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I stand alone in the darkness of the Hellscape longing just to be free of it already. I feel guilty having such feelings because my mother is still lost in this place. I see her in my mind, reliving memories of her protecting me from my father over and over again. Her sacrifices made me the man I am, and gave me the chance to write my own fate. She showed me it’s possible not to recreate the same self-destructive patterns that my father did, the result of his guilt over all he could have done but chose not to. Nothing frustrates me more than thinking back on how he was so bent out of shape over being a horrible father. He would complain about it while drinking scotch straight from the bottle. The reason was right there in his hands and all he had to do was put it down. But he would just complain and act like the answer was eluding him.
Now is not the time for such thoughts though. I reach back into the bag Death gave me and pull out another marble. Warm at my touch, the marble swirls with black flames. “Black flames in Hell, what could go wrong,” I say in jest to myself. I grip the marble, the conviction to find my mother welling up in my soul with my grasp. I gently kiss the marble and whisper, “I will not fail you again,” before smashing it at my feet.
The black flames shoot high into the air upon the shattering of their glass prison, then return to the ground, splashing, washing over the Hellscape like water, shaping itself into the next nightmare I have to face. The emptiness around me is suddenly fills with night sky, twinkling with stars.
Trees burst out of the ground reaching up for the sky, reaching upwards until they tower over me. Stone pathways form beneath my feet that lead up to a large mansion in the distance, piercing through the flesh of the dormant Hellscape into existence, right before my eyes. It emits an eerie, regal energy. The kind that tells you it would be wrong to approach if not riding in a horse-drawn carriage, dressed in your finery. Of course, the horses would have to be undead to complete the vibe. I’ve clearly been down here too long if my mind is making jokes about this. “Undead horses... get a hold of yourself David.”
The walk leading up to the mansion is peaceful despite how unnaturally it all sprung forth. The trees sway in a gentle breeze, waving me closer. I feel woefully underdressed, but it’s ok, the trees seem to say I’m welcome regardless. The sound of crickets echo through the scene, encouraging me to continue on towards the doors. It’s like my surroundings are lulling me towards the house, which despite its macabre nature, still emits a good feeling. It feels like fearing something you love. You know it’s not good for you, yet you go for it anyways.
The mansion is a massive six stories high and looks like it takes up a whole city block viewing it from the pathway. It reminds me of the old Winchester house, charming but chaotic, bright but casting curious shadows. Looming over me, it feels less inviting the closer I get. With each step closer, it’s like the mansion went from welcoming me with a warm smile to lusting for me with grinding teeth.
Finally standing at the first step leading up to the large double doors, I stop to take it in a bit more. It’s a plantation style home, primarily white accented with black trim around the windows and doorways. The roof is a rusty red, but the windows look like they’re made of azure glass, making it difficult to see what’s inside. Light dances behind the windows, suggesting lots of movement within, but no noise comes from the house. All I can hear are the crickets chirping. My mother could very well be inside; I have no choice but to knock and see what answers my call.
Stepping up to the right door I raise my hand to knock. The door echoes with the vibrations of every knock, like the house is groaning in response to my disruption.
“Anyone home this time of... well... night. Hello.” Oddly my voice doesn’t echo, but sounds flat compared to the chirping crickets around me.
If no-one is going to greet me, I will just have to let myself in. I know a sin waits for me inside that I must face, but I struggle to fight back the urge to run. I know it’s not Greed on the other side of this door because I’ve already faced him; curiosity stirs wondering what sin lies ahead of me. I take ahold of the doorknob with both hands and twist with force to meet the resistance of the locking mechanism. The door clicks with a heavy thud before giving way and slowly drifting open. The door swings open only a few feet before becoming stuck - the weight must be too much for the hinges, at least that's what I think. Wind rushes out of the house, helping the door gently swing open the last few inches. It’s as if the house is breathing through the open door. It makes me think of someone who breathes through their mouth, but is actually a bit more like a predator breathing through its teeth, hungry.
