The Devil's Kettle

What would you do differently if you had another chance to live? This is the question an ignorant boy named Charlie asked himself soon after he's trapped between worlds, in a place called Limbo. --------

I was inspired by a few books I've read of hell and I decided to make my own version of it. If you read every chapter, you'll see how everything connects in the story.


1. First Impression

And the Lord said unto Satan,

Whence comest thou? Then Satan answered

the Lord, and said, From going to and fro in the earth,

and from walking up and

down in it.


Job 1:7



               "Order! Order in the court!" yelled a solemn voice followed by the rustle of wings.

My head spun and I feared I might pass out right then and there on the cold floor. My hands were tied with a gold cord. I tried to look around but the snakes of burning torches lined on the walls were too bright. 

I put my fingers up to my face, felt my lips a bit swollen and bleeding.

               "DOWN!" someone screamed.

I crawled backwards, checking for a dark corner to hide in. The cacophony then began to organize itself gradually into silence.

It took me a while to notice that the room shimmered with the movement of a million wings.


 I touched burning branches and broke them as I ran swiftly through the forest. My adversaries are the shadows creeping up on me. I sighed, and a flock of crows lifted up, as if released by my breath. I could hear screams coming from everywhere and people calling for help, but I was unable to find a single soul.


It was forty-five degrees in Virginia, the sky a cloudless blue. Like any other weekend, I was wearing my favorite white shirt - long sleeves and a drawn skull with ink in the middle, near my chest; I was wearing it to remember how horrible it was moving back again to my dad's old cabin.

Almost at the border of southeast Virginia State, a small town called Roanoke exists composed of tall trees and constant rain. This place is known for its magnificent waterfalls, plus it's the gloomiest place on Earth. I pondered during the ride and I've come to conclude that my dad moved there for this exact reason- to get away from the city. Ever since my dad inherited that cabin, I've been compelled to come here as soon as the school year ended. I wonder when I'm going to earn my freedom, although freedom now seems more irrationally unnatural than ever.

I loved my old room, a void room, with nothing but a bed and a small black table that I used to compose music and draw random things. I loved the blistering rays of light reflected from my window  and onto the floor every morning after seven. I loved my friends, specially that one girl I forgot to say good-bye for the last time.

               "You forgot your palette, Charlie," my mom said to me before I got on the plane, "remember you asked for it. I could have sent you to a summer school instead."

The look on her face seemed almost like remorse but I knew better than that. I don't really tell my friends this, but she isn't my real mother. We don't even share similar traits, except for our brown eyes.

I was suffocating as I got on the plane. I kept staring at my little brother, Steve. He smiled at me whereas my 'monster mom' frowned as a farewell gesture. I wanted to take Steve with me. My monster mom doesn't know this but Steve is afraid of the dark at night, and I was always there to comfort him. To make sure I wouldn't leave him completely alone, I decided to leave Cricket, my white german shepherd dog, to keep him company.

               "Don't worry I'll come back for you two." I told myself in my subconscious. I repeated verbatim this once or twice already on the plane, I closed my eyes and suddenly fell asleep.

I was ninety-nine percent sure I was dreaming. I found myself endlessly swimming across dirty waters. Up there I could see crows flying in circles. I couldn't stand the heat and every now and then I accidentally gulped salty water. Little by little, the dim peak of a possible island became more visible as I got closer, but I was wrong. It was something else, like a shark or a dark phantasma, whatever it was disappeared all of a sudden.

               "Hello? Sir, are you awake? We've arrived at our destination," said the flight attendant. I don't know how long I slept but what worried me is that Steve's dreams are in my head now. Flying doesn't really bother me; these sort of dreams, though, I was a little concerned about.

I spotted Henry, my dad, talking to a flight attendant and then when he finally saw me, he seemed genuinely happy that I was coming to live with him. I hugged him tightly as if it was the last time I would see him. He took my suitcase and we headed to his indisputably old car. But, then the ride to the cabin was a little awkward. Neither of us talked, besides I thought there was nothing to be said regardless.

               "Home, sweet home." said Henry as he stepped out of the car. I rolled down the window despite the cold. I sat up straight in the front seat, my heart pounding in my chest. I pushed at the door and heard the caw of a crow echoing in the distance. And to my misfortune, this cabin is located next to a cemetery. The whole cabin with peeling paint and a broken shutter gave me goose-bumps. A loud shout fought to escape, but I wouldn't let it.

I began to study the old cabin. There were scraggly, barren bushes along the front yard. There was also an old willow tree behind the cabin. The ground is covered in green, so many kinds and all one green. Finally, I decided to take a glimpse inside.

I stood gingerly under the low overhang of the front porch. Henry left the front door open and I could see a hallway with a picture at the far end. It was the painting of a girl I'm sure I've seen before. She's dancing exuberantly under a cherry blossom and her hair looks disheveled from all the jumping up and down, one would suggest she doesn't have a decorum. She's wearing a white dress beset with white pearls. 

               "You made it. Come, I'll show you your new room," Henry said as my eyes moved away from that particular painting.



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