ADVANCE PRAISE FOR A SHORT STAY IN HELL
“Profound and disturbing, A Short Stay in Hell is a perfect blend of science fiction, theology, and horror. A terrifying meditation on faith, human nature, and the relentless scope of eternity. It will haunt you, fittingly, for a very, very long time.”
– Dan Wells, author of I Am Not a Serial Killer
“An irresistible invention. Peck has somehow squeezed all of human experience, not to mention near-infinite expanses of space and time, into one miraculously slim novella. You won’t be able to stop thinking about this book.”
– Ken Jennings, author of Brainiac and Maphead
A SHORT STAY IN HELL
Steven L. Peck
FIRST EDITION, MARCH 2012
Copyright 2012 by Steven L. Peck
Published by Strange Violin Editions at Smashwords
STRANGE VIOLIN EDITIONS
Washington, DC
http://strangeviolineditions.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotes in a review.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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ISBN 978-0-9837484-3-4
ISBN 978-0-9837484-4-1 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-9837484-2-7 (trade paperback)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011941923
Cover design: Matt Page
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
1
THE BEGINNING
2
THE FIRST WEEK IN HELL
3
YEAR 102: THE MOST SIGNIFICANT TEXT
4
YEAR 1145: THE GREAT LOSS
5
THE DEEPEST ABYSS
APPENDIX
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
ALTHOUGH I HAVE LOVED MANY, there has been only one genuine love in my near-eternally stretched life – Rachel who fell to the bottom of the library without me. Did I know her only for so short a time? Strange, how a moment of existence can cut so deeply into our being that while ages pass unnoticed, a brief love can structure and define the very topology of our consciousness ever after. I’m getting ahead of myself. I suppose I must start at the beginning – a beginning so long ago that its horizon is a vanishing point at the convergence of two Euclidian lines that would be parallel by any human measure.
The first years are the easiest to describe. They were years of adventure, companionship, and love. I have not seen anyone for uncountable years. Yet, even after so long, I still listen for the sound of another’s voice, the ring of footsteps on the stairs, or a figure moving silhouetted in the distance. Once I spent a year just listening. Another, trying to build a telescope made from clarified sheep intestines from the kiosk, so that I might look deep into the library. Despite my substantial efforts, I have failed to find another soul. We have all scattered far and wide into the vastness of this space and cannot find one another. I suspect by now we are all alone.
Yet I labor on. By my count (which I know is accurate, for my memory in this place, it seems, is incapable of forgetting even the smallest detail) I have climbed innumerable light-years, from the lowest level to this one where I sit with this book in my hands reading of my stay here. It is not the story of my life, so it serves little purpose, but as I read I marvel that I’ve found such a book. It is close to the one I seek. Sometimes I fantasize I will discover the book that describes the location of the volume I have been searching for. But alas, how would I know it was the right one? There are countless books in the library that claim a particular floor contains the one I need. And then, of course, no single book could contain a number so large that the height and depth of this library could be expressed as a numerical digit. Silly thoughts in this monotonous place are inevitable I suppose.
I have found many treasures. A couple of eons ago I found a book that looked like it described my earthly digestive history – from beginning to end, every meal, how the food was broken into its chemical composition and then sent on to the intestine. I’ve also grown fond of what I’m sure are very close to Mickey Spillane novels. So, too, I remember that for about seven hundred billion years I carried a book of short stories – some were fantasies, some romances, and one was a farce. It was a marvelous book. The last story was my favorite. It told of a monkey, once the powerful owner of a lawnmower repair business, who falls into obscurity and despair. It told of his sorrow at having lost his greatness and reputation in the field as technological changes outstripped his ability to keep up. He spoke movingly of his search for religion. I still get teary-eyed when I think of the ending of that story (which I won’t spoil by telling you).
One book I found not long ago was full of random characters except for pages 111 to 222, wherein I found an exposition that speculated that God had created the universe as a way of sorting through the great library, finding those books that were most beautiful and meaningful. It argued that in the mere sixteen billion years of my old universe’s existence, a vast store of great thought and literature had been produced during the short creative life of human existence on the planet. The work entertained the notion that evolution was the most effective sorting algorithm for finding the subsets of coherent and readable books that are scattered thinly throughout the randomness of the library. The argument took on special meaning to me because it had been almost 160 billion years since I had found such a long string of coherent text. To find such a delightful work was a treasure indeed – especially such a germane treatise nestled between such auspicious page numbers.
Forgive me. I’m getting far ahead of myself. I must start at the beginning if there is to be any hope that you might understand my life in Hell and the fateful day the great demon sent me here.
I must start with the interview or none of this will make sense. So I begin here:
~~~
THE PROFICIENT DEMON leaned back comfortably in his large, high-backed red leather chair, then swung away from the five terrified guests seated before him and turned to the window behind him. The room was well lit, with long incandescent tubes arranged in several functional pairs that spanned the length of the ceiling, giving the room a soft, businesslike feel. Potted plants, placed tastefully here and there, lent the room a sense of proportion and order. The demon was the only thing that did not seem to belong.
