Windows Into Hell

by James Wymore

  “Then play.”

  I began a new tune, something lively. I kicked time on the sidewall. I sang words I’d composed ages ago. It would be a great song to dance to if I had room.

  “No reason to let it out,” the lower voice said. “It can play just fine like that.”

  I stopped. “I can play better if you open the box. If you don’t help me, I’ll never play again.”

  “Then we’ll just put you back where you were.”

  I imagined a middle-aged man furrowing his brow as he said it. I had nothing to bargain with. “No, I’ll play,” I said. I started a slower, sad song.

  “That’ll do.”

  The box bounced as one or both of them carried me across uneven ground.

  The days were all the same in my new situation. Every morning a group of boisterous men woke from a drunken stupor. They swore oaths to perform great acts of bravery in war as they drank tankards of ale. Then they all put on armor, picked up weapons, and left. That night the same crowd returned, boasting of their deeds, to eat and drink themselves into a stupor. They all seemed to think they were in heaven, too. Only they called it Valhalla.

  There were women in the mix. A few, called Valkyries, joined the men in battle. Others busied themselves with cooking and serving drinks. They had other less appealing jobs, too. Despite everything, I had to admit I was happier in the box than being one of those barmaids.

  My part was to play music in the morning and at night. I could tell by the way the sounds came from below and to one side that they’d placed me on a shelf somewhere in the room.

  It didn’t really matter what kind of music I played. Sometimes I just plucked random notes and scales. Other times I performed perfect operettas. They told a lot of stories, during which I served as backup to increase the drama. Once a week or so I tried talking. Nobody would answer at first. If I persisted, somebody would shake the box or yell profanities at me until I started playing again.

  For a while, I listened to all their stories and conversations, trying to find an overarching plot or bigger purpose in it. None emerged. The tales were only about their day’s exploits—how many men one had killed by bashing them with a shield, or how a single spear had gone through two heads. No story, no matter how amazing, lasted more than a few days.

  I learned something. I figured out they were in Hell, just like me. Only their idea of heaven was this daily cycle of slaughtering and feasting. So the volcano I’d seen before being imprisoned was probably Iceland. I didn’t have enough information to be sure, but I assumed the place I’d come included many heaven-like-Hells. Probably in Asia they had some kind of Nirvana. I didn’t really know that much about the other religions of the world, but I assumed there were harems waiting for some of the Muslims in the Middle East somewhere. There were probably thousands of little groups all over this planet living out the rewards they believed in all through their lives.

  I hadn’t seen them all, but I knew they were there. So I closed my eyes and prayed, “There it is. I learned it. I learned the lesson you sent me here for.”

  Nothing happened.

  I shook my head and held back tears.

  The men were away killing in the name of faith when I couldn’t take it anymore. I began bashing my head and shoulders from side to side. I found I could move the container just a little. I kept at it for hours, focusing on one side, hammering my head into the wall as I kicked it over and over again.

  The container lurched and tipped. I felt it crash into the ground. I added my own weight to the landing, trying to pop one of the seams or crack a sideboard. The noise inside was terrific. Then it rolled and stopped. I kicked at the corner. I could feel a crack in the wood, but light wasn’t coming through. I tried again, in case I was on another shelf. Exhausted to no avail, I gave up when the men returned. They put me back on the shelf, this time securing the box so I couldn’t move it again.

  I wept as I played the saddest song I could muster.

  Then I heard the men say how badly they’d done in the battle today. Something different. In my state, I clung to anything different. I listened as they described losing both strategically and physically.

  I stopped the music and called out, “I could have saved you!”

  The room went silent.

  “If you took me with you, you would have won. I’m good luck!”

  Were Vikings superstitious? I prayed they would be, even though I didn’t think the prayers of the damned did much good.

  “Keep silent and play music,” one barked.

  “No, let’s consider these words. Maybe our bad luck has come because we were sent this token and we did not bring it with us. Music to revel by is nice, but music to fight by is better. We have been fools to so ignore Odin’s gift.”

  “Build a pedestal.”

  There was a lot of commotion as they argued about how to fasten my box to a pole. One wanted to suspend it by chains, another to nail into the wood directly. They settled for metal bands wrapped around the box to fasten it to a tall shaft.

  I didn’t want to go with them to war, but I played music while they jostled me around. Anything different was good.

  The next morning, they lifted my box and marched out the door. The pole was taller than the door, apparently, because they had to tip me on my side to get it out of the room. Once they were outside, I started a marching tune. The constantly shaking box made it hard to play, but easy to follow their rhythm.

  When they reached the battle, my prison became a protection. The chaos around me overwhelmed my emotions. As the box jostled and bumped, I played the best war songs I could think of. I did several heavy metal songs, which came out like elevator music on my little harp. The fighters struggled as I plinked out Welcome to the Jungle .

  My body didn’t bruise or even hurt from being slammed side to side. My head began to ache from trying to make any sense out of the sounds I heard while keeping up the various war anthems. I caught a few snippets here and there.

  “That thing’s not helping at all.”

  “We’re down one man for carrying it.”

