The screaming was unending, a symphony of overwhelming agony and torture.
Overhead was a ceiling, perhaps 40 feet up, which looked to be made of luminescent rock, which cast a dim red glow.
The time machine had landed in a square made up by four of these stakes, but only three of them had people tied to them. The fourth stake was ominously empty, with just a rope tied to it, a bare stake in a sea of writhing bodies.
As I surveyed the human devastation, thinking it could not get worse, it did. One of those next to the time machine was none other than Beatrice. Like the others, she was screaming in agony, tied to a stake …her payment for 50 years of fame. She saw me through the window, and raised her arm toward me, pleading with her eyes. Flames licked over her body and she convulsed in agony, screaming horribly. Others that were nearby also saw the time machine and seemed to plead for help—but all were firmly tied to the stakes in the ground. Many tried to break free, but the ropes and stakes were impervious to their attempts as well as to the surrounding flames.
“Beatrice! Hold on—I’ll save you!” I cried. I opened the door and started to get out. I was almost overwhelmed by the gust of hot air and the smell of sulfur and brimstone.
The Devil suddenly appeared and saw me. I jumped back into the time machine as he started to raise his arm and say something. I slammed the door closed and turned the dial again. He’d teleported me to Hell from my lab because I’d been too slow to turn the dial, and I wasn’t going to give him another chance. The Devil faded away.
How far should I go? Once the time machine was moving through time, it took no power to continue moving since temporal momentum carried it—Newton’s first law, applied to time. Moving a hundred years took the same power as moving five minutes because how fast you moved through time didn’t affect power consumption, since temporal velocity is relative. Starting or stopping is what took power. I had enough battery power for perhaps a couple dozen starts and stops.
I needed to save Beatrice. I moved five hours into the future. Beatrice still stood next to the time machine, still screaming in agony, as were all the others. She looked up, and again stretched her arms at me, pleading. But again the Devil appeared in a puff of smoke, and before the smoke had dissipated I turned the time dial again.
I did a number of other stops, each hours or days apart. There didn’t seem to be any change in the few seconds I had to look each time before the Devil appeared, forcing me to leave. Perhaps if I moved much farther into the future? I had no choice. I tried not to think about what Beatrice was going through.
I moved 10 years into the future. Everything still seemed the same. Beatrice and the others were in the same spot, still screaming in agony, covered in flames. Had she and all the others been tortured, screaming and in agony, for 10 years? I trembled at the thought. I had to save her, bring her into the time machine.
Again the Devil appeared, and feeling horrible, I left quickly, again leaving Beatrice and the rest to her fate. How many were being tortured and for how many years? Thousands? Millions?
I had to jump further into the future in hopes of getting away from the Devil and rescuing Beatrice. Somehow he could always sense my arrival.
I jumped one hundred years, one thousand years, one million years, and still no change. There was nothing I could do for her. Each time I noticed the empty stake still there, waiting, amid the tortured, screaming multitudes. A million years of torture…I couldn’t imagine it. Each time the Devil appeared within seconds, and I had to leave.
I jumped millions, then billions of years into the future—still no change. I went 98 billion years in the future—a billion years after time itself should have ended with the universe now a singularity.
Apparently time and space are different in Hell. There was no change. Beatrice, and all the others as far as I could see, were still in agony, still being burnt alive unendingly for 98 billion years. The empty stake was still there, a vacancy waiting to be filled.
The Devil appeared and I took off again, tears streaking down my face at my powerlessness.
How long is eternity?
* * * *
I was nearly out of power from all the starts and stops. I would soon be stuck, either in Hell, unable to start, or traveling forward in time for all eternity, unable to stop as I slowly died from hunger or thirst. The latter would be infinitely preferable. And yet…perhaps there was a way.…
I brought the time machine to a stop a trillion years in the future. I glanced at the power gauge—just enough, I hoped, for one more start. Outside, there was still no change. I waited.
Within seconds the raging Devil appeared. And now I found myself jammed inside my time machine with him.
