Danielle's Inferno Page 3

  “Don’t give me any of your shit, Delores, or I’ll go tell Cerberus you’ve been dosing his kibble with Xanax again,” Pudding snapped.

  The demon dropped the tray of warm beer and put her fists on her hips. Pudding stood sideways and stared her down. Apparently, I was the proud witness of a bitchy showdown in Hell.

  “You…wouldn’t…dare,” Delores said.

  “You just try me, dog fucker,” Pudding said.

  A long, tense pause holds in the air between them. Neither wanted to back down from their staring contest, but it was the demon who broke first. I didn’t know the story, but apparently, Pudding had something on her. Hadn’t she said something to Cerberus about Delores wanting him to bathe? They idea of the three-headed dog having an affair with a cat demon was a little too much for my imagination.

  Delores picked up her tray and huffed off without a word, her demon cat tail swished angrily beneath her fabulous dress. Her shapely rear vanished into the distance. Pudding didn’t relax until the demon was out of view.

  “Wow. That was quite the…” I started with a grin.

  “Don’t you dare say it,” Pudding snapped.

  “I just wanted to note that…”

  “Danny, I’m warning you.”

  “What? I was just going to say that was quite literally a…”

  “I swear if you say cat fight, I’m going to leave you here in Greed with Delores,” Pudding said.

  I snorted, trying to keep in a laugh. It didn’t work. There was no need to finish the joke. It was out there already, and I laughed like a hyena while Pudding made a great effort to ignore me.

  She pawed at a shallow divot in the sand. A quick cat fart opened another portal, and I was all too ready to jump through it. I’d had quite enough of Greed.

  6

  Anger

  We dropped through blue light and into a giant lake. I felt the cold water slap against my body as I went under for a long moment. When I surfaced, I turned this way and that, only to find no end to the watery horizon. Brown stone surrounded me. Apparently, I dropped into a watery cave, but no mater where I looked, I couldn’t see an edge. There was nothing to do but tread water in place.

  All of the sudden, there was a weight on top of me. Pudding stood precariously on my head. Her claws dug into my scalp as she shifted her balanced, trying not to get any wetter than she already was.

  “I hate Anger. I hate Anger. I fucking hate Anger,” Pudding said.

  “This is Anger?”

  “Ugh, yes. Just keep swimming.”

  “Harder to do with you on top of me. Get your paw out of my eye,” I snapped.

  “Watch out for the…”

  “For the what?”

  Something pale brushed by my leg, and I shrieked. All of the memories of swimming in lakes, unable to see the bottom, shot into my mind. I remembered how horribly terrifying it felt to have a fish or bit of plant brush your body.

  I looked around as best I could. There were living things in the water, slithering around me. Even though terror filled my body, I tried to see what they were. Not fish, not eels. I couldn’t identify them, but they couldn’t be anything good.

  “What the shit was that!” I screamed.

  “Just keep swimming. They can’t hurt you. God, I really really hate Anger! It’s like the worst fucking one for a cat,” Pudding said, sliding here and there on my hair.

  “Stop scratching my head.”

  “Well then stop treading so bouncy.”

  “Pudding! What is swimming around me?” I asked.

  “I think we need a bigger boat,” she said sarcastically.

  “Pudding!”

  “Hold your tits,” she said. “I’m partly serious. I see the boat.”

  She raised a paw, and a large wooden boat came to our aid. It appeared to be piloted by a hooded gondolier. As soon as it drifted near enough, Pudding leaped onto the boat. She began immediately licking her fur while I struggled to haul myself in under my own steam. Of course, she didn’t spare me a glance. Not until she’d licked to water off of her fur.

  When I gazed back into the water, I saw the creatures in the water. Scores of people with faces in a constant state of fury swam around us like sharks. If any of them got near another one, they would attack each other with a brutality that was jarring. I looked back to my companions on the boat and noticed that Pudding was completely dry.

  “How did you do that?” I asked.

  “Check yourself,” she said dismissively.

  I did and found out that I too was dry. My body was dry and so was my hair. Patting my clothes for extra assurance, I discovered that everything on me was dry as well.

  “How is that possible?”

  “I told you. You don’t belong on these levels. They can’t affect you. That’s why they didn’t attack you and why you don’t stay wet.”

  I turned back to the tumultuous water and shuddered at the pale people swimming around like monsters. One locked eyes with me with her two dead, white orbs sagging in her head. Somehow, she managed to make them look fierce, and she turned her body toward us. She swam to the surface in a rush, trying to attack us but only managed to rock the boat and throw me on my back in the boat.

  “Holy shit!” I yelled, getting back to my feet.

  “Yeah, I’d stay away from the edge if I were you,” Pudding said flatly.

  “Nice warning.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought it was just implied that you shouldn’t taunt the disembodied souls of the wretched masses in the Anger level of Hell.”

  “You are such a bitch sometimes,” I snapped.

  “I thought her name was Pudding,” said a disembodied voice.

