The Ferryman of Black Water – Manipulative Keyword Targeting
Go Straight to: What is Manipulative Keyword Targeting?
On a November day, a bus traveled through winding mountain roads during the late afternoon in Eastern Europe. A group of American travelers sat among a handful of locals on board. The Americans were getting restless. The locals seemed just as eager for their departure.
They had passed small stone villages and caught glimpses of the bay’s dark, still waters along the way. The trip had been a blast so far. There had been the usual scheduling and travel hiccups, but each one had made the journey richer and their friendships stronger.
Now, their stop was approaching. The driver slowed the bus, and the group of Americans gathered their belongings. A single post on the roadside marked their stop: “Бока Которска.”
The bus came to a halt with a hydraulic pop and hiss.
The group of friends stepped off the bus, their bags rolling behind them. Before they could fully regain their footing, the bus pulled away, disappearing down the road. They started toward the village’s docks, less than a kilometer away.
“We’re going to be late!” Sheila said, nearly tripping over a rock and stumbling toward a ditch.
“Nahhh, we’ll be fine,” Brad said. “They’re never on time, and worst case, we’ll just wait for the next one.”
“You better be right… I swear, we’re always cutting it too close. We can’t just assume there will be another ferry!”
“Relax,” Brad grinned. “The joy is in the journey. Another one will come along.”
They made their way through the small village, the old wooden docks visible in the distance.
“See? There it is. They are waiting for us now,” Brad said, picking up his pace.
The group followed, stepping through the quiet streets. The worn cobblestone, smoothed by centuries of footsteps, snaked through clustered buildings and homes. Their pale grey facades, topped with weathered terracotta tiles, streaked with moss. A cold mist rolled in from the harbor.
Wooden signs, their painted letters unfamiliar, hung from the old buildings. A few dim lights flickered from scattered windows, electricity was scarce in these parts.
“Woah… check out that antique,” one of them muttered. A figure stood near a building, watching them. He raised a single finger in acknowledgment, his expression unreadable. Some of the group hesitated, then offered small, uneasy waves in return.
The golden sun was setting behind the far-away mountains, fading into the fog. They heard the ferry preparing to depart and broke into a sprint toward the docks. “Wait! Wait!” they ran, waving and hollering at anyone on the dock to notice them. “Hold on! We are coming. Wait!” By the time they reached the edge, breathless and desperate, the ferry had already drifted away. “Come back! We have tickets!” A boat hand glanced at them, shrugged, then turned away as the ferry drifted toward the East.
“I TOLD YOU! We are stuck here now. In this… dumpy old, moldy pit,” Sheila said.
“I know… I know…” Brad said. “Let’s see if there is a schedule around here somewhere.”
“Ew. Gross. It smells like rotten death,” Julia muttered. She took a step back, covering her nose. “No wonder… Look at that.” She pointed to the sea wall on the far side of the docks, where foam, debris, and sludge churned against the old wooden pillars.
“DAMN IT!” someone shouted. “How the hell are we getting out of this one?!” They threw their bag down and sat on it, shaking their head while scraping layers of mud off from their shoes.
“Now look, we have pissed off Sammy,” Julia said.
“Ugh, okay… okay…” Sheila sighed and walked over to offer Sammy some support.
“Hey! I think I found something,” Lewis said. He was already wandering the docking bays.
He was standing at a different mooring point, separate from where the ferry had left. This section of the dock was older, the wood warped and splintered with age. He flicked open a lighter, its small flame casting flickering shadows across the surface. Strange markings were carved into the wood. The same language they had seen scattered throughout the village.
The dock planks creaked as the rest of the group caught up, their footsteps hesitant on the unstable boards.
“This might be the ticket,” Lewis said.
“Is it safe over here?” Julia asked.
“Why not? Feels fine to me.” As soon as the words left his mouth, a plank beneath him split in two with a sharp crack. He lurched forward, catching himself before nearly tumbling into the dark water below.
“What’s the sign say?”
“No clue.”
The sign read, “Не буди га.”
“Hey,” Brad called from further down the dock. He was carefully straddling two beams, holding something small in his hand. “What do you think this does? It’s a whistle!”
“NO. Absolutely not,” Sheila snapped. “I don’t want to know what the hell that thing conjures out of this wreck.”
“Come on, Sheila… It’s probably just some old fishing whistle or something.” He put it to his lips and blew.
Nothing. The sound was blocked, clogged with something thick. He crouched down, knocking it against the wooden post it had been tied to. Clumps of dark soot and mud tumbled free. He blew the airways free and raised it again. “Let’s try it now.” He blew.
This time, a sharp, high-pitched whistle rang out, cutting through the thick air. It was louder than it should have been, unnaturally clear, its tone holding steady with a sustained precision. The group flinched. Some covered their ears, wincing at the piercing pitch.
Even after Brad lowered the whistle, the note carried on. It lingered in the air, an echo that refused to fade. He frowned, turning the whistle over, puzzled as it lay in his hands.
