Damon Young - I'll See You in Hell

The goat’s jaws pulled back and pouted a column of fire into the air as it laughed. Those who composed its meal were shot out into the air like screeching fireworks that rained down on the rest of us in a nightmarish hailstorm. The frost-entombed sufferants screamed and cried. But as for me, I was simply stunned at just how much the monstrous laugh sounded just like my own.

HE.

BELONGS.

HERE.

YOU.

DID.

NOTHING.

The warts and boils were exploding all over us. The demonic gaze was unbearable. Seamus rolled over and squealed in anguish, “You lied to me!!!”

I.

AM.

SATAN.

I.

LIE.

Seamus, you poor, dumb bastard. I laughed. I never knew anything could be nearly as funny as what I’d witnessed and experienced that day. Just for more shits and giggles, I swatted Seamus with a lump of meat that was either one of my arms or one of my legs. The difference no longer mattered here. I just laughed, and the beast laughed right along with me. Like we were old buddies. Like he and I had this whole big con planned from the very moment of my conception, and Seamus was the intended mark the entire time. Like we were one and the same. Blood ran from my empty ear sockets because the drums inside had long since ruptured down here, but we still laughed all the same.

The beast was absolutely right. This is where I belonged. My home, my soul’s resting place, is right here, in the ninth circle of Hell.

LAST.

LAUGH.

KINGSTON.

And I think, despite all of the horrors I’d seen and felt and witnessed and, frankly, caused, both in the world above and this one below, that moment, when the beast called me by name, made me both the most proud and the most scared. Proud, because I’d served it all my life, without even knowing, and it knew me. Scared, because it only speaks to torment. Torment far beyond anything that poor little Seamus could conceive.

I couldn’t blink. My eyelids were gone. My eyes burst.

Then, after a moment, they were back. My eyes. My eyelids. My whole body. Whole, unharmed, completely scar-free. Wearing my best suit. The one I always wore when I had a job because you can never wash out the smell.

Only this time, there was no smell. I was disappointed.

I was sitting in a gold-plated arm chair in front of a long dining table filled with every meal you could imagine in an immaculate white room. The most calming, soothing music fills the air. And there, at the other end of the table, was Seamus. My favorite victim. Also whole and unharmed. This time, I didn’t bother trying to contain my joy. Just the thought of the two of us whittling each other down to bloody numbs only to be reborn and ready to do it again until the end of time gave me the biggest hard-on I’ve had in my entire miserable existence.

I picked up the butter knife in front of me. I wanted to make this time last. I strolled over to Seamus, but he still didn’t move. He just looked at me with the dullest eyes.

Are you ready to play now, Seamus?

I gave him a quick knick with the butter knife.

No blood. Not even a scratch on him. He didn’t even flinch. I grab his hair, pull back his head, and plunge the butter knife into his eye. But the knife just bent like it was the weakest rubber. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even move.

Enough of that. I saw a turkey in the middle of the table with the carving knife still inside. I grabbed it, took it back to Seamus, and started hacking away on his wrist. He didn’t even fight back. He didn’t even look at me. And the damned knife wouldn’t cut. Nothing. I tossed the knife and just hauled off and hit Seamus in the jaw. It was like punching Jello. All give. Nothing solid at all. He didn’t say a word. He just looked up at me and smiled with a full row of teeth. No gaps.

I throttled him, but there was nothing to squeeze or to break. I put my thumbs in his eyes, but they didn’t budge an inch. I bit his forehead, but it just stretched like rubber.

I sweated and groaned in frustration. I grabbed Seamus by the collar to throw him to the ground. He just stood up easy. I couldn’t even get a grip on him to toss him. I tried to shove him, but he was just out of reach.

Goddamnit!

I hit him with a plate. A chair. The fucking turkey. Nothing. Nothing! This was bullshit. I ran for the door.

But there was no door. No windows. Just me and Seamus, in peace and prosperity for all eternity. And, despite the lack of windows, a gentle breeze passed through the room. It filled the whole space, like an all encompassing embrace, full of affection, compassion and forgiveness.

It was the breath of God.

Just a whiff, but enough to let me know what had happened.

Hell is not a place. It’s a state of mind that only equals one word, even for those who serve it.

Suffering.

And Seamus laughed. It was the laugh of the beast.

That cheating bastard. He’d sent me to Heaven after all.

The Worst Place on Earth

The Monster That Ate My Summer Vacation

The Trick-or-Treaters

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously. And resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 Damon Young

3nd Edition

All Rights Reserved.

Published in the United States of America by Damon Young

Follow Damon Young on Twitter: @dayfornight