* * * *
“You’ve given me quite a run in this toy of yours. But your eternity in Hell begins now!” He motioned at the empty stake. “I’ve been holding a reservation for you, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. A trillion years—who would have thought! I’m impressed.” He grinned.
“What happens now?” I asked, as if I didn’t know. My lab coat was soaked with sweat, and not just from the heat.
He roared with laughter. “I miss conversing with you humans. Mankind died out a long time ago, and we haven’t had any new arrivals in nearly a trillion years. It’s been a long time since I had anyone sane to talk to!”
A trillion years must be a long time, even for the Devil, I thought. Or was it? “What are you going to do with me?” I asked.
The Devil roared with laughter. “You still don’t get it!” he said. His hot, sulfurous breath filled the time machine, his face just inches from mine, his horns ripping into the time machine’s roof.
“You understand eternity merely on a scientific level,” he continued. “A trillion years is a trifle compared to eternity. Eternity goes on for trillions of years, then quadrillions, then quintillions. You can go a nonillion years, a secillion, a googol, even a googolplex—and even then, it’s not a fraction of eternity.” He smiled. “Eternity is forever!”
I began to tremble uncontrollably.
“I see you are beginning to understand,” the Devil said. “As a physicist, one who studies time, you above all should understand what eternity is.”
He stared into my eyes, his face just inches from mine, his hot breath overpowering me. I had to avert my eyes. “There’s about ten billion of them—quite a collection, wouldn’t you say? It’s not a matter of who’s good or evil, it’s whoever I can work out a contract with. I collected them for eons before and after your time, one by one, each with their own deal. They’ve been tortured for a trillion years, and it’s not even the beginning for them.”
Ten billion for a trillion years, and I was about to join them. I gathered my courage. “Why do you do this?”
“Because I can and want to.” He smiled broadly. “I find it interesting and, let’s face it, amusing. You’ll find all sorts here. Lots of dictators—Stalin was smart, got to live to an old age, and now realizes he wasn’t so smart. Hitler was stupid, I got him on technicalities and brought him early. The place is full of politicians, artists, musicians, moms who wanted their kids to be successful, scientists like yourself, and lots and lots of professional athletes! Who needs steroids when they can have Me?”
Despite the situation, I had to grin inwardly at that. “What happens to me now?” I asked. “Do I get some personalized torture? Or does everyone just burn in Hell like these people?”
“You’ve only seen this section,” the Devil said. “Actually, there are many others. There’s this myth that ‘evil-doers’ will be punished in some way that matches what they did when alive. There’s no connection—I just put ’em wherever I feel like it, and I keep it systematic so it’s easier to run. There’s the drowning section, the shark section, the electric section—thank you, Mr. Edison! And I think this section is fine for you. Which is why I’ve kept that reservation for you so long.”
He again put his grinning face just inches from mine, his hot breath burn
ing into me. “I’ve been doing this for a trillion years and eternity hasn’t even begun. And so, now that you know just how long eternity truly is…it’s time for you to join them!” He turned away and beckoned at the empty stake. Orange flames burst out of it. The rope tied to it leaped into the air, an animated snake waiting for its prey.
With the Devil looking away, I saw my chance and grabbed the time dial. I turned it, then quickly stepped out the door on the left. As the time machine faded from view, I saw the Devil try to leap out the open right door. However, with the time machine again moving through time, the time distortion made movement back and forth impossible. The Devil was too late, bouncing off the time distortion as if hitting a brick wall.
With that final leap forward, there was no more power. The time machine would move forward in time forever. Bon Voyage!
As the Devil faded into the future, the screaming faded away as well. The flames went out. The ropes fell away.
By the light of the luminescent rocks in the ceiling I saw people as far as the eye could see taking their first non-tortured breath in a trillion years.
A trillion years of burning hadn’t left a physical mark on them, but their minds? As the people stumbled away from their stakes, their faces dribbled with drool, all I heard was incoherent mumbling.
