Satan's Day

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  • Published: 1 Nov 2013
  • Updated: 16 Nov 2013
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It's Halloween, or Satan's Day, and those who have committed crime are stalked by the Devil, who on this day ascends to heaven to take his place as God. In a string of events one man finds his past the subject of Satan's games, and finds his end on Satan's Day...


2. "Take me to Hell"




   The man knew that nobody really understood hell, and the only people who did where those who had been there. The law to many religious people is that if you are good you go to heaven, and if bad you go to hell. Again, nobody understands this as know one has been to hell and back… and survived.


   It seemed that as he began his journey and drifted into an endless sleep, his last thoughts were dedicated to these concepts, and where he would end up, if anywhere at all. He had met his end on Halloween night, after he had been forced to commit a brutal murder three months, sixteen days, nine hours and thirty-seven minutes ago. Ever since he had been hiding, until Halloween where Satan haunted him and he saw fake objects that alluded to his story. At the end he met his fate as his victim did, and a jagged blade rose to the man’s head out of the dust. You cannot see dust. He fell to his knees and he felt the red drip down on the floor, as he to fell to the mercy of Satan.


   “Perhaps they will be kind.” The man pondered, as he was forced to commit the crime by a rogue gang, and did not kill the victim out of spite, but in Satan’s view, he committed the murder, therefore responsible and all those who commit murder are taken on Halloween, or (as few call it) Satan’s Day. On this day of every year, Satan rises to the heavens to take his place as God, to rule the world on his day, and on that day thousands of criminals leave the world by the hand of Satan. The man heard a laugh, and his emotions turned to spite, almost in a contest with Satan, who only appeared as a red-skulled face in fire. Remember, the innocent could not see the Satan or the man now, as from the real world he began to flicker and fade, slowly being taken into the possession of Satan.

   “Fine. I’ll do your bidding, false god. Take me to hell.”


   With that, he felt his soul fade away, out of the realm of humanity and into the reign of terror. He flickered out of this world and flickered into another, almost like a glitch on a screen. With a shock of lightning, he burst into the underworld, fully integrated. He lay on wooden rafts, and mist swept around him. He could not see what was below, but small red embers fluttered up to catch his eye. He felt his head, and found that the deep gash that was made by the rusty knife was still very much there, as well as the blood. He realised he was standing on a pier, built with rotting wood. He walked to the edge as it creaked, and stood still staring down into the mist, hoping that something would give him a sign as to where to go. This didn’t come until a drop of blood from his head fell and splashed into the mist. He heard the water shake and with that rose the blood that dripped from his head, forming his name in the water.


   This concerned him as this symbolised something as human as signing into an office, and here he was signing into hell. He gazed at his name for a while, considering its importance. Names have a meaning, and the name you take could be seen as a promise you keep. It could be said he broke the promise. Before he could delve deeper into this concept a face suddenly flew out of the water, distorting his name and the red it had shown. It was human, but not human. It had the essence of humanity’s physicality but it’s eyes spoke much more. Its skin was plastered over its face and its hands were worn and torn. His skin was a rotting green brown colour, and it spoke with a cockney, croaky voice, which made the man jump.


   “What do you want? Well come on then son, what do you want?” the rest of his body formed to reveal a disheveled figure, as if he had been starved and dehydrated for millennia. He jumped onto the bridge and tilted his head to one side looking at the man, which let out a distinctive ‘click’ sound. The figure had short dreadlocks that fell over his eyes, which were rotting away. They were no longer white but more brown and he wore a chain around his neck. He gave a grunt and turned back to the water. This creature did not wear much clothes, more like rags which acted as some form of trousers.


   “Right,” He put his hand in the water and swirled it around before grunting again, “Not enough. Drank it all,” He turned around and slapped our man around the head, causing him to squeal, “Naughty, naughty you, going to hack someone to death with an axe! Honestly, society has gone through the blender since my time!” Our man seemed taken aback, as this man was so casual, and used to the whole procedure. The creature gently put his hand into the water, and muttered words that our man could not make out. In the water the blood lifted from the creature’s fingers, and made the name. Our man knew it was his, and the creature muttered it, but read his last name out loud.