My heart races at the prospect of stepping across the threshold. I’m terrified that as soon as I try to enter the home the door will slam shut on me taking a limb or worse.
“Good lord, don’t let this house eat me,” I mutter, slowing my breath to bring down my heart rate.
Ok, I'm going to count to three in my head and just go for it.
One.
Two.
Three.
I pass through the door, I hear the house take in a deep breath. At the pinnacle of the house's inhale, the door slams shut behind me. The echo of the slam reverberates eerily through the house, sounding more like a moan than the violent closing of a door. I don’t know what it is with the Hellscape but everything moans and groans, and I just wish for one second something would just sound like the good lord intended it to. I feel like I could flush a toilet and it would scream instead of splashing water around. Christ!
I find myself standing on a large red mosaic carpet that goes on forever. There are no stairs, no decorations, just cold damp marble walls. I’m in a giant box that on the inside resembles nothing like a mansion. The carpet is all that occupies the space, leading off into an unlit portion of the house. The house continues to breathe, slow and raspy, with no indication of where it’s coming from. Besides the main door, the house has no other entryways or windows. I can’t blame the wind outside for the sounds of breathing, so I wonder if this house mightn’t truly be alive.
A few gas lamps mounted adjacent to the main door's frame provide the only light, making it impossible to see anything beyond a few feet of the entryway. The carpet might as well be a giant arrow pointing in the direction of impending doom. Possessing no light source to take with me, I start to walk down the hallway, heart racing, feeling a bit like Dorothy. When I was a kid, I used to be terrified about getting up and walking to the bathroom in the middle of the night. It was walking through the dark hallway from my room to the bathroom that scared me the most. I always felt like something was watching me, just waiting for me to let my guard down, so it could take me into the darkness, away from my family. Well with each step I take down this hallway, I feel more like my kid-self, looking back towards the entryway, fighting the urge to run back to its safety.
Each time I feel fear here in the Hellscape, it seems like it’s changing me. I don't feel like I've become braver, or unaffected, but agitated. The fear swells within me and my heartbeat accelerates, but then I become tired of it. Tired of feeling the fear, tired of feeling like I have no control, and when that sense of being fed-up reaches a crescendo, I sense that I’m taking back my power. I take back everything fear has tried to take from me at this point. Maybe I'm learning to cope with fear by facing it, but at times I feel like I'm losing it a bit. I want to crack a joke and make light of the situation even though fear still grabs me. Looking down this hallway, deeper into the darkness, I want to smile and think, “do your worst. You can’t break me, and I'll never bend to your will no matter how much fear you instill in me. I will never let it make me doubt who I am, and what I am here to do.”
Using the carpet beneath my feet as a guide to keep me walking straight, I notice my senses feel odd. I can feel sound with my body not through vibration, but like my body can listen and understand beyond my basic senses. Being in the pitch dark with nothing but a now distant twinkle of light must be messing with me. Nonetheless, I push forward, for my mother, for life, and partly for the mystery of it all.
With each passing second that I walk deeper into the darkness, it feels like it’s becoming heavier, like the distance I traveled from the door added weight to the oppressive night all around me. It’s bearing down on me, making it difficult to breathe. I feel light-headed, but I can't stop moving forward, I can't give up even when I feel surrounded, I can't...
SLAP!
I feel a cold clammy hand strike me across my face, horror shoots through my spine. I fall to my knees under the strain of the darkness and my fear of what lurks within it. I want to curl up in a ball just like I would as a kid if I became too scared on my way back from the bathroom at night. I can hear a soft thudding sound just a few feet ahead of me that sounds like someone tapping their toe. I pull my arms and legs closer to my body, feeling paralyzed with anxiety. This is it; this is when I die in this horrible place at the hands of something I can't even see. I want to run, but I’m all turned around. I can't risk leaving the carpeted path, it’s my only true sense of direction.
