Long ago there was a young man. His name is forever lost in history, though his name was hardly known even during his life time. He was preoccupied with the journey to the afterlife. How did a soul move on? And how did it know where to go?

He was a kind man, not wanting to let these souls make the trip to the afterlife alone. He sung to newly dead of his village, hoping his voice could guide them past this world. His voice alone seemed to hold such power. The low and passionate singing made the villagers believe that he was really helping their departed loved ones.

He was quiet and solitary, only speaking with the dead. This made him seem even more mystical and spiritual. But for himself, he didn't feel or see this mystical power to aid those who had left. He sung in hopes that he could, in hopes that the villagers who began to beg for him to sing could be true, for he felt as though it was his calling to help those not of this world anymore.

In life he never knew if he had helped anyone. He had died trying. On a cold, misty day, his life ended like a whisper. The villagers moved on and his life was lost in time.

However, he is still around. He assists those who have parted still. He comes to the soul of the recently departed and guides them to the afterlife. It is a lonely afterlife. He aids the dead as he has always wanted to while he had life. He is forever alone, forever helping only the dead.

He gets no payment, no love and appreciation anymore. Now that times have moved on and he no longer draws breathe, we do not beg for his aid anymore. We fear him, because his arrival means the end of our lives.