   “Of the blood line Martin. Yes,” He turned round to face our man, “I’ve been expecting you. Core, right good shot to the back of the head I saw on your victim, bloody good workmanship!”


   “Sorry?” Our man asked, not knowing if this man was meant to be here or at a night club in the eighties.


   “I saw your victim, there was a bit of a mix up, they had to go through clearance, nobody wants to end up in hell by mistake! That’d be like being a vegetarian and just realising you’d eaten half a pound of beef by mistake! God, I’d love a steak,” He stopped and pondered for a moment, then jumped back to life, “But all I get is blood.”


   “What do you mean?”


   “Well, that’s what I get. You come down here as you left upstairs, it looks like you left with a jagged blade slicing through your head. It seems you’ve signed in, a drop of blood does the trick.”


   “If so many people come through here,” Our man asked, “Why isn’t the water red?”


   “People have no brains anymore! Like I said, I drank it all.”



   “Well Mr Satan doesn’t want his waters red does he?  It’s the only sustenance I get so I take it while it’s free!”


   “Fair enough…” Our man said. The creature then stamped on the floor three times, (which explained the dents in the woodwork) and out of the distance a petite ship rose out of the water, bone dry, as it was made of bones. The creature held out his hand as the boat drew closer, and when it was there he boarded it in a flash.


   “Well come on then you sack of meat!” The creature called as he jerked a bony hand at me. I reluctantly took hold of the boned boat and climbed on, not knowing where I was going.


   “Are you? Are you that ferryman? Chiron, Charon!”


   “You ain’t bleeding half thick! Course I am, I’m hardly the Easter Bunny! God, I’d never stop laughing if I saw him down here.”


   “You don’t really look like a ferryman.”


   “To the living, hell is subjective. It could be anything from Broccoli to a clown.  Mr Satan took different ideas from different times to form his Hell. To some I am Charon, to some I am Haros, or to those very lucky, I am their devilishly handsome husband.” It was then I noticed his ribcage that was persistent in stretching his skin to make him look even more hydrated. I sighed not knowing what to say.


   “So where are we going?” Our man asked.


   “Where do you think? Mount Snowdon?”




   “Then have another guess. I was joking, we, I mean you, are going to Hell.”


   “Can I get out of it?”




   “Can you ever get out of it?”


   “Thousands of years ago, I insulted Satan and those who believed in them, and on the 31st of October he took me and threw me down here. I pleaded with him, saying that I had not committed any type of murder, but merely insulted him. We struck a bargain, I deliver the dead, get immortality and get a taste for some human blood,” He looked at our man with disgust, “Yours was salty.”


   “Well, I’m sorry?” the man didn’t know what to say.


   “It’s fine… I expected it from the line Martin,” For some reason he snorted and spat into the water with vulgarity, “Salty bunch.” The creature (who I now know is a man… a skeletal man) stepped up to the edge of the small boat, and took the post that spawned from the hull. He held it and muttered another incantation our man could not hear, and with a jolt the small boat began to move. Our man slipped down from the side of the boat and into the centre off of the grease from the bones.


   “Who’s bones are these?” the man asked.


   “Your grandfathers.” The skeletal man answered casually, “And a third of Edward the sixths skull. You see when people die of old age, their skin is very easy to rip from their flesh, and bones can slot into each other.”


   “Sounds fulfilling.” The man pondered.


   “For my stomach. You got to love a bit of free food!” The skeletal man then sucked his teeth and stuck his little finger into one of them, picking something out of it. He flung it into the water as he sat hunched over with his back to the man at the front of the boat.


   “Do I need to pay you for this?” The man asked, trying to think of myths he had heard. The skeletal turned.


