The island had beckoned me by appearing in my dreams. It was the first haunting of a person by a landmass in humankind’s history, I was sure of that.

When I arrived at the Huntsman, I was met at the door by an elderly fellow whose thin, warped frame called to mind a tree that survived many storms since the dawn of time. He took my hat and coat from me and said, “Mr. Sanje, I presume.”

“Indeed. I arrived by steamer this morning. Lovely town you’ve got here.” I said.

“Of course, of course. I’m glad that sort of travel doesn’t trouble you the way it does me. Ever since I was a lad I’ve been afraid of drowning. The thing perplexes me altogether.” He looked at me queerly. “Down into that cold, coal-black water? And if you didn’t die? The fish would nibble at your entrails while you were bound in the muck of the river bed. What a horrible awakening!”

“I beg your pardon, sir!” I was aghast. Who treated a new guest this way? But then again he was very old.

“Don’t be afraid, Mr. Sanje. That’s not your fate.”