Was I stranded in Hell with ten billion insane residents? Despair overwhelmed me and I fell to the ground, pounding my fist into the hard rock. Exhausted, I collapsed into a dreamless, hopeless sleep.
* * * *
“Virgil?” I woke to the sound of my name, and opened my eyes. Beatrice was leaning over me. Behind her were dozens of others looking on. “Are you awake? Can you hear me?”
I sat up too quickly and almost knocked her over. I was overwhelmed. As I quickly discovered, she was sane!
Perhaps whatever it is that kept their bodies unchanged for a trillion years also kept their minds unchanged. It took a few hours, but nearly all of the billions were sane, the same physically and mentally as they had been when they first entered Hell.
Neither Beatrice nor any of the others have any memory of their trillion years of torture. I don’t think Beatrice really believes me when I tell her how much time has passed and what she went through, but it’s enough that she’s here.
While they were tortured, the billions of humans here were essentially immortal, but now that that’s over, we’re all human again, with human frailties and human lifespans. I prefer that to the alternative.
We have a new frontier, one never imagined before. The Devil mentioned there were other sections, such as a drowning section and a shark section. That meant, at the least, water and seafood. Many of us are about to go search for these necessities, and to begin to explore this new land. Perhaps we’d settle it, and there would be future generations, a thriving civilization in Hell. I just don’t know.
As to the Devil…
…how long is eternity?
MISS FAVERSHAM’S ROOM, by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
“And this,” said the housekeeper, “is Miss Faversham’s room.” She indicated the door on the broad landing halfway up the staircase as the two of them climbed the wide, carpeted stairs. “Actually, it’s three rooms, a sitting room, a bedroom, and a dressing room. The bathroom is through the interior door, and isn’t considered a part of Miss Faversham’s suite, since it has access to the swimming pool area, although the interior door makes it seem private.” She used her key-card to open the door, and stood aside to permit her companion to enter ahead of her.
“I’ve been told every Faversham hotel—all fifteen of them—has a room just like this, a suite, really, although they don’t call it that,” said Harold Bright, speaking into his Thumbnail recorder as he walked into the room, the housekeeper behind him. He noted the room was a bit cold, as if the heat hadn’t been turned on yet; shrugging against the pull of his luggage strap, he dismissed the chill as the result of the room being used rarely.
“Surely you’ve already seen a few of them,” the housekeeper said with an air of remonstrance.
“I’ve seen some,” he said without missing a beat. “But not all.”
“Well, then I suppose you know as well as I that Miss Faversham’s room is an intrinsic part of every Faversham hotel,” she said.
“That’s what all the p.r. material says,” Bright told her. “But I like to check on such things for myself.”
“I suppose that’s a reasonable precaution,” the housekeeper agreed, going to the thermostat and turning it up.
“You know how these things are,” said Bright, turning to look directly at the housekeeper. “Sometimes it’s hard to sort out fact from publicity.”
“I’m sure the Board could provide you with the information you need—accurate information,” said the housekeeper.
“They’ve been very helpful so far,” said Bright, trying to stifle a sudden yawn, for although it was three-thirty in the afternoon, he had been traveling since ten the previous morning, and had only arrived in Belgium from Buenas Aires two hours ago.
“Then you will know whom to ask for more material,” said the housekeeper.
Bright decided to change tactics. “You must get many inquiries about this place, given the history of the chain,” he prompted, reminding himself how important it was to chat up the staff, particularly since he did not truly fit into his surroundings. His leather duffle slung over his shoulder, although of excellent quality, seemed a bit shabby in this gorgeous room. Even his tweed jacket, silk shirt, and flannel slacks were a trifle too down-market for the suite with its museum-quality furnishings.
