far away now. She hugged herself instead, pretending the chill of the fog made her feel cold.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice when they reached the other side until the boat bumped into the shore. She tore her gaze away from the fog and stood up, careful not to touch the water as she left the boat.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and turned to face Charon. But he and his boat were gone.
She turned back, and then gasped, taking in her surroundings for the first time since her arrival. Though the land and sky here were as gray as they had been before, this place was far from desolate. Shades — people as dead as she was herself — dotted the land, appearing from the mist hiding the Acheron and the living world, and following each other towards a massive set of gates. The gates were daunting — wrought of a metal she could not recognize, all sharp points and harsh angles — bare of any decor save for functionality. But what truly made her stop and stare was the giant, three-headed dog guarding the gate, whom the shades skirted by. In mourning her life, she had nearly forgotten the existence of the biggest dog she knew she’d ever encounter, in life or in death.
Cerberus did not look like how she’d imagined. The Pindar poem her father liked to recite gave Cerberus one hundred heads; this dog had ninety seven fewer. The picture she’d painted in her head gave Cerberus a coat as black as night, as black as Hades; this dog was completely spotted. And though this dog’s fur was short relative to his large stature, his coat reminded her of her own dog. She felt a pang in her heart at the thought. But she also felt rising determination.
No matter what, she was going to pet this dog.
She made her way through the crowd of shades, brushing past and through and around them as quickly as she could without raising alarm. The shades entering Hades kept their distance from Cerberus. One hundred feet from him, the crowd had thinned considerably. Sixty feet from him, and she was the closest shade to him. Fifty feet from him, and all six of his eyes were fixed on her. Forty feet away, he growled with three mouths — a warning to keep back.
She stopped at forty feet and sat down, turning her head to the floor. She glanced up at Cerberus through her hair as she turned her palms upwards and outwards — an offering of peace to the dog. Even forty feet away, he was so much bigger than she’d imagined — nearly filling the entrance to Hades he was guarding. His eyes were still on her, and she forced her gaze down and away again, only occasionally glancing upwards to check on Cerberus.
Eventually, one after the other, his three heads deemed her to not be a threat — not at this distance, anyways. He went back to guarding the entrance.
“Such a good boy,” she whispered. Then she slowly rose to her feet, hands still held outwards in peace, head still turned downwards. A glance told her that two of his heads were watching her now. She took a step forward. No change. Another step. Still no change.
And on like this she went, a step and a glance at a time. At thirty five feet, the third head started watching her. At thirty feet, one of the heads started to growl. She paused, then, waiting for the growl to wane. It did, but not completely; and she dared take another step. The growl picked up again, and a second head joined the first. The third head whined.
Taking this as a good sign, she took two more steps — twenty five feet — and heard the whining dwindle, replaced by growling. The first head barked twice in between growls, so she stopped and sat down again, keeping her head down, palms up.
Twenty five feet. It seemed that was as close as Cerberus would let her come. She frowned at her lap. As exciting as it was to be this close to the biggest dog she’d ever met, she didn’t just want to glance at him from between strands of hair. She wanted to pet him. To befriend him. To play with him the way she had played with her dog when she was alive.
She mused on the problem, tracing the laces of her sandals with her eyes. How could she get Cerberus to trust her? Back at home, she’d had toys and sticks and ropes to play with the local dogs. She’d had food she could offer them, and she’d had shelter she could give them. Here, she had nothing. No toys, no food, no shelter, no sticks, nothing but the clothes on her back and the sandals on her feet —
Wait.
An idea formed in her mind. She lowered one hand to the laces of her sandals, slowly undoing them both and sliding them off her feet. She then picked up one of the sandals and stood — slowly, so as to not startle Cerberus. All three heads stared at her. Two of them growled.
“Hey puppy,” she called. The silent head huffed. She slowly raised her sandal in the air, waving it back and forth. Cerberus followed with one head. “Do you want to play?”