  This came as a shock since the voice was smooth and kind and from no direction in particular. I scanned the area around us and realized that I hadn’t noticed or acknowledged the gondolier until that moment. The gondolier, of course, was a fully cloaked skeleton. Because, why not? He was looking down at Pudding. I only knew that particular fact because his empty eye sockets were pointed at her.

  “Am I mistaking your name? Are you called Bitch? You told me before it was Pudding,” the Gondolier said.

  “No, you’re right. Danielle here is just being rude.”

  “I’m being rude?” I asked. I could hear how high and angry my voice was getting.

  “That is what she said,” he said simply. “Do you have an issue with your hearing? Wait, unless your name is Rude?

  I crossed my arms over my chest and eyed the gondolier. His tone sounded sincere even though his words sound insulting. I’d just assumed everyone in Hell was as sarcastic and shitty as Pudding, but this weird skeleton seemed almost polite, if not childlike in his understanding of things.

  “What’s his deal?” I asked, turning to Pudding.

  “Deal?” he asked.

  “Skeletons. They don’t really get nuance. I think you need skin or at least sinew to get nuance,” Pudding said.

  “Nuance? Is that a new kind of yogurt?” he asked. It was almost cute, if a terrifying skeleton could be cute. “I haven’t heard of it before, but I really like frozen yogurt.”

  “Sorry Francis, no froyo here,” Pudding said. “I’ll bring some next time I’m topside. I promise. Do you think you could help me out? I’ll get you that cheesecake tarte swirl you like.”

  “With the Gummy Bears and Oreo chunks?” he asked.

  “Sure thing. Extra Gummy Bears.”

  “How far are you going today?” he asked.

  “A full tour,” she said.

  The skull turned back up at me and opened his mouth. Of course, whenever he talked his jaw just flapped up and down. There were no lips to form words, but he was managing all the same.

  “That’s rough,” he said.

  “Okay, I’ve had enough,” I said. “Why am I here? What is this full tour business? If I’m dead or mostly dead, why am I in Hell? I mean, I’m no saint, but I’m a good person. Whatever epiphany I’m supposed to have he
re is lost, okay?”

  Pudding and the gondolier looked each other for a moment and then back at me. There was some shared knowledge there. A private joke, maybe? Some insider information I wasn’t privy to.

  “She really is a full tour, huh?” he said.

  “Yep,” said Pudding sadly. “Think you can give us a hand with the next portal?”

  “Sure. Why not? Extra Gummy Bears.”

  “Extra Gummy Bears,” Pudding agreed.

  The skeleton bent over the boat and farted loudly. A swirling portal appeared just off the side. I tried really hard not to wonder how a skeleton managed to fart. Enough had happened to me already, and that one would just give me a headache. Pudding said a quick thanks and leaped into the portal.

  I made a motion to follow her with a loud sigh when the gondolier stopped me. He looked into my eyes like he knew something I didn’t. Rather his empty skull sockets looked like they knew something I didn’t, and he wanted to tell me.

  “I am very sorry about all this. You know, it’s easier than you think to end up here. But you have a chance. Remember that.”

  Oddly enough, his disembodied voice sounded very sincere. I softened and smiled at him. This skeleton man was somehow strangely sweet. He reached inside his robes.

  “Can I offer you a room temperature Poors Light?”

  “Uh, no thank you.”

  He nodded and turned back to his work. I smiled again before I jumped into the portal.

  7

  Heresy

  The next level was Heresy. I knew without Pudding telling me because there were signs all over etched into the walls, ground, and even on the bloody backs of the damned souls around us. Apparently, Heresy had its own PR firm.

  The ground was solid stone, and people were being burned alive in their own personal open graves of fire. Snake haired, winged demons walked among the tombs, occasionally stabbing one of the writhing people with pokers or spears. A few bored looking demons roasted marshmallows over a couple of cooking sinners.

  “I think the screams give the marshmallows the best flavor. That’s why I always pick the screamers,” said one demon to the other as she rotated her snack over the open flame.

  “Meh, I don’t taste it,” said the other demon as he took a bite of his own marshmallow. He turned his scrutiny back to the shrieking man on fire in the pit. “Hey, give it a rest man. Have some self-respect.”

  I cringed as I watched the demon plunge his stick into the screaming man and use his flesh to wipe off the excess mallow still stuck to it. After a few seconds dangling it in the fire, the stick was ready for a fresh marshmallow to roast. I leaned over to Pudding.

  “Heresy isn’t as populated as I thought it would be. I mean, there are a lot of different religions, and they can’t all be right. I figured there’d be more people here.”

  “Yeah, that’s because no one religion is right and others wrong,” she said. “If you are a good person and believe in whatever, you’re fine. This place is for people claiming to be God or God’s best buddy to make a buck or steal someone’s virginity or any of the other creepy shit these guys do. TV evangelists and cult leaders. You know the kind. People well versed in douchebaggery.”

  I looked at a nearby grave, I saw a man in a three-piece suit and perfectly shellacked hair. He burned over and over again, but his perfect hair helmet and eye liner never singed. An apathetic demon was roasting his marshmallows over that one.

