Mike Jones: Infernus

“In the unedited version of the book I translated thirteen essays that graphically describe what was written on each head and what it meant. It also described how believers in the Messiah would be impaled on the horns, after the Beast had defeated Him and His angels in the last great battle, the battle in Megiddo, or Armageddon. I thought it wise to purge those kinds of things from the finished product. The Beast was apparently seen, at great length, by the book’s author.”

He couldn’t help but smirk. “Interesting! You’re quite sure the original is safe, Doctor?”

Her laugh was a challenge. “There is a brotherhood that no one knows, my friend, whose existence is so deep and dark that only a few of their own brothers on earth know who all the members are. One of them joked that they made the Masons look like the New York Times. I do not know this. They have promised me that no billions of dollars could ever make the real book surface again, even if I wanted it, or begged them. I wouldn’t, of course. They wanted all of it. They adore the complete text; and I even imagine they will worship it, as damnable as that may sound. Because they contacted me during the translation process, I could not, under torture, tell you their location or even who I gave it to. All the details of my handing it over to them were quite clever and I shall never reveal them. So, yes, believe me, the original is quite safe. Not one word of this present manuscript had better be deleted or added, or the deal is off. There’s a symmetrical reason for this, as you may notice, if you have read it often enough, as I have. It must remain as it is — just as we agreed — or I’ll walk to another publisher. Or, better yet, never seek to publish it at all.”

“Well,” he said, “I’ve read it. It’s concise and brief. There’s no grand need to edit any of it.”

“Naturally, I made a few changes — only a few. As I said before, the language of the completed text is unnerving, unhinged. Every last thing was described in the coarsest language imaginable. I exchanged a few words to give the text a more clinical, less hideous effect.”

“This book will make you a very rich young woman, if not for the royalties, then for the set contract.”

“That’s all, then,” she said, nearly rising. He was not finished, she could tell. She politely sat back down, smiling slightly.

“Oh, one last thing, Doctor. The little matter of the title. Did you think over my suggestion of a title change? You’ve stated that the title literally translates as, ‘The Book That Unwound You.’”

“That’s right, I have thought it over. I think I’d like it to be called simply, ‘Infernus.’”

“ His name,” the publisher paused for effect, “for Hell.”

She turned her head to stare out the window, and began reciting what he considered must be a well-practiced poem. “’Gold is for strength, Green is for pus; White is their neutral, but Red is mine leader.’”

He leaned over the desk and cocked his head to hear her mere whisper. “What did you say? What was that?”

“A poem I translated, but never included in the text.”

He almost believed he saw a thin tear run down her sallow cheek and disappear into her clothes. “And why is that?”

“I thought the colors would be obvious.”

“The colors of the demons? And are they? Obvious, that is?”

She turned and looked at him, which she seldom did. Her right eye blinked seven times. “Oh, yes.” She paused, and then winced as if someone had spit in her eye. “Oh, yes they are obvious.”

“Well, maybe the people would want an annotated version -”

“I don’t care what the people want!” The only time she ever raised her voice during the interview. She was breathing heavily, ending it with a sigh.

He realized she was pressing her hands over her pants often, although they seemed immaculate, creaseless. Her fingers were pencils. Short, chipped, unkempt nails. Brittle, like the rest of her. What was she like before? he asked himself, not sure if he hadn’t said that last part aloud.

“You may wonder,” she said quietly, “if I am a mere shell of my former self. Simply put, yes, I am.”

“Then why not just give the book to this, uh, so-called ‘Dark Brotherhood’? Why publish it at all? The money?”

“The money?” She laughed, perhaps too much, nearly mocking him. “No, I told you. They will make me rich beyond my wildest dreams should the book fail to sell.”

“Yes?”

She stared up at him from beneath her brows, just this side of madness. “No, you see, they want this book shoved rather rudely into the public eye. They want others to read it. To infect them.”

“But… but,” he stammered. “That’s damnable !”

“Interesting choice of words. Yes, that’s exactly what it is. Damning them all.” He rose and extended his hand. She stood, glad that this part was over, shook his hand, and asked him, “Do you know what the preface was in the beginning of the book?”

He flipped through a few pages in his in box, and frowned. “I wasn’t aware there was a preface.”

“No, don’t look for it. I didn’t include one. What the poor soul was forced to write, apparently, was this: ‘As in Hell, so there are tears continually in Heaven. Both weep evermore. One feels only horror and an unspeakable pain; the other sees nothing but beauty, and can only be grateful.’”

As she was leaving, she thrust a small piece of paper into his hand. “You can choose to include this as part of the book, if you choose. I don’t know what to do with it. It was an explanation I wasn’t sure belonged in the book.”

He looked at it. It was seven short numbered notes. He read it as he stood there, and she waited, glaring at him the whole time.

“A few things to remember about ‘life’ in Infernus (I must tell you a few things so that we can communicate in a common language).

1) You (whoever is receiving this as an exercise in automatic writing) are writing what happens to me in the present. Everything you write will come to you in the present tense; it’s up to you to change that, if you feel it is necessary.

2) The reason this is so is because there is no time here. A fitting phrase that is as follows: To live in a nanosecond that never ends. It is a definition that can be understood by you. Everything that will ever happen to you in Infernus happens during the same nanosecond. Imagine every paper cut, every severed finger, every toothache, every disembowelment, every cold, all happening to everyone at once.

3) How you are able to hear me at all from my eternal exile is unknown to me. I just sense that it is so.

4) In Infernus, no one ever tells the truth. There is no longer any need for truth or maintaining the truth — for there is no hope here. Everything in Infernus is in an absolute state.

5) Since all the pain of all mankind is shared by all, no real conversations take place. Consequently, no permission is ever asked for anything, and none is ever given by anyone. The strong take what does not belong to them — the souls of others.

6) All of the mouths of all mankind are opened as far as “inhumanly” possible in a permanent Scream Eternal. All happens here through a veritable sea, a tumultuous wall of sound. Ten billion souls screaming and screaming and screaming.

7) Either you are made to do things by those who outrank you in authority (the only thing that determines strength here) or the words scrape through your brain like a migraine. No, a migraine is bearable compared to this. This is like a bag of broken glass that sits in your head that someone can shake when they wish to. No actual conversations take place ever — all is done in the brain as bursts of hideous migraines. The smallest words sound like hammers. However, in order to convey everything I am compelled to share with you, you must write down everything that I dictate to you, so it will flow, as a narrative.”