Scratch, chirk, fwoosh.
I tumble backwards as a small flame appears on the carpet, startling me. Upon closer inspection, I notice it's a match, held aloft by a familiar shackled severed hand. Agro.
“Oh, thank God, Agro, I thought I was getting attacked in the dark. Wait... why did you slap me,” I ask perplexed?
Agro answers my question by sticking out his pinky a few times and waving it at me in such a way I'm sure he was trying to be feminine. Knowing Agro the way I do I'm sure it's a gesture towards my manhood just now. Even if he is being an ass, I’m glad to see him. In fact, I feel bad because I forgot about him following me all this time since he wasn’t perched on my shoulder. I'm just glad he made it through the door with me before it slammed shut, at least that's how I think he got in. For being a disembodied hand, he can be a ninja when the mood strikes him.
“Thanks buddy, I needed that.” I pick up Agro and place him on my shoulder.
“Hey Agro, where the hell did you get matches from?”
Agro responds by brushing off the shoulder he’s perched on. I'm sure he meant he is “just that good”, and I will just have to find out. Now that Agro’s with me, my will to push back against the fear, to push back the weight of the darkness renews. Hell, it’s more than renewed; I always feel stronger when I know I’m not alone. Tears well up in the corners of my eyes. Agro just reminded me of one of the greatest truths: through a love for God we are never truly alone. We will always have his support in facing our trials in life, and this place has a way of making me forget that.
I do have a few things I can't stop thinking about, even with God’s help, and I’m finding that not even this nightmare keeps them at bay. Seriously, where did a severed hand get matches? I'm still trying to figure out how he’s able to see. I'm just glad he doesn't seem angry with me because I keep forgetting about him. I can’t stop seeing him as some sort of hand ninja, so quiet I forget he’s even there, and then he just shows up. Well, I'm not going to look this gift horse in the mouth... even though it doesn't have one.
I start walking, one step at a time, following the carpet, but now I’m moving faster than I was before Agro showed up. A walking pace turns into a jog, and then into a run. I’m not going to let anything slow me down anymore. I'm not going to spend hours shuffling through the darkness. I will run until I find light or hit a wall. If I hit a wall, I'll just follow it until it leads me to something new.
Agro cinches his pinky finger around my collar, bouncing up and down on my shoulder from my running. This is either me being brave or really stupid, but I'm sure I’ll find out soon enough. The house's breathing picks up, like it’s keeping pace with me. A gust of wind follows the sound of an exhale and blows out Agro’s match. Like a magician he rubs his fingers against his palm and produces another match. Holding the head of the match to the shackle on his wrist Agro prepares to strike the match and...
fwoomp.
In the distance, two multi-tiered candelabra alight. The candelabrum sit on top of a large rectangular table, covered with a plain white tablecloth. The light is welcoming even if a bit disturbing.
“Well, Agro I guess we should go check it out, that's if you’re not busy.” I'm sure Agro gets my sarcasm, but at times he doesn't seem fazed by it at all.
I approach the table with caution, preparing myself for the sin I will have to face next. My thoughts return to the possibilities: a gaudy mansion, a large table in a dimly lit room. This has to be the work of...
“Gluttony,” whispers a voice from the shadows across the table. I take a step back, trying at the same time to peer into the darkness to see what spoke. Two glowing red eyes appear faint in the shadows, then grow with intensity in their brightness. They blink, pacing the length of the table, watching me.
“Clever, clever, David. Well, clever if you weren't already told that you would be facing sins this whole time. You're just like all the other chattering monkeys that have made it this far, and just like them you will meet your end and become one of us,” the voice spoke with snobbishly proper pronunciation, every word enunciated. No syllable held more presence than any other. It’s almost robotic.
“Show yourself so we might properly introduce ourselves to one another.”
“Well, since you asked so politely David, what kind of gentleman would I be if I was to refuse?”
The bright red orbs gradually drift towards the light. Their movement is controlled, a cadence to them. Even this expressed propriety.
The face came into focus, revealing a muzzle with two bright white teeth that pierce the shadows, followed by two long furry ears. The being gracefully emerged fully from the darkness; before me stood a man with the head of a rabbit, black fur all over his body. The rabbit appears more like a man, wearing a gray pinstripe vest and pants, a white collared shirt, unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, brown leather shoes and ironically a pocket watch on a chain, tucked into his vest.
“David, I represent Gluttony: at your damnations service, though if you prefer to speak with another agent of Gluttony, I will gladly refer you. I wouldn't recommend it though because most of our other agents have a bit of a weight problem and like to threaten people with eating them. I find it tasteless to lead with such comments but that's just me. You may call me Issac for all formal and informal purposes. So, David, what is your poison, what is that one food you lust for?”
And here I am, being asked by Gluttony what my favorite food is. It’s odd that he would lead with that question, straightforward, but obviously something you don't want to answer when facing a demon whose power is drawn from gluttony.
“Issac, I don’t mean to be rude but isn’t that a bit daft of a question to ask someone when they know you’re an agent of gluttony? I mean you look great - you really dressed to the nines, so I'm not sure if I should be flattered, or if you dress like this every day. It still leaves an impression because I would have expected a lardass.”
Issac bursts out in laughter. His voice rings hauntingly through the darkness.
“Oh David, your humor and bravado amuses me. You would be surprised how many people answer that question without restraint and make my job so easy, but then there are people like you who make my job interesting. People with more refined tastes. People who crave exquisite flavors or are just too picky for their own good.
People are like a prepared meal David. Some are the right combination of events or flavors if you would, and when done correctly it's a symphony of sensations on the palate. Then you get those who are like T.V. dinners. Sure, it's something to eat, even if they’re low in nutrition but will make a turd, just like anything else you can swallow, within reason.”
Issac walks up to the table, placing his furry hands upon the tablecloth, gently stroking it, watching his fur trace the seams in the fabric.
“David, have you noticed that picky eaters tend to be the fattest of them all? They restrict what they eat, but then they overeat the foods they do like. They turn their noses up at fine dining, and exotic flavors for simple drive through mass-produced items. Oh yes, David, for the one you might label a glutton, seen slowly eating a well-seasoned Cornish hen in a five star establishment will, in the late hours of the night, be caught going for drive-through! How humans love their flavored chemicals David! My job has become so much easier just because humans invented corn syrup and fad fucking diets!”
Issac laughs looking like he is relishing the irony of his own statement. His laughter is unnatural, resembling madness. A madness resembling hunger tempered with a dash of peculiar sanity.
“David, I do enjoy your company and I must apologize that I have yet to prepare my house for a guest. I know it's so dark and dreary. It lacks character, a spark of life that welcomes the soul to feast, indulge, and submit.”
Issac clicks his fury fingers, inducing the marble walls to emit a soft white glow, lighting the entirety of this stone box of a house. With a flick of Issac’s right wrist, the walls start to sprout stairs with cherry-stained wooden banisters. Holes open up in the stone floor and fine, overstuffed, red leather furniture rises up out of them. Hallways, chandeliers, wall decor, and even fresh cut roses all appear birthed from the depths of the mansion. The ground shifts underneath me, gliding me backwards into an overstuffed chair. With a mind of its own, the chair shunts me to the side of the table within reaching distance of Issac. I struggle to get up at first, but the chair is awfully comfortable, and I sink into its luxury. I feel exhausted from all that running from those golems, and now my stomach is betraying me by growling faintly.
“Issac, I am flattered by all you’re doing here but I do have to be somewhere.”
“Looking for your mother you mean, right, David? That is what you're talking about, isn’t it?” Issac’s furry muzzle twitches.
“Yes, have you seen her?” My voice wavers with hope.
“I have, David, and I will make you a wager. Play a game with me - win and I'll tell you where she is, lose and, well I think you know how that plays out, David.” Issac says, grinning from whisker to whisker.
“Is playing games just some rite of passage here? Can no one be straightforward with what they want?” Fury radiates from my words.
“Oh, we can be straightforward, sure, but all you have seen here so far has all been built on a wager, and what is a wager if not a game itself, Davvvid. Not even Heaven is built on truth. Human beings themselves live life day to day as a game. Who can get the most attention, who can be the bigger hero with little effort, who can get away with murder... isn’t that right, David?”
“So, what do you want Issac?”
“Have you ever heard of the myth of a sin eater, David?”
“No, I can’t say I have.”
“Good, let me tell you the story then. There once was an agent of the sin of Gluttony whose powers were so great he could walk the mortal realm of men freely. He would seek out kings, self-proclaimed gods, and righteous people, and offer them the promise of being freed of their sins so that their souls could pass untainted into the next life. David, think of it, a glutton who ate sins is such a poetic statement. Of course, the agent was lying and just taking what he wanted, the power that came from their gluttonous sins. He would leave all other sins intact, but occasionally, the removal of gluttonous sins would be enough to send a soul to Heaven. Can you imagine the look on those soul’s faces when they show up at Heaven’s gate instead of Hell’s? Damn, I wish I could see that for myself.
After this happened a few times, those in Heaven became uneasy knowing that there was a demon with the power to send human souls to Heaven who were supposed to be bound for Hell. This power is considered unnatural by the archangels, so they sent down angels to seek out this demon and return him to the depths from whence he’d escaped. The catch was they could never find him, David. They had all the powers in Heaven seeking him out and they couldn’t even find a single lead. The truth was simple, really, they looked everywhere on earth but never looked in Hell where he could come and go as he wished. Angels are just too good to set foot in Hell...”
Knock knock knock.
Issac and I both look towards the sound coming from the tabletop. It’s Agro again. I feel bad again because I keep overlooking him, but he is just a hand, so it’s not like there’s much to look at to start with. Agro starts pointing at Issac with a combination of classic colorful gestures and some lite improv.
Thud.
Issac slams a silver serving tray lid over Agro; it seems to be capable of holding him in place. I can hear Agro frantically running around scrapping at the silver lid.
“Well fuck me! Did you bring that thing with you David? How grotesque.”
I can feel Issac shudder as he speaks those words. In fact, it’s nice to see that he’s rattled by something I find so common now.
“I hope you wash your hands after touching that thing David. It has no lips but it feels like it has the mouth of a sailor who’s been long out at sea. That thing should be cremated, and its ashes used as kitty litter...”
I whistle to get Issac’s attention.
“Issac, come on back bud. You were busy getting to a point with your story.” It feels good to set a demon straight for once after all the getting-set-straight I’d had from Death.
“Ah yes, you are correct, David. Every once in a while this agent of sin would send another soul to Heaven that wasn’t originally supposed to go, just to remind the angels that he was still out there. The agent would then start targeting those who were just on the cusp of being Hell-bound so he could continue to toy with Heaven, to remind them their power wasn't absolute. You see, the balance of light and dark is always shifting, never set in place. It’s an organic, growing thing.
Now I know what you’re thinking David, and no I am not the mentioned agent from this story, but I did know him. It’s he who instructed me in the art of consuming only the gluttonous sins of my targets and not their souls, like most agents of sins traditionally do. I’m out of practice David, and that's where you come in. David, the eating of gluttonous sins only works when the target allows it to happen willingly. I have found this works best when presented in a game. If you play willingly, the process works. So, David, what do you say? If you win you get to take your mother’s soul, but if you lose, I get to eat your sins and take your soul.”
I really didn’t have a choice in the matter. I need to get out of this mansion and if Issac can help me find my mother, then it’s worth all the risk involved.
“I’ll play, Issac. What is your game?”