  Turning back to our philosophical demon pair, I noticed their screamer was all hippie dreads and necklaces. There was probably a small fortune’s worth of silver and gold around his shoulders. One particularly large medallion glowed red hot in the flames. It looked like half peace sign and half elephant or something. Perhaps a poorly thought out symbol for his would-be cult.

  “You know, Harriet. You may have something here,” said the skeptical demon. “The screams almost give it a nutmeg flavor.”

  “I told you. It’s nice.”

  “Yeah, like chewy eggnog,” he said.

  Pudding led me away, and we followed along a wall of stone. It looked like a long mausoleum with sinners and fakes roasting in each compartment. They shrieked and reached out to me, but I hurried past them, trying not to get too close.

  Several of the snake-haired demons passed us, nodded to Pudding, commenced jabbing pokers and sticks into the openings. I wished I felt more sympathy for them. They were being tortured after all. But I remembered my grandmother and her friends losing thousands of dollars to a TV Evangelist who promised them eternal life. I would feel just fine if I found that guy burning alive here.

  As we moved along, we encountered a huge demon whipping the back of a robed man. He wore a beard and had shoulder length hair. For all intents and purposes, he looked like Jesus. At the very least, he looked like ever picture of Jesus I’d ever seen. Sandals and everything.

  “Why are you doing this? I am the son of God!” screamed the would-be Jesus.

  “No, you’re not,” said the demon as he whipped him closer and closer to the edge of a burning grave. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “I am Jesus Christ, the son of God!”

  Whip. Whip whip whip.

  “Ow! Ah! Stop!”

  “No, that’s not your name. What’s your name, boy?” asked the demon yet again.

  “Jesus Christ! The son of God!” he screamed.

  The demon sighed. Whip! Whip whip whip!

  “What’s your name, boy?” the demon asked, sounding very bored.

  Whip! Whip whip whip! Whip!

  “Brian Cohen! My name is Brian Cohen,” said Decidedly Not Jesus.

  “There, doesn’t honesty feel better? So liberating,” the demon said with a soothing voice fit for a yoga studio amid meditation hour.

  Before the fake Jesus could say anything more, the demon kicked him in the back. Decidedly Not Jesus screamed in terror as he fell into the flaming grave. He thrashed this way and that, pleading for a reprieve.

  “Mercy! Please!”

  “Ah, isn’t that cute,” said the demon. “You did come clean after all. Here you go.”

  The snake-haired demon grabbed a Poors Light from a nearby tray and poured its contents all over the writhing sinner below him. Decidedly Not Jesus shrieked all the more.

  “Not that! Anything but that!”

  Pudding nudged me away from the screams, and I didn’t fight at all. Heresy was a little more like my vision of what Hell was. At least, what a short lifetime of TV and movies told me it was. Fire, brimstone, and hot pokers.

  We continued along the mausoleum wall for a few minutes until we reached what could only be described as a stone outhouse comically painted to look like the blue porta potties back on earth. Anyone who had ever attended an outdoor concert or ran around half naked at a Renaissance Festival knew the sight and smells of those horrid things all too well.

  Pudding walked right up to the door of one just as a robust demon was exiting. Judging from rolled-up magazine under his arm and the stench wafting from behind him, he had recently used the “facilities” for all they were worth. I cringed, hoping I couldn’t guess what our next move was.

  “Hey Pudding. I wouldn’t go in there,” the demon said in a deep voice.

  “If it’s a portal dump, I’m afraid we need to,” she said with a sigh.

  “Oh yeah, total portal dump,” he said waving his hand in face. “Have at it. Enter at your own risk.”

  “Thanks,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

  The demon left us, and Pudding pawed open the door to the outhouse with a sour face. When I peaked inside, it was exactly like every portable toilet I’d ever seen. Most of the toilet paper missing. Mystery stains all over every surface. A sink that was more of a joke than anything else. The only difference between a porta potty on Earth and one in Hell was the swirling portal lighting up the hole inside.

  “Oh no. Come on. You’ve got to be kidding me!” I said, pinching my nose.

  “Just hold your
breath and think of dead birds,” Pudding said.

  “Dead birds? How’s that supposed to help?”

  “Or rainbows or unicorn farts or England or whatever humans think is nice. Just get your bony ass in there,” she said while pushing me inside.

  I took a deep breath, shut my eyes tight, and jumped into the business end of a Hell porta potty. Pudding followed after me. I felt her little claws grab my hair as we free fell again into the next circle.

  8

  Violence

  The light faded, and we found ourselves standing in a terrible, scorched desert. Fire rained from above even though the sky was dark. Everything was black and red. Blood and brimstone. Now this was how I pictured Hell.

  Demons here were red all over and had great bull horns on their heads. They roamed with trays of beer fixed to their horns, so their hands were free torment. Everyone was armed with either a whip or poker or both.

  A group of bedraggled people ran past us followed by a pack of dogs. Hellhounds maybe? At least, that’s how I would describe them. Great black dogs the size of lions with jaws big enough to swallow my whole head. We had to jump out of the