The monster’s yellow gaze was directed thoughtfully out of the large framed window that dominated the wall behind his desk. Behind the glass was a large cavern lit with a dancing red glow. He sighed and scratched his leg with one of his black-tipped hooves as he surveyed the seething, molten bed of lava, bubbling thickly like slowly boiling sweet candy syrup in the scene below him. Occasionally from the lake of fire a blazing fountain would erupt violently, spackling the ceiling of the great cavern with hot lava, which then would drip in large globs slowly back to the enormous magma lake, creating high, thick splashes of bright orange liquid rock. Inside the lake, scores of wailing people could be seen wading through the pool, screaming in agony, and even though their cries could not pierce the thickness of the glass window, the muted agony and terror visible on their faces transf
erred the terror of the situation to the five seated guests. All five were trembling and breathless.
On the lake’s edge, small shadowy demons wielded jagged leather whips and long rusted pitchforks to drive those souls desperately trying to scramble out of the pool back to its bubbling center. The yellow-eyed demon swiveled back toward the three men and two women staring back at him wide-eyed with horror. They were dressed simply in thick white robes of rough cotton. Their feet were bare and they were seated on unstable gray metal folding chairs that squeaked loudly whenever they moved.
The imposing demon was tall – about eight feet. His large, goat legs sported coarse, thick hair, giving him a satyr-like aspect without the charm of a classical Pan. His torso was exceptionally well muscled, fire engine–red like his face, but covered with a thin layer of moisture from which seemed to emanate a noxious, sulfurous stench. His well-shaped arms seemed disproportionately long, and his hands sported dangerous, stiletto-like claws. His head was massive, split with wide flaring nostrils and large yellow cat-slit eyes that seemed to shine with their own light. On his head, two great horns like those of an eland spiraled slowly up to a height of about a meter above his skull. His shaggy mane seemed a striking contrast to his clean-shaven jaw and cheeks, while bright red pointed bat ears jutted from the sides of his head, standing erect and attentive like a Doberman pinscher’s. His teeth were pointed, and two oversized, vicious canines added to the overall ghastliness of his countenance.
He smiled – not a fierce, diabolical smile, but a genuinely pleased and happy grin, “Well, well, well, what can I say but … welcome. Welcome to Hell.”
He spread his arms out graciously.
“Satan?” One of the women whispered hoarsely.
“Ahriman? No, no, no. Nothing as notable as that. I am Xandern. One of the Yazatas. A minor functionary. I hope you are not too disappointed?” He seemed genuinely concerned.
One of the women shook her head and turned away sobbing.
“Well, let’s see. What have we here today?” He picked up a red rectangle from his desk and began tapping on the device with the long sharp claw of his index finger.
“Hmm … hmm …” he repeated to himself as he gazed at the screen of his device, looking slightly puzzled.
“Lester Green?” he said, suddenly looking up at one of the men sitting in the uncomfortable metal chairs.
Rather than fear, this man seemed to radiate a quiet bold confidence – like someone used to sending back food at a restaurant after establishing some flaw in the meal that did not meet his exacting standards.
“There’s been a mistake,” he said softly, but with firm resolve. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
“A mistake?” the demon said with a baffled look on his face. “Quite possibly, quite possibly. Things in Hell don’t always run as smoothly as one would like, do they?” He picked up the rectangle and after a few taps read aloud, “Let’s see. Lester Green. 1294 Battle Lane. Forrest City, Arkansas. Wife: Sarah Green. Four children: Matthew, Mark, Jessie, and Caleb. Died while playing golf during a thunderstorm – struck by lightning,” he mentioned as an aside to the other guests.
“Everything looks in order,” the great demon said, with a little impatience in his voice.
“No, you see I was saved. Forever and for all time. I came forth at the preacher’s call and was washed in the blood of the lamb. I’m saved by Christ. Who can snatch me from God’s hand?”
As the man spoke he rose to his feet, drew his face upward, and threw his hands into the air crying, “Help me, Jesus!”
The Demon looked on quizzically. “You were a Christian then?”
“Yes. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I shouldn’t be here. I’ve been saved,” the man shouted, though with waning bravado.
“Well, there’s your problem. You didn’t join the one true religion.”
“What? I’m telling you, I was a Christian. I read the Bible every day. I donated money to the TV evangelists every Sunday. And I was saved.”
“No. Sorry. The true religion is Zoroastrianism, I’m afraid. Bit of bad luck there. Christianity certainly borrowed a great deal from the one true religion, but not enough, unfortunately. Not nearly enough.”
“Zoor-what-ism? Never heard of it. How can that be the true religion?” The man looked confused.
“Zoroastrianism? Oh, there’s never been but a few hundred thousand of them at any one time, mostly located in Iran and India, but that’s it. The one true faith. If you’re not a Zoroastrian, I’m afraid you are bound for Hell.”
The man looked stunned and shocked. “It’s not fair.”