   “What use is money to me you idiot? But if you hold still there is a way you can repay me.” Our man nodded and stood still. The skeletal man walked over to ours and knelt down by his head. Our man was facing forward and the skeletal man behind. The skeletal man hung out his tongue, and licked our mans bleeding head. Our man jumped and pushed him away with a yelp, but the skeletal man was unphased.


   “Mmm, still salty. Usually the saltiness goes. Oh, I got a bit of brains though! I think that was memories of when you were six and three-quarters.”


   “Brains?” Our man looked alarmed, “My brains are leaking?”


   “Yeah, but don’t worry what’s left of your brain. You won’t die, because Mr Satan wants to torture you for the rest of eternity so he’ll keep you alive whatever the state… so maybe you should worry the rest of your brains, as your in that Room.” Our mans ears pricked.


   “Room, what room?”


   “Look you ninny, this is how it works. You die, if you have done bad things but covered them up and died of old age, I skin you with ease and use the bones to pimp my ride. If a murderer or mass criminal dies, he gets allocated a Room or Chamber depending on what he did.”


   “What Room am I in?”


   “It takes me a while to figure it out, but it’s ruddy good fun guessing!” There was silence for quite some time, until the boat sailed past about eleven glass cabinets built into the jagged rock of the wall. Each one had one person inside, who seemed to have their hands totally covered in blood. Electrical vaults ran through someone and they screamed. Our man was horrified.


   “What is that!” He asked.


   “Oh, that Room is clever. One of the first Mr Satan put together that one was. It’s for thieves, those who break in and nick stuff. They have to break the glass of the cabinet or they get electrocuted. When they break it it’s then restored, and that’s how they are tortured by their own ways,” The skeletal man watched as a tired man punched through the glass and blood spilt from his fist. Time was then reversed for that cabinet and man as the glass jumped back into place as it always would, “Time don’t exist down here. Not to Mr Satan anyway, but those who are wearing a watch when they come down keep in track of Earth time.” Our man checked to see he had a watch, and he did, not that it was much use.


   “So how many rooms are there again?” Our man asked, trying to prepare for what he might have to go through.


   “Oh thousands, there are thousands of realms too. But I think I know where you have to go and it’s a right corker!”


   “Can you tell me so I can prepare myself?”


   “No, Mr Satan wouldn’t allow that. Maybe if your blood was sweeter I would make a sneaky exception, but no.”


   “At least tell me what floor, as I don’t know this place anyway.”


   “Oh, all right then. You’re on Floor 49.”


   “Is that good? Bearable?”


   “Not on floor 49. Nothing goes in, nothing goes out, nothing runs down, or up the spout. Not on Floor 49. Nothing alive can live, nothing dead can die, nothing hears the fist pound, or that terrible, deathly sound. Not on Floor 49. Nothing can see, nothing can dance, dead spirits you can hear, every death, loss and tear. Not on Floor 49. No decaying stairwell, no dying dust, no one leaves, they really must. Not on Floor 49. Happy laughs, cheerful grins, all alive and well, with new stories to tell. Not on Floor 49...


   “Right.” Our man tried to take it all in, but found it quite impossible. Soon they came to three wide and large metal vats that stank. They rose from the murky river up the jagged rocky wall and into the sealing. They could hear gurgling and wretching sounds.


   “What’s that?”


   “Another one for the thieves. Specifically for those who steal food. They get taken down here, and for one hundred Earth years they get fed very well, the finest cut meat you could ask for. Then after that time-”


   “You said time doesn’t exist down here.” Our man chipped in.


   “Exactly. After that time they begin to vomit. They can’t stop, and before they know it, they are drowning in their own sick. They will be sick for the rest of their lives, and the pain is unbearable. Before they know it they’ll have to tread water, or vomit just to stay afloat so they don’t drown.”


   “You said people couldn’t die down here.” The skeletal man leaned closer to ours.