In the fog to the northwest, something stirred. A deep horn bellowed from the distance, its sound rolling through the thick air in slow, deliberate blasts. The group fell silent, their eyes locked on the water. Waves slapped harder against the retainer wall. The tide shifted. Wooden boats began to bob against their piers, creaking with the rising movement in the distant waters.
Then, through the mist, a dark shape emerged.
At first, it was only an outline. Tall. Narrow. Something rising above its frame. A mast. A sail. No… the fog twisted strangely around it, playing tricks with its edges. For a moment, the shape billowed like fabric caught in the wind. Then, it sharpened into something rigid. Something metallic.
A blue light flickered to life at the front of the vessel, unnaturally bright. It cut across the dock in a sudden flash, washing everything in a ghostly glow before vanishing again into the mist.
The boat drifted closer.
“Look! See? We are going to catch a lift after all,” Lewis said, relief creeping into his voice.
“Thank. God.” Sheila exhaled.
Julia hesitated, her eyes still fixed on the dark water. “I do not know… I am not sure about this.”
“It is our only chance. I sure as hell do not want to sleep here,” Sammy muttered.
As the ship neared, its details came into focus. The rigid edges. The structure of a modern ferry. The fog had played tricks on their eyes. Maybe they really were saved.
“I told you. There is always another one,” Brad said, laughing. “And look at this one. Bigger than the last. First class, baby.”
A short horn blast echoed from the vessel, followed by a column of steam rising high into the air above it.
“C’mon, let’s get right on. I’m ready to get out of here,” Sheila said.
They regrouped, stepping carefully along the worn dock, between gaps and unsteady planks.
A figure stepped to the edge of the deck, preparing the mooring lines. With practiced ease, he threw loose Bollard Tie-Ups, securing them with precise timing and skill. His movements were a bit uneven, a slight limp dragging through each step as he moved to fasten the vessel.
He muttered something in a language they still didn’t recognize.
“I’m sorry, do you speak English? Engelsk? Vorbești Engleză?” Lewis asked.
“Ahhh, aye. To other side?” The man lowered the gate and extended the platform, motioning for them to board.
“Yes, we have tickets for the channel ferry service. And we just missed the other…”
“No. No ticket,” the ferryman interrupted. “You are very lucky. This is fast way. Very few know of this way. You will across quickly. Come, come. Let me help.”
He reached for Lewis’s bag. Lewis hesitated, then handed it over. The man set it aside and gestured for the others to do the same. One by one, they followed suit. The ferryman placed each of their bags in a designated area on the deck, and signed a net over them that was attached to the side of the ferry. The ferryman moved with the odd, dragging gait. He slipped off the platform, untied the Bollards, then reappeared on board with unnatural speed. He motioned toward the passenger area near the hull. “Sit. Relax. We leave now.”
Lewis rubbed his belly. “I’d kill for some chips. Or a sandwich… Hey! Umm, captain? Do you have a snack bar?”
The old man turned back, his expression unreadable. “Across. Across. Yes… Keep seated. No touch outside ship.” Then, without another word, he disappeared into the pilothouse.
Lewis watched him go. “Guess there’s good food on the other side…”
The ship rumbled and growled, its vibrations rattling through the deck. Slowly, it picked up speed, and drifted away from the dock.
Julia, Sheila, and Sammy sank into a row of worn passenger chairs inside the dimly lit cabin. The air was stale. Heavy. Julia turned back toward the village, but it was already gone. Just white nothingness. No dock. No land.
Outside, Lewis and Brad leaned against the railing on the observation deck, watching the water churn beneath them. The ship’s horn bellowed in long, heavy blasts, the sound swallowed by the fog as they pushed forward into the black water.
“Why are we in the fog? We need to head East,” Brad said.
“Good luck getting an answer from the captain… He’s a talker,” Lewis muttered. “Besides, he probably knows a better route through the area. That, or he’s steering us toward some little souvenir village. We’ll buy a creepy doll or something and be on our way. It’s the journey, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re right.”
Inside, Julia, Sheila, and Sammy swayed with the boat, the hum of the engine lulling them like a car on an empty highway.
Something hit the vessel. HARD. The sudden jolt threw them from their seats.
“Ow! Ooof!” Sheila groaned as she pushed herself up. They all checked for injuries.
“What the hell was that?” Julia asked, rubbing her arm.
Outside, Lewis and Brad scrambled to their feet. Brad touched the side of his head and pulled his hand away, blood smearing his fingers.
“Shit,” Lewis muttered. He ripped off a piece of his shirt and wrapped it tightly around the fresh wound. “Hold this.”
Sammy went to walk around the Deck to look for anyone else. The rest of the group met between the observation deck and the cabin.
“You all alright?” Lewis asked.
“Yeah,” Sheila said. “You?”
“Brad’s a bit banged up,” Lewis said, glancing at the makeshift bandage. “I’m gonna have a word with our sweet-talking captain.”
Lewis pushed through the cabin doors, following the same path the ferryman had taken earlier. His eyes flicked to the front window.
They were heading straight for a massive rock formation. Mounds and mounds of round rock. And they were gaining speed.