The growling stopped, and all three heads cocked. They stared at the sandal, following it with their eyes as she waved it back and forth in the air.
“Yeah, do you want to play?” she cooed. “You want to play with the sandal?”
The head that had been silent whined softly. She had the attention of all three heads, following the sandal as she waved it back and forth, up and down, moving it towards one of the heads if it seemed to start to lose interest. Just like playing with the strays at home.
“You want to play with the sandal, don’t you?” she cooed again. “Don’t you? Then catch!”
She threw the sandal as high as she could, and it sailed by the middle head. The middle head grabbed the sandal as the other two barked before lunging for the sandal as well. Between the three of them tugging, they tore the sandal apart.
She gulped nervously. She had forgotten — Cerberus was a big boy. And that meant big teeth. She had no doubt if she got caught in his jaws, she could kiss her soul goodbye.
But this was her last chance to pet a dog. And her only chance to pet Cerberus. She steeled her nerves and picked up her last sandal, taking a few more steps closer as Cerberus played with the remains of the one she’d thrown.
When the first sandal was nothing but tattered leather, Cerberus whined with three mouths and looked to her with six begging eyes. She couldn’t help but grin then, though she was careful to keep her teeth hidden. She lifted the second sandal, waving it back and forth and watching Cerberus follow with all three heads.
“You still want to play, huh, puppy?” she cooed, stepping closer to the giant dog. “You want to play? Then catch!”
She stepped forward and threw the sandal as high as she could. This time the left head caught it, whipping it back and forth by the straps before the middle head grabbed the sole.
The three heads played and snapped and whined with a desperation she recognized from some of the strays at home. They were wild, yes — but more than that, they were lonely. How long had Cerberus stood there, guarding the entrance to Hades? When was the last time he had played? When was the last time he’d gotten scritches behind the ears, or a nice, long belly rub?
When Cerberus finished with the remains of her last sandal, he whined with three mouths, crouching down to her level and begging with three sets of wide, doleful eyes. She reached her hand up to the middle head’s nose — each head was larger than her body — and he pushed his nose into her palm. It was cold and wet, but his breath was warm. This surprised her — she hadn’t felt cold or warm since she’d laid in her bed, waiting to die. She leaned into the sensation, scritching around his nose. The other two heads snuffled at her cloak, searching for some hidden sandal they could play with, and she laughed.
“I’m sorry, puppy, I don’t have anything —” she started, before pausing. She did have something she could use to play with him. But it was indecent — her grandmother would have never approved.
At that thought, she smiled. Her grandmother wasn’t here — not yet, anyways. She gave Cerberus some quick pats on all of his heads before stepping back. Cerberus tried to follow, but she raised her hand.
“Sit,” she said firmly.
And Cerberus sat.
She then took off her cloak, leaving her in just her peplos. The fabric was sturdy — perfect for what she needed — but it was square. She gathered it to herself, rolling it loosely from the corner before awkwardly tying it into a knot in the middle. It was far from perfect, but it would do.
Cerberus watched her as she stood up with the makeshift toy in hand, his tail wagging happily in anticipation. She smiled up at him, then waved the thick, makeshift rope in front of her.
“Hey boy, do you want to…” she paused for a beat. “... Play?”
The reaction was immediate. Cerberus’s tail wagged even faster. The left and middle heads barked, and the right head lunged forwards, grabbing the end of her cloak and swinging. She held tight and pulled, but could only offer meager resistance against Cerberus’s might. He pulled her off her feet, and she screamed in joyous surprise as she was swung over his head and onto his back. She instinctively let go of the cloak, letting Cerberus tug it between his heads, and grabbed hold of his fur so she wouldn’t fall down. It was soft — softer than she’d ever imagined — and she couldn’t help but bury her face in it. It almost smelled like her dog, and she smiled widely, clutching to Cerberus’s back as he played. The cloak seemed to be doing its job — she could feel the giant dog lurch this way and that as he tugged on it between his heads. The cloak creaked as each tug tightened the knot, and though she heard it tear a little bit in his teeth, it seemed to hold as Cerberus continued to play.