The demon gave a mirthful laugh. “Well, it was fair when you were sending all the Chinese to Hell who had never heard of Jesus. Wasn’t it? And what a cruel and vicious Hell it was. And your Hell was not our short little correct-you-a-little Hell. This was eternal damnation. At least in the true Zoroastrianism system you eventually get out of Hell. Do you have any idea how long eternity is? My heavens, what an imagination you humans have. What kind of God would leave you burning forever? Most of you wouldn’t do that to a neighbor’s dog, even if it barked incessantly at two a.m. every morning. After about ten minutes watching a dog suffer in the kind of Hell you imagined God was going send his wicked children to, you would be pleading for the damned beast’s mercy. It’s crazy. Create a few beings; those that don’t obey you roast forever? Give me a break.” The demon shook his great head in wonder.
One of the women, a pretty girl with short red hair, raised her hand. “You mean we won’t be in Hell forever?”
The Demon laughed. “Of course not. Of course not. Hell is for your edification and wisdom. Punishment? Yes. But not forever.”
“So those people will get out?” the woman continued, pointing shakily to those in agony outside the window.
The demon considered for a moment. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this … well, no harm’s done, I’ve never really agreed with the policy anyway … but that’s all just make-believe. We keep the office windows showing that scene just to get the new arrivals to take things seriously. Those are all actors. They get off in about a half hour. So … anyway, we’d better push on.”
The humans seemed confused.
The demon rose to his feet. “Well, Lester the Christian, where shall we send you?”
“This isn’t right,” he screamed.
The demon was ignoring his tantrum. He began tapping his handheld device. “No … no, that’s not it, no, no … maybe, no, ah! No, I shouldn’t, but … no, that’s too cruel … I really shouldn’t.”
Suddenly he gave a chuckle and sighed. “Oh, why not? The Great God created irony too.”
Lester by this time was screaming at the top of his lungs about the injustice of it all.
“Injustice?” queried the demon sarcastically. “You were never concerned with justice a day in your life except when it was in your favor. Bye.” With a tap of his claw to the rectangle the man disappeared briskly in mid-outrage, leaving the room in cold silence.
The demon was back on his device, humming a bit to himself. “That felt good. I hate those unthinking, unreflexive types. That Hell ought to humble him a bit … eternal Hell! What an imagination.”
Everyone just stared at him as he busily tapped away.
“Julia Hanson?” He said looking at the same woman who had asked about the lake of fire outside the window. “Single. Professor of Biology at University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Confirmed atheist. Wrote a number of papers on the evolution of bumblebee society. Very interesting ones, too, I must say. Well, well, well, you must really be surprised to be here? Eh? Turns out there is a god after all. Now do you believe?”
The frightened woman could only shake her head and mutter, “I’m sure I’ve gone mad,” but she did not seem convinced by her own words. After a moment she asked, “So there is a God?”
The demon nodded his head, “Yes of course. The Wise Lord, Ahura Mazda. I’m his humble servant.�
��
“I thought demons were under the control of Satan? Sort of the dark side of the Force.”
“Why don’t I ever get the people who have studied a little Zoroastrianism here?” he said, shaking his head sadly. “No, that’s Christian. Ahriman has rebelled against God, but in charge of Hell? Heavens, no. How can you think God would let something like Hell exist if He’s really in charge of the universe? Sheesh. Running a Hell is an art of such imagination and brilliance, how could anyone but the Wise God of Judgment be in charge?”
The woman looked down at her smock and mumbled, “I know more about bumble bees.”
“Yes, you do,” the demon said excitedly, tapping frantically as if he had just had a stroke of brilliance.
“There,” he said smiling. “Bye.”
She was gone.
A few more questions, a few more taps, some of the others begging, some silent, but one by one the people disappeared until one man remained sitting on his chair.
“Well, well, last the best of all the game, hey? … Soren Johansson, died of brain cancer … hmm, died young, only forty-five. Four children. Well, I’m sure they’ll miss you. Looks like you were a good husband, good father … not a bad Mormon.” He smiled. “You would have made a good Zoroastrian. Now, what Hell for you? Let’s see, you liked to read … in fact it seems you loved books. Interesting.”
Suddenly the demon looked up.
“Bye.”
And so it began.
~~~
I FOUND THIS book around the 23439th day of my stay in Hell. How odd to find a book that looks as if I wrote it, when it’s really just one of the random possibilities that exist here. It was close enough to the actual events that I will place it in the slot to see if it changes my fate. The slight variations are trivial and of no consequence. How does one begin to describe infinities of eons? How can such a small word as “eon” describe a length of time that is more akin to eternity than any measurable time span? There is no metaphor I can use to give you a sense of the time that’s passed here. My earth life was so long ago that by now trillions of universes like the one in which I lived on earth have come and gone. Countless such must have blown into existence in innumerable big bangs, each with a billion generations of suns flaring into existence, then burning out into a fine, dull brown dust. After this long I am not bitter – I barely feel at all. Now I only search.
A Short Stay in Hell Page 1