“This is too fast!” Julia said, her eyes locked on the land mass ahead. “We’re going to crash straight into them.”
Brad smirked. “Relax. It’s just a village stop. Probably a place to pick up some souvenirs before we continue the voyage.”
Everyone turned to him, confused.
“A village?” Sheila repeated.
Brad blinked, as if snapping out of something. “Nothing… forget it.”
Before anyone could press him further, Sammy came sprinting from the other side of the deck.
“Hey! You need to see this. Now.”
“What is it?” Julia asked.
Sammy hesitated. “I… I don’t know. Just come look. It’s on the front of the boat.”
They hurried to the front of the ferry, gripping the railing as the wind howled around them.
“Look at that,” Sheila whispered. “What is it?”
Beneath the churning water, something clung onto the bow. At first, it looked like a rope or a heavy chain, but it was wrong. It was not steel. It was not rope. It was something else. It pulsed. Fused into the metal, it tightened. Dragging the ferry forward with unnatural force. The vessel lurched, speeding toward the jagged rocks ahead. The group tried to maintain their balance at each violent thrust.
We have to stop it!” Sheila screamed.
Just then, a bright blue light pulsed from the wheelhouse above. Focused on the speeding vessel, they hadn’t thought to check on the captain until now. But when they looked up, there was no one there. The helm pulsed again, followed by a sudden, blinding flash.
Then, Lewis appeared right in front of them. Not walking. Not approaching. Just… there.
“Lewis,” Sheila whispered. “Oh no. Lou…”
His eyes glowed with the same unnatural blue light. His skin had gone pale, his mouth slightly open. His arms hung limp at his sides, motionless for a long moment. The light in his eyes pulsed in time with the ship’s glow. Then, with a slow, unnatural slide, he drifted toward them. The movement was wrong. It was not walking. It was not stepping. It was the same sluggish, dragging motion they had seen before. The same way the captain had moved when they first stepped onto the ship.
“Lewis!” Brad called out. “It’s us. Hey, bud.”
No response.
Lewis’s arm lifted slowly and pointed past them, beyond the front of the boat. The group hesitated. They did not want to turn around. But they did. And what they saw made their breath catch in their throats.
The large mound in the distance was moving. Not drifting. Not rolling with the waves. It was shifting. Rising. And they were getting closer. Too close.
“Oh GOD… what is that?” Sheila whispered.
“It’s… moving… why is it moving…” Lewis muttered.
No one had an answer.
Julia fumbled for her phone and snapped a photo.
The click of the shutter felt deafening.
The others turned to her, eyes wide with disbelief.
Then, as if drawn by the same unspoken instinct, they huddled together.
The object neared, rising and falling with the waves. Then, it began to open.
The blue light pulsed faster. The ferry jolted forward, yanked with a strong force.
The group clung to whatever they could, screaming with each violent pull.
“Oh… God…”
They stared in awe and horror.
A massive mouth yawned open beneath the creature’s head. A single tendril, the same unnatural material as the tether, slithered from its crown.
Somehow, the ferry beneath them was gone. They crouched on a pulsing, fleshy plate of cartilage.
The platform lifted. Then, with a sickening crack, it snapped.
The force flung them apart.
The tendril whipped again. One by one, it tossed them into the gaping maw.
Then, an ancient creature withdrew.
Satisfied.
Fed.
…
The fog rolled in, swallowing up the cursed thing once more.
Back at the dock, in the old village, a woman walked toward the old sign and whistle. She laid down a fresh basket of rustic bread and fruit. She started to walk back but then approached the old wooden sign carved with the words, “Не буди га.” She reached down on the dock and picked up a plank with the English translation:
“Do not wake it”
She held it in her hand for a moment, threw it in the black water, and watched it drift out of sight.
What is Manipulative Keyword Targeting?
Manipulative keyword targeting creates the illusion of SEO success. It involves ranking for no-search-volume keywords or hyper-specific long-tail phrases that look impressive in reports but drive no real traffic, engagement, or conversions. Like the Ferryman offering safe passage, this tactic promises results that seem meaningful but lead only to nothing.
Businesses may see keyword rankings improving, but there is no real audience searching for these terms. The destination is a dead end.
Why it’s sold
Marketers and SEO agencies use this tactic to show quick wins. Instead of targeting competitive, high-value keywords, they chase obscure terms with little to no demand. These rankings look good on paper. They serve as “proof” that the SEO strategy is working. But the traffic? The leads? The actual business impact? None of it exists. It is a shortcut to nowhere.
Why it persists
Businesses that do not understand keyword strategy often fall for this trap. When an SEO provider hands them a report showing they are “ranking number one,” it feels like progress. But without real search volume or intent, those rankings are meaningless. The Ferryman assures them they are on the right path. They only realize the deception when they reach the other side and see that nothing is there.
The reality
These rankings do not bring real business value. No traffic. No conversions. No credibility built. Just numbers on a screen. Real SEO requires patience, strategy, and expertise to target terms that actually matter. Keywords that people search for. Keywords that lead to real engagement.