  “I can help,” cried the one holding my pole.

  Then my world tipped and I began to zip through the air in a wide arc.

  When the box impacted, somebody in front of me moaned and I lost control of the harp. I grabbed it more tightly, stopping any pretense of music as I became the head of a gigantic hammer.

  I slid against the top as the square swung again and again, smashing into enemies. I wanted to scream or cry, but focused on bracing myself to lessen the impact when the mace slammed another foe.

  A crack of light showed through the wood near my feet. I gritted my teeth and kicked it. The box swung upward again. I kicked and kicked until the wooden wall split open. The men looked up as splinters rained down on them from above. I squeezed past the sharp shards, popping out the other side before he could bring the pole down again.

  Large men in armor stained with blood were hitting each other with swords and axes. To one side I saw a hobo sitting against a big rock. He seemed out of place in his stained trenchcoat, fingerless gloves, and messy hair. I didn’t stick around to ask questions.

  The air lifted me, but I still beat my wings for all I was worth, sucking in huge gulps of fresh air and squinting as I raced for the sky.

  “What was that?”

  “You fool! You broke our music box!”

  I never looked back. As the ground fell away, I saw dozens of angels flying in a chaotic swarm above me. I reversed, turning on my back and flying for all I was worth to stay beneath the din. I didn’t want anything to do with those mean cherubs. I certainly wasn’t interested in going from the frying pan to the fire.

  My wings weren’t strong enough to keep me down against the nature of my balloonish body. I only slowed the ascent. Determined never to be caught off guard again, I flew sideways, avoiding as much as possible the center of the conflict.

  I found a nice cloud and let myself rise up int
o it, taking advantage of the cover. I flew downward to stay low in the wet billows instead of letting the vapor lift me to the top. When I saw a thin edge, I moved away from it. I kept my harp up like a shield, watching above and below as the breeze carried the cloud.

  I could hear sounds on every side. I didn’t know if the cloud went toward or away from the conflict. The sides thinned, spreading the concealing water thinner until I could see every direction. I flew up to get a view.

  I’d drifted away from the center of action, but it only took a few seconds for another angel to find me.

  “Which side are you on?” She had a purple sash that wrapped around her body three times. In one hand, she carried a flute.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Which side are you?”

  “You don’t know?” She fluttered closer. I didn’t see malice in her eyes, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Stay back!” I lifted the harp as if to brain her with it.

  She threw up both hands. “Hold on. It’s just a debate. Nobody’s fighting here.”

  “What’s the debate?”

  “They’re trying to decide if we should organize and take the cathedral by force or continue petitioning for everybody to use it.”

  “What do you think?”

  She put her hand on one big hip, trying to look important. “They’ve been rejecting our petitions for too long. They aren’t going to change their minds now. I think we should take it by force.”

  “What’s so important about the cathedral?” I asked. “Is God in there?”

  She scrunched up her nose. “God? No. It’s just the only building we have and it isn’t fair that the angels controlling it won’t let us have access.”

  I nodded. “Makes sense. Have you ever heard of or seen God? Have any of the angels?”

  “How long have you been here?” She pointed at me with the flute in a way I didn’t much like.

  “So very long. Too long.”

  “How is that possible? Every angel knows about the cathedral.”

  “I’ve been… tied up.” I gave a flat smile and shrugged.

  “Well if you’re not with us, you may never see what’s inside.”

  “Okay, I’m with you.”

  She flew over and put one arm around me. It felt nice. I hadn’t realized how long it had been since anybody touched me. It felt as good as the first time I struck a note on my harp. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the others. Hey, what’s your name?”

  “Jennifer.”

  “Hi, Jennifer. I’m Kim.”

  I took her hand and followed as she flew toward the tangled mess of winged children.

  Angels valued nothing so much as loyalty. Kim explained the factions changed constantly with everybody siding with one group or another, but those groups expected fealty as if they were a nation or family. The debates were endless, sometimes escalating into full-scale battles.

  I watched two boy-like men, arguing about whether we should attack the cathedral by day or at night. They started shouting. Then it came to blows.

  They couldn’t hurt each other, so they just punched and kicked and grappled, flying all over the place and throwing each other into other angels. A good throw could scatter a whole mob of angels like billiard balls. Nobody ever got hurt, it seemed. I wouldn’t let my guard down. I knew all too well that there were more ways than pain to hurt an angel.

  When the two finally became exhausted or just tired of the fight, they resumed their debate. When it came to a vote, more people wanted to go at night. I shook my head, trying not to show my disgust. Couldn’t they just have voted first ?

  The group decided to wait for tomorrow to pick a day for the attack. Kim kissed the boy who finally won the argument as he floated back toward us. She kept her arms around him, whispering in his ear.

  Angels had relationships, too? How could they? From what I could tell, we didn’t even have the right equipment.

  I found myself in a strange place. I’d been in this body for ages and ages, longer than I’d been alive as a mortal, but I knew absolutely nothing about the other angels. I didn’t imagine myself falling romantically in love with anybody who looked like a four-year-old, but I wasn’t swearing it off, either.