“Yes, we do,” the housekeeper said, her answer well-rehearsed. “And yes: there is such a room in all our hotels. Every one of them on the landing of the Grand Staircase, as this one is; they’re modeled on this room, of course. The Empire House is the first Faversham hotel. But I suppose you know that.” She patted the back of a swan-armed Empire sofa as if it were a spoiled pet. “They are furnished to compliment the hotel, of course, which is why this one is in the Empire style. I’m sure you’ve seen the styles for each of them.” She went on automatically, “The hotel in London is Tudor, the one in Geneva is Art Deco, the one in Buenas Aires is 18th century classical, and the one in Montreal is—”
“—Louis XV,” said Bright, and could not resist showing off to the housekeeper. “The one in Tokyo is Art Nouveau, the one is Moscow is Russian Imperial, and the one in Washington is Federalist. The Roman hotel is Renaissance; the Berlin, Grand Baroque. The one in LA is Spanish Colonial. The Faversham room is always decorated to match the stylistic theme of the hotel, and always in superb taste.” He smiled at the housekeeper. “I’ve seen the American and European Favershams but not the Tokyo hotel; I’m scheduled to fly to Japan next week to see their Faversham. Then on to Melbourne for the opening of the newest in the chain, making sixteen. Edwardian decor, all the pre-opening releases say, with a great deal of crystal and fine wallpaper. Then just four to go, and I’ll put the article together, for publication next November, which is our annual top hotels issue.”
“So I understand from the CEO; Monsieur dePuy has said to extend you every courtesy,” said the housekeeper primly. “I trust you’ll enjoy your stay, and that your article will reflect well on the Faversham chain.” She touched the soft collar of her cream-colored blouse that set off her navy-blue wool suit. Her smile was professional—more teeth than good-will—in contrast to her neat, self-effacing demeanor.
“So far so good,” said Bright, taking in the handsome room with its elegant furniture and beautiful appointments, including a tall porcelain vase on an ebony high-boy, and a dragon-motif lamp that looked as if it had escaped from Brighton Pavilion.
“It’s most unusual, allowing a journalist to stay in Miss Faversham’s room. Usually only corporate guests are permitted to use the room, no matter which hotel it may be in. Your publication must be more wide-spread than I had supposed,” said the housekeeper in a tone of polite inquiry. “How did you ha
ppen to get such an assignment?”
“It’s my editor’s idea,” said Harold Bright. “He couldn’t set it up for Moscow or Rome, but Montreal was fine, and so was Washington, and Vienna, and Buenas Aires, which opened the doors to all the rest of the chain. This one is the prize.” He tried not to look smug but failed. “If all goes well, I’ll get a book deal as well as the article out of it. It’s a real incentive. And I get to stay in these wonderful hotels.” He swung his free arm to take in not only Miss Faversham’s room but the whole of the Empire House.
“A very nice assignment, if I may say so,” the housekeeper observed. “I haven’t been to the Moscow hotel, nor the one in Hong Kong. Grand Victorian, with Chinese accents.”
“Overstuffed chairs and a lot of wicker, large mirrors and portraits in heavy frames, along with Ming vases and Chinese carvings,” said Bright. “Beautiful carpets, polished wood, and brass.” He paused. “This is the flagship hotel, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Horatio Faversham built it in 1874. It was ten years before he built the London Faversham, the Tudor House.”
Bright hoped to keep her talking, so he said, “Wasn’t it risky—an Englishman opening a hotel in Brussels?”
“This hotel was originally intended for British travelers to the Continent. Brussels was often the place they began their journeys, and Horatius Faversham gambled that this would be the kind of establishment they would want before they moved on. The next hotel was built in Paris—I trust you know that.”
“The Grand Epoch House,” Bright confirmed, recalling that Faversham had wanted Louis XIV, but that proved impossible, and so Faversham had gone for another kind of grandeur. “Then Vienna in 1901. His son Percival inherited four hotels in 1909; he expanded slowly and still almost lost all he owned during World War I, but he hung on and made a fortune before the end. I don’t know much more about him, but I’ve found a couple troubling references to him,” Bright added, to show he knew the basics and to encourage the housekeeper to enlarge upon his knowledge. “I don’t know what to make of him.” He noticed the heating had begun its soft, warm whisper.
The Haunts & Horrors Megapack: 31 Modern & Classic Stories Page 20
