Chapter Thirty Five

Cyrus could not recall exactly how he died, which meant he probably was dead before the car went up in a big fireball. A small mercy.

He could recall looking down on the flaming car and realizing it was his car, and also realizing his body was still inside the car. These discoveries came with a cool detachment. Then the edges of his vision went blurry and dark, and soon all he could see was a brightly lit tunnel before him. He felt peaceful. He moved to take a step forward into the light.

“Oh no you don’t,” a voice said, and he felt something grab his ankles and start pulling him down. He looked down and saw Nubbins dragging him down into darkness, away from the light. He began to panic, and thrashed and struggled to get away from the demon as the light at the end of the tunnel got further and further away from him. Cyrus could not believe the strength of the little demon, who was not phased in the slightest by Cyrus’s struggles.

“Yeah, it’s best you get all the struggling out of the way now,” Nubbins said. “Pretty soon all the fight will have gone out of you, and struggling just won’t be as satisfying.”

They descended for an eternity, or so it seemed. Time passes strangely in the afterlife. That is to say, if it passes at all. Occasionally, time seems to stop and take a breather. Alternately, time can pass very, very quickly if it decides to.

After an age, Cyrus realized he could see a red glow coming from far beneath them. What started as a tiny spot of dim, red light quickly grew, until Cyrus and Nubbins arrived at the gates to Hell.

Given the number of souls entering Hell every day, one might expect there to be a long, long line to get in. There was not. If Hell prides itself on anything, it is their attention to quality customer service. Granted, the customers usually did not want to experience their unique service offerings, but a soul had not had to wait for what it had coming for a long, long time.

The gates to Hell were impressive. No, they were imposing. Huge, black and pointy, there was no way anything could get through them, unless the gates were open. They were easily sixty feet tall, and the proportions were exactly wrong, such that simply looking at them made one’s mind hurt. Those lucky enough to be on the outside of the gates (usually a temporary situation) usually did not want to find out what was on the other side of the gates.

There was a demon standing to the left of the gates behind a pedestal with an enormous book upon it. The demon was easily eight feet tall, and enormously muscular. He was also wearing a pair of reading glasses.

As Cyrus and Nubbins approached the demon, he looked up at them, and gave a small nod to Nubbins.

“Name?” the demon said when they reached the pedestal he stood behind.

Cyrus looked at Nubbins.

“Tell him your name, shithead,” Nubbins said.

“Uh. Cyrus,” the Reverend said.

“Your full name, please,” the demon said, and tapped irritably on the book with his pen.

“Uh, Cyrus Evander Milton,” Cyrus said. The demon looked down at the book through his reading glasses, and scanned through the open pages using his index finger to keep track of where he was. His hands were huge, and he had thick, black fingernails that came to a sharp point.

“Reverend Cyrus Evander Milton,” the demon said in it’s impossibly deep voice. “There you are.”

The demon made a few notes in the book, looked up and said, “You’re a bit early. Did you get a little to eager to get here?”

“Aw, shut up and open the gates, will you?” Nubbins said.

“Whatever, no need to be a dick to me,” the demon said. He produced an enormous key which had been hanging behind the pedestal the book was on and walked over to the gates. He inserted the key, and pulled the gates wide open. He then walked over to Cyrus and Nubbins.

“Welcome to Hell,” the demon said, then, with a great roar, he grabbed Cyrus and forcefully threw him through the gates and into Hell. He then shut the gates forcefully, and locked them again. The lock clicked shut with a heavy, final thunk.

“Nubbins, always a pleasure to see you,” the demon said. “I trust you know the way to the employee entrance.”

“Yeah, yeah. Talk to you later,” Nubbins said. He vanished.

“Little prick,” the demon said, and went back over to the pedestal to await the next soul, whom he was expecting any second.

Cyrus lay where he fell. Contrary to popular belief, the road to Hell is not paved with good intentions, but with sharp and very hard rocks which really hurt to fall on. Good intentions would be far too comforting.

Nubbins appeared next to Cyrus.

“Get up,” he said, and kicked Cyrus in the side. Cyrus groaned, but made no move to get up.

“I said get up,” Nubbins said and gave Cyrus a hard kick in the left kidney. Cyrus cried out in pain, rolled over and got to his hands and knees.

Nubbins kicked him again. “Get the fuck up!” Nubbins shouted at him.

Cyrus stood, and got his first good look at Hell. He immediately regretted looking up from the road. There were buildings, of a sort, along the road. There were terrible noises coming from inside of all of them. In the distance, Cyrus could see the lake of fire he hadn’t believed in. The sky above was a dull red, with no sun or moon visible. There was one star visible, tiny, but brilliant. It gave him no hope.

“Start walking,” Nubbins said.

Cyrus did as he was told. He did not walk quickly enough for Nubbins, however. The little demon picked up a rock and threw it at Cyrus’s head.

“Walk faster!” Nubbins yelled.

Nubbins led Cyrus past the buildings, past the lake of fire, and past the torture pits to a dank, foul-smelling cave, with an iron door sealing it shut. Nubbins took a key from the wall next to the door, unlocked the door and opened it.

“Well? Go in!” Nubbins said.

Cyrus ducked a bit, and went into the cave. Nubbins slammed the iron door shut after him, and said, “We’ll be back for you later.”

Nubbins walked away. Cyrus took a look around the cave. It was damp, cold and there was a disgusting smell of sulphur and rot. He could hear screams and wailing in the distance. Someone, or several someones, closer to him were sobbing.

“Hey, who’s out there?” Cyrus asked. He did not get a reply. “Anybody?”

Silence. He tried to shake the door, but it was solidly shut and didn’t even wiggle a little bit. He leaned up against the wall then, and slid down to the floor. There was, of course, no furniture in the cave. There wasn’t even a rock for him to sit on. His options appeared to be standing up, sitting on the floor, leaning against one of the slimy walls or laying on the floor. The floor was cold and damp.

“Well, this isn’t so bad,” Cyrus said, semi-hopefully.

That was when the beetles swarmed out of nowhere and covered him in a chittering, multi-legged wave of unpleasantness. Cyrus hated bugs. They crawled in his ears. They crawled up his nose. When he opened his mouth to yell, he immediately regretted it, as many of the beetles crawled into his mouth.

If you’ve never closed your mouth when it’s full of beetles, well, you probably don’t want to know what it’s like. It’s crawly. And crunchy. And exceedingly foul tasting.

Getting bugs in your various facial openings is pretty bad, but getting eaten by a cave full of beetles is worse. In fact, the only thing worse than being eaten by beetles in a sulphur-smelling cave in Hell is realizing that one is already in Hell, and once the beetles are done eating you, you’ll be whole again. Just in time for some other rotten torture.