  As the group began to spread out, they didn’t go very far. A dozen of them collected and began playing music together. They fell easily into a complex and beautiful song. All manner of tiny instruments blended perfectly. Then all around me, angels began to sing. I didn’t know the song or the words. It seemed to be mostly oo-oo and ah-ah sounds, but the voices naturally split into parts creating stimulating chords.

  I wanted to join with them, so I sang the parts I could pick up. Was it wrong to play my harp now, or did one need an invitation to these things?

  Night filled our world. The other angels all went dormant. Some slept, others just stayed awake as they looked at the stars. I’d missed the stars, so I stayed awake. Besides, I needed to keep my senses alert for danger. I watched Kim and her man fly off together. My curiosity told me to follow them and see what they did, but I knew better.

  Most of the next day was spent choosing which night to attack the cathedral. Suggestions ranged from next week to next year. I rolled my eyes and finally called out, “Why not tonight?”

  Kim nodded approvingly. The debate went on and on until I could have cried from boredom. Only once did an arguing angel get thrown into the group of people I hovered with. I moved clear, but the rest of them tumbled like bowling pins. I laughed at that one. Luckily, none of them could see or hear me.

  Nobody could think of anything else to get ready, so they settled on attacking that night.

  “Why don’t you join the musicians?” I asked Kim, pointing to her flute. The sun was setting and the silver instrument looked pink like the clouds around us.

  “Sometimes I do. I just feel like concentrating on tonight. You could join them if you want.”

  “I don’t know the song.”

  “None of them do. They just make it up as they go along. Even novices are allowed.” She had no idea how much time I’d spent playing my harp.

  “So how does this attack thing work?” I asked. I had decided to help if I could, but if it was horrible I would just leave.

  “There’s not much to it. They will be trying to stop us from getting in. We’ll fly at them and try to break through their defenses. Once they’re scattered, we’ll block the door to keep them from getting in.”

  It sounded like a children’s game to me, but her face said it was deadly serious. I asked, “Nobody can get really hurt, right?”

  “Right.” Her eyes said there was more to it.

  When the half moon was high in the sky, the angels of my new group assembled. They organized into a phalanx with a few of the larger boy-men at the front of the triangle. Instead of instruments, many of them had swords or spears. I thought it probably didn’t matter if they were bigger, since we all seemed to float at the same level regardless. They shouted some words meant to inspire us, and we all started flying in the same direction.

  I still didn’t know how they kept track of directions. With the Earth rotating one way and the wind blowing another, it seemed like there were no good reference points.

  We flew for hours. I knew it wouldn’t make me tired, but I thought a more reasonable pace might help them keep the triangle formation better.

  When we arrived, I saw a tall building floating on a cloud. The cloud seemed more solid than other clouds somehow. The building looked like a Gothic church with spires and vaulted stained-glass windows. The substance looked like stone, but I knew it couldn’t float up here with us if it was. Like my harp, it must be some other material than what it appeared to be. Large braziers with tall fires sat around the cathedral, casting stark shadows from the architectural protrusions.

  As we approached, several angels began to panic. I couldn’t hear them for the collective buzz of wings around me, but I could see them shouting. A group rapidly assembled. By l
ocking their feet under the armpits below and holding each other’s arms, they created a net with their cherub bodies. Five high and two dozen wide, they became a fence.

  The angels at the front of our wedge screamed at the top of their lungs. The defenders called back. I couldn’t hear any of the words from my place near the middle. I just gripped my harp and braced for impact.

  When we hit them, the angels in the front attacked. They didn’t use their weapons to hit their opponents in the head or body. Instead, they prodded and chopped at the hands and feet where the barrier held together.

  I couldn’t help but sing to myself, “Red rover, red rover, send Jacob right over.”

  The angels I was with at the back didn’t slow or spread out. We all kept flying forward, pushing the ones in front of us to give them even more momentum. Our group smashed together into a huge ball of chaos with baby butts and elbows poking out everywhere.

  I felt the net slow and resist us. Then it tore apart.

  Angels from both teams flew off in every direction like we were part of one big, living firework. The elasticity of the bodies bounced back, undoing the collapse we made and propelling little round people on the edges at high speed. More and more of them broke away, zipping off like popcorn as soon as there was space.

  By sheer luck, I happened to be near the middle, so when the mess of bodies unraveled, I ended up floating backward. I tumbled a few times before my wings righted me. I didn’t know what else to do, so I headed back toward the door of the cathedral at full speed. Six other angels had the same idea.

  I couldn’t see any defenders when I started toward it, but a few reached their hands across to block us again. This time they had no chance. When we arrived at full power, we broke through them, sending the last of them spinning away.

  I felt a rush of adrenaline as I wedged through the tall door with my teammates. The fire-lit entryway had interesting murals painted on the walls that I couldn’t possibly stop to examine. I flew into the main hall, where a tall space opened up. Candles lit dozens of murals, all featuring cute little angels like us. There were several rooms connected to this main hall. Despite the size of the place, I could see how such a limited piece of real estate would cause contention. There was no way all the angels could fit in here at the same time; not even a fraction of them.