   “Yeah, but that lot don’t know it. So they resort to drinking their own sick to try and keep the levels down to stay afloat,” he descended into hysterical laughter, “God mate, Mr Satan is dead clever!” Again there was silence for a while, until they saw several men and women pinned to the walls, their arms and legs outstretched with their hands and feet pinned to the wall.


   “Explain.” You can guess who said that.


   “Duck!” Both men ducked as a small shiny rectangular plate whisked by them and into the arm of one of them men on the opposite side of the wall.


   “What was that?” Our man asked.


   “This is for the credit card frauds. They get pinned there, and from the opposite side of the wall credit cards and money get flung at them… but the credit cards are sharp and metal, the coins are burning hot and the notes are dipped in acid. When they’re entire bodies waste away they are replenished.”


   “But why? Why do this to them?”


   “I thought they wanted money. It’s why they did it, isn’t it?” this silenced our man, as it was sadly true, “There’s a room for everyone here mate, and yours on Floor 49 has been prepared, and we are fast approaching.”


   “Great.” Our man twiddled his thumbs, as he knew he was about to enter his hell, where time didn’t exist.


   “Don’t worry son, you might make a few friends with some stories to tell. Like the guy who assassinated JFK, or Bin Marden.”




   “That’s the one! Oh, but I think he’s on a different floor. But they won’t be positive stories obviously because this is Hell. Erm, who else…” As the skeletal man pondered about this, our man noticed we were approaching a thin, silvery blue forcefield blocking their path.


   “Hey, hey! What’s that?” As they sailed up to it, our man noticed the silvery words: ‘Area Quadraginta Novem.’


   “Oh!” The skeletal man jumped back into life, and turned round to our man. The skeletal man plunged his finger into our man’s digging out a strand of brain and a spit of blood. Our man screamed in pain as the skeletal man sucked the red contents off of his finger, turned and spat it out in the direction of the silvery blue. The bit of brain hit the blue and sent ripples along the field, before the field broke allowing the boat to pass.


   “Yes! Projectile!” The skeletal man laughed with glee.


   “But what did that say, on the thing?” the man asked, wanting to know what this section was labeled.


   “Area 49,” The skeletal man replied, as our mans heart sunk, “We’re here,” The jagged rock walls that were once a dark black has faded into red, and the once grey murky water spat embers of fire out of the red lava, “Floor 49 is only saved for the worst of deeds. That of course is debatable, but here, it’s murder.” Our man looked up to see a large drop in the river, but felt to tired and scared to ask what it was. Before he knew it, there were speeding down it, with the skeletal man laughing all the way. The travelled down the vertical lava until they plunged back into a normal lake, and a big, metal-padlocked door was brought into view. The metal door was big and shiny, with hot fumes billowing out of it.


   “I take it that’s it.” Our man breathed.


   “That’s your room,” said the skeletal man, “And we are in Floor 49.” They kept on the boat until they reached a small wooden plate, almost like a mini dock. It had an oar on it, and the skeletal man stopped sailing, “This is as far as I am allowed to go,” He turned to the large door and shouted, “Samuel Lewis of the blood line Martin!” At that moment, the doors swung open and a large breath of fire flooded out. Samuel Lewis Martin gulped as the skeletal man guided him off the boat and onto the slab of wood with the paddle.


   “Well,” Samuel breathed, “Bye then!”


   “Have a cracker,” The skeletal man stopped and sniffed the air, “But in the meantime, somebody’s waiting for me… I can smell the blood… and its sweet!” The skeletal man dived off the boat and into the lava, as the boat of bones sunk down into the deep. Samuel paddled up to the steps leading to the door, and stood still for a moment. He knew that this would be the last moment he did not suffer, and he stepped forward with his eyes shut. He could feel the heat on his face, and he heard a voice: ‘Welcome to Floor 49, Samuel Lewis of the blood line Martin.’ With that, Samuel Lewis of the blood line Martin opened his eyes, to see his Room on Floor 49.

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