It was a cold wintery afternoon when I met Tom Frost at the central railway station of Porthdinllaen. It was a quaint little town on the Welch coast. There were a few people at the station but what attracted me to him was his melodic voice singing a mournful song to the accompaniment of the guitar he was busy strumming. He was a fairly tall gentleman, about six foot three, unusually tall for a Welshman, with broad shoulders and wore a long grey army trench coat. The coat was a relic from his service days in one of the battalions of the Coldstream guards. He was stooped over, leaning into the wind tunnelling down the station platform. As I got closer to him I could now hear distinctly the song he was singing, “Take me down to my boat on the river where I would not cry anymore.” I stopped in front of him just as he was concluding his rendition of the song. I greeted him and we exchanged some pleasantries about the weather and the current political affairs of our great nation.  As we communed, he told me his name was Thomas Frost, Frosty as he was known to family and friends.  I introduced myself by my first name, Samuel, Sam, the commonly used abbreviation. As we spoke, I took in a bit more of him. Light blue eyes set into a chiselled face. 

Now comfortable in our communication, I enquired about him specifically singing that song, to which he replied, “I’m getting ready to go down to the River Styx to meet the boatman who will take me across”. As I was unfamiliar with this type of belief system, he proceeded to explain the significance of this activity that was about to unfold in his life. He proceeded to make a request of me, “Would you please accompany me to the river?” At first I was surprised but quickly answered, “Yes!” I don’t know why I said yes, seeing we had just met, but it felt like the right thing to do. Also, there was nowhere important I was going to. Before I was able to ask him how we would get there as if by appointment, we both were magically transported to this mythical place, the boat landing on the River Styx. 

Both time and space were abridged as I took in this new location with its eerie environment. It was broad daylight just a moment ago at the station, but here at the River Styx, it is now twilight and looking across the river, I was initially unable to see the other side as it was wrapped up in a cloak of semi-darkness. The boatman, also having just arrived, stepped off the boat and tied it to the pier. In a couple of quick strides, he was alongside us. He introduced himself as Charon also stating he was expecting Thomas Frost. The water of the River Styx had a shimmering blueish glow to it and I stepped forward in an attempt to dip my hand in to feel its touch and temperature. Within a split second Charon grabbed my hand, preventing me from accomplishing my action. In stopping me, he proceeded to explain that it would have been a terribly dangerous act which would have resulted in me losing my hand. In my natural human form, any body part touched by this water would be destroyed as its water was deadly corrosive to all forms of living matter. 

My presence there, though unexpected, was welcomed as I would assist in the ritual of my “newfound” friend, Frosty’s final event before he crosses over. The initial stage of Thomas Frost’s preparation was the removal of his clothing. This clothing was given to me to go and have burned on a fire that was prepared there on the bank not far from the boat landing. This I carried out immediately and on return was informed that the burning of his clothes signified his final cut-off from his present life existence. Back at the boat, Frosty seemed to have been transformed into a “new” person. His body had taken on an ethereal-like brightness. On seeing this, It immediately struck me that his preparation to cross over had started. Charon indicated that I needed to keep my distance. In answer to my thoughts as to me needing to help any further or if my presence was still required. Not wanting to go as my inquisitive enquiring mind was enthralled by what I was witnessing as this was a totally new experience, the boatman replied, “Just a little longer. You shall be returned to your previous location when we set sail for the other shore. 

However, I was a spectator to Frosty’s next activity in this ritual. A scale that I had not previously seen, was taken up by Charon. For me, it was explained that it was the Scale of Life, calibrated to weigh our human activities, motives, thoughts and emotions to ascertain where Frosty will spend his afterlife. If the needle registers on the positive, he would be bound for paradise. But, should it point to the negative side, it would be eternal damnation and suffering. The workmanship of this scale was of a superb quality golden frame with the face two-tone. The positive side was a pearly white background with red indication markings and the negative side was an eerie greyish colour with black markings. Watching the needle, it was moving erratically, back and forth, between the ranges of positive and negative as it weighed up the sum total of his life. With a smile on my face, and joy in my heart, it finally came to rest mid-centre on the positive side. Looking at Frosty, I saw the relief register on his face.

Before their departure, something unusual began to take place. Firstly, the fog on the opposite bank drifted away and the bank plus activities on its shoreline became visible. The right-hand side was bathed in a bright light and there was an atmosphere of a great party on display. The left side was in darkness with moans and groans plus cursing emanating from it. No explanation was needed and I rightly assumed that this was the netherworld with its two divisions of “heaven” for the good persons’ and “hell” for the bad ones.

Immediately, the boat set sail, and as I watched it journeying to the opposite shore, to the right side, I was immediately transposed back to where it all began the railway station.

I woke up and immediately realised that it was all a dream. I’m Christian by faith and it dawned on me that it was all a dream.

Author’s Note: As a child I have always loved reading Greek, Norse and Egyptian mythology and I had just finished re-reading, for the umpteenth time portions of “The Illyad,” “The Odyssey” and “Jason’s Golden Fleece,” hence, “Implausible Reality.”