Eventually, Cerberus tired, and he huffed, dropping to the ground and rolling his body to his side, unceremoniously dumping her to the ground. She pushed herself up and put her hand on his back, gently pulling it against the flow of the fur as she walked towards the front before pulling away as she reached his heads. His front paws dwarfed the cloak, which had mostly been torn to ribbons, but which still held the knot. His heads chuffed as they saw her, leaning in and pushing against her hands, begging for scritches. She obliged, laughing as she traded her hands between them — every time her hand left one head, it whined and begged for more scritches, licking her face to get her attention. She didn’t have enough hands!
Head scritches quickly turned into chest scritches, which devolved into belly rubs as the great dog rolled over. She was quick to climb onto his belly, and he grunted happily with all three of his heads, kicking the air with a hind leg as she found that perfect spot —
“Who dares distract Cerberus from his duties?”
She started at the voice that boomed down at her; then she fell with a cry from Cerberus as he rolled over, nearly squishing her in the process, and bounded away. She then picked herself up from the ground, brushing imaginary dust off herself in habit as she turned to glare at the source of the voice and the interruption to her petting session with Cerberus; but her glare faltered as she took in who had spoken.
The god — he couldn’t be anything else — was huge. He towered over Cerberus, hands expertly petting each head in turn as the giant dog leaped upwards to try and lick his face. His cloak and chiton, adorned with jewels, popped against the bronze of his skin and the gray of their surroundings. His dark, curled beard couldn’t hide his small smile as he looked down at Cerberus, and his equally dark and curled hair, though hiding his brow, couldn’t hide the gleam in his dark eyes.
He did not have the staff that had broken the earth to steal his wife into the underworld below, as far as she could see. Nor did he have the helmet which rendered its wearer invisible. But she could not deny who this was.
“Heel, boy,” he ordered. And Cerberus obeyed, taking his paws off of the god’s chest and sitting before him, tail wagging and mouths panting happily.
There was no doubt. This was Hades. Lord of the Dead. And she was disheveled, hair askew, covered in giant dog hair and spit and dressed in naught but her peplos.
Lord Hades crossed his arms. “Well? Explain yourself.”
She looked to the ground.
“I’ve always loved dogs,” she started. “My grandmother and parents warned me that the strays would bite — and they did, but not in any way that mattered. I still loved to play with them and give them food and scritches.
“One of the strays took to me when I was little. He was just a puppy at the time. Spotted. Just like your dog. He’d follow me around all the time and beg for scritches and play and food and attention.” She smiled at the memories. “How could I not give him attention? He chose me, and I chose him. He was my dog, because I was his human.”
Her smile died as she thought of her final days of life. “He stayed with me, in the end. My family, too, but they had to leave sometimes. He was with me all the time while I was sick. He let me pet him when I could. He kept me company when no one else could.”
She finally looked up, not quite meeting Lord Hades’s eyes. “I’ve always loved dogs. And Cerberus is so much like the dog who chose me — I just wanted to give him pets and scritches the way I had with my dog.”
Lord Hades raised an eyebrow. “You’re distracting him from his duties. He must guard the exit, lest souls such as yourself attempt to return to the living.”
She bristled. “He’s not just a guard — he’s a dog. He needs to play, and he needs love, and he needs pets and scritches just like any other dog.”
She met Lord Hades’s eyes with a glare, her fists balled.
”I’m a complete stranger to him — yet he let me approach. It only took me, what? An hour? Two? To befriend him?” Her voice raised. ”He’s lonely! He needs stimulation! He needs to do more than just guard!”
She then remembered who she was talking to, and she looked down at her bare feet. “Sir.”
Lord Hades didn’t speak for a moment. She continued to glare at her feet. Lord Hades would likely punish her for her insolence; but petting Cerberus, and giving him the attention he needed and deserved, was well worth it.
“Three weeks.”
She looked up, confused. “What?”
“It took you three weeks to befriend him.”
“What?” she whispered. Her mind reeled. “But, no, it couldn’t have —”
“Time is strange to the dead. Without mortality to tether you, it slips from you like sand through your fingers.” Lord Hades smiled. “Still. That’s faster than I expected.”
She said nothing, dumbfounded by the revelation. Three weeks. She’d been gone from her family for at least three weeks.
“What is your name?”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“Your name, child, your name,” he replied. “I don’t have all night.”
She lifted her chin. “Zoe.”
Lord Hades chuckled. “A fitting name! It takes a lively one to play with Cerberus!”
He then turned and beckoned her to follow. “Come, child. We have much to discuss.”
“One moment.” Zoe ran up to Cerberus, who lowered his heads to her level. She hugged them, giving them each one last scritch. “I’ll be back, friend.”
And for the first time, she felt like she’d be able to return.
Author's Note:
Author's Note:
Below are the sources I used when researching for this piece. I did my best to respectfully portray the funeral rites and the passing of the dead; however, it is entirely possible I made some mistakes in doing so. I apologize for any mistakes I made in my portrayal of Ancient Greek culture or mythology. And I hope these resources serve as a good base to jump off of for your own research!
An excellent resource for Greek Mythology in general - I high key recommend it!
https://www.ranker.com/list/cause-of-death-ancient-greece-rome/philgibbons
At first, all I knew was that the main character had just died. I wanted it to be a death where they were surrounded by family and able to pet their dog in the end, but I wasn’t sure if that was a common way to go. So this resource proved very useful! It even led me to pick a time for the character’s death: around 500-400 BCE. As it turns out, most of the sources I used work out with this timeline!
https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/dbag/hd_dbag.htm
https://pacifictheatrearts.wordpress.com/ancient-burial-customs/
These resources proved invaluable when figuring out how burial rites worked. They gave me the names of the three stages of these rites (prothesis, ekphora, and interment/cremation), as well as a base to work off of when writing the rites.
https://www.joincake.com/blog/charons-obol/
https://coinweek.com/ancient-coins/ancient-charons-obol-coins-dead/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charon
These resources were very useful for figuring out what the coin placed in the mouth for Charon was called, as well as what Charon looked like and around what time period he was relevant. Some did note that while written sources referenced Charon’s obol, archeological sources found coins placed in other places as well. Wikipedia was particularly useful for pointing out when images of Charon were particularly popular (around the 5th-4th centuries BCE).
https://www.theoi.com/Daimon/Thanatos.html
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thanatos
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alcestis_(play)
These resources (and in particular, the theoi resource) were very helpful in both determining Thanatos’s appearance and character, and in dating when he was given that appearance and character. Alcestis is the play the main character refers to when she realizes who has come to take her away from her family.
https://www.theoi.com/Kosmos/Haides.html
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_underworld
These resources were invaluable for determining which river was crossed to reach Hades, as well as getting an idea of what the entrance to Hades looked like. The gate itself wasn’t described in any detail besides being large and being guarded by Cerberus, so I did take some small liberties there.
https://www.theoi.com/Ther/KuonKerberos.html
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cerberus
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pindar
These resources were very useful for learning of the different depictions of Cerberus through Ancient Greek history. While many depictions gave him three heads, there were just as many that gave him 50 heads, or 100 heads, or even more! I chose to base the main character’s initial impression of Cerberus on a poem by Pindar, who gave him 100 heads. Cerberus himself, I decided to give three heads.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clothing_in_ancient_Greece
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peplos
I didn’t want to go into detail on what clothing the main character wore, but I still needed a base to work off of. These resources were very useful for that purpose.
https://www.theoi.com/Khthonios/Haides.html
https://www.quora.com/Were-the-Greek-Roman-gods-depicted-as-fair
These resources proved very useful for determining what Hades himself looked like, as well as what symbols typically accompanied him to show who he was.
Written for the Greek Mythology Zine.
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