El Infierno

“Come in.”

​

The door creaked open slowly, and a scrawny man with a pointed nose inched from behind it into the small room. When he was clear of it, the man sitting in the chair at the opposite end of the room gestured with one hand to the door, still ajar.

​

“If you would,” he rumbled. The scrawny man closed it, shaking.

​

The room was bathed in a red-orange glow coming from an antique fireplace, causing the shadows to dance and play, jeering at the scrawny man from their places on the rich darkwood walls and elaborate, foreign rug in the center of the floor. The rug bore the intricate patterns native to the man in the chair’s homeworld. An equally exquisite chandelier hung from the low ceiling, the prisms and smooth faces throwing the firelight all over the carved desk and bookshelf, and the portrait hanging above the room’s only chair. The scrawny man had never seen eyes so full of fiery, passionate intensity, yet so void of all feeling.

 

The shivering man stood rigid in the center of the room, staring straight forward. He could hear his heart running like a many-legged horse in his breast, whose spittle flew into his face, soaking it. He swallowed despite his mouth being a mere desert.

 

“You sent for me, sir?” His voice barely held its constitution beneath the horse’s pounding strides.

 

“I did.” There was a long, arduous pause. The standing man’s frightened pulse quickened with every passing second.

 

“Do you know why?” the man in the chair asked calmly, slowly.

 

Something glinted in the scrawny man’s eye, and he blinked rapidly, then turned to discover the offender. His body seized, and a second horse, of wind rather than blood, joined in pace with the first.

 

“Jadoro. Do you know why?” the man in the chair repeated.

 

“N-no sir…” the trembling man stuttered, not taking his eyes from the thing which assaulted them.

Not that he could; its empty, ruby eyes penetrated the depths of his being, grinning its cruel teeth at his pain. Its face was covered in deep grooves, inlaid with expensive metals. It clasped the man’s ring finger with bright silver arms, like the pet imp of Satan himself, cackling with glee as the infernal judge delivered his eternal sentences to the damned. The man in the chair tapped his fingers on the cane his hand rested on before him.

 

“Oh, dear Jadorito,” He said slowly, deliberately. His voice had the twinge of a world far, far from here. “I think we both know how untrue that is.”

 

“I don’t…” the scrawny man gulped, “I don’t know w-what you mean. Sir.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Y-yes. Sir. Quite, sir.”

 

“Hm…” There was another long pause. The scrawny man’s eyes darted to and fro, from the seated man’s shadow-drowned face, to the eyes of the portrait, to those of the grinning imp. Always the grinning imp.

 

The quivering man’s tortured revery was shattered as the door behind him creaked painfully open. Two people in formal uniform, black suit jackets with ornate red accents, stepped silently through the black portal, taking up positions on either side, hands clasped before them. The trapped man whipped around at their intrusion, the horses neck-and-neck, gaining distance rapidly. He looked frantically from the suited intruders to the shadowy man.

 

“No!” He cried. He took a step forward towards the chair. “No!!! I can’t!!!”

 

The seated man raised a finger, and the suits stepped forward to the scrawny, trembling man. “I’ll tell you! Yes, I did it!!! You can’t do this to me! I’ll tell you everything, I swear!!!” he screamed. He struggled as strong hands gripped his arms like the Bailiffs of eternal judgement itself. He went into a frenzy, kicking, yelling. He looked up at his captors, sputtering. But no words came from his mouth.

 

Not that it would matter. They would have fallen on hidden ears; the suits’ faces- if they indeed had any- were obscured by masks, smoothed over in white, but covered in intricate floral patterns. They had no mouths, only deep, empty black holes where eyes should have been. A piercing shriek tore itself from the man’s lungs.

 

He was still shrieking when the masks dragged him from the room. The imp grinned at him as he went. The fire poked and prodded, laughing at his pain. The portrait stared with its soulless intensity.

 

“Oh, Jadoro… Sweet, dearest Jadorito…” the man in the chair tutted. “My dear Jadoro, the time for that is long past. If you wished to confess, you should have done it before the verdict. Now,” he paused, tapping his finger. “Now it is time for you to serve your sentence.”

 

The door creaked shut as the furies, damned soul in tow, passed under its frame. “Abandon all hope…” it seemed to whisper to the scrawny prisoner. “Abandon all hope…” The man chuckled to himself, but beneath the shadows, there was no smile.

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The small room was quiet once more, only the manic whispers of the fireplace there to confirm that it was not mere void which filled the space. The man fiddled absentmindedly with the imp on his finger. After a while he stood up, and limped to the old fireplace, staring at its chittering embers. Its light danced across his aged, wrinkled face, as if searching for something. It found its prize in the tears streaming down the weary man’s dun, drawn cheeks. He leaned into the mantle.

 

“They will call you monster,” he whispered.

 

“I know,” he replied.

 

“They will come for you.”

 

“I know.” He said nothing for a long while, only letting the fire bathe him in warmth. The old rug cushioned his pained feet through his heavy shoes. Suddenly he slammed his fist against the mantle.

 

“He was guilty,” he sobbed.

 

“But… but… so am I…”

 

“I know.” The tears streamed down his face, and the ragged man struggled to pull back together. The portrait disapproved. The imp laughed at him.

 

He took another deep breath.

 

“This is my duty…” he whispered.

 

“I know.”

 

“This is my purpose.”

 

“I know.”

 

The thin man stood slowly upright. His breaths were deep, and his eyes were dry.

 

“We have to,” he said solemnly.

 

“I know.”

 

“It’s my only way out.”

 

“I know.” He shook his head, and the tears flowed once more. His whole body shook.

“They’ll try to kill us…” he said, barely audible.

 

“I know.”

 

“We’ll never make it.” He paused. Waited.

 

“You don’t know that.”

 

The withered man stood straight, leaning slightly on his cane. His sparse, grey head nearly brushed the ceiling.

 

“This is insane…”

 

“I know.” He stepped away from the flame, which cried for his return. He ignored it.

 

“This can’t continue.”

 

“I know.” The fiery man looked down at the imp strangling his finger. It laughed at his foolishness. He scowled, and ripped it off, dropping it to the ground. It hit the rug with a dull, lifeless thud, like shackles from a redeemed soul. He moved across the room, his heavy shoes making muted taps against the floor.

 

“They will call you monster,” he said.

 

“I know.”

 

“They will come for you.”

 

“I know.” He stopped in front of the door, hand trembling before the elaborate brass knob. It had a face carved like a hellhound, which seemed to spit fire at him. His aged hips ached. His bones rubbed together beneath his skin. He closed his eyes.

 

“You’re crazy…” he told himself.

 

“I know.”

 

“But someone has to be.”

 

“I know.” He opened his eyes, staring at the metal gatekeeper. He cast one final look around the small prison. The fire threw swaths of orange-red light around the room, bathing the walls in dancing, shadowy guardsmen. The chandelier hung like a cruel warden, its prisms and smooth faces gazing about the room, a pair of eyes cast from a hellion with its cruel whip. The portrait held the old man’s gaze, disapproving. The portrait had never seen eyes so full of fiery, passionate intensity, yet equally as full of pain and sorrow.

 

The decrepit man cast a final look at the rug, one final glimpse of his last piece of home. He left that place long ago, and now again he was to exile himself from his exile. He turned around, straightened his suit, and opened the door, clasping the hellhound about its neck. It creaked open painfully, and he hobbled through the gaping maw. “Abandon all hope, abandon all hope…” it seemed to say.

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“Go to hell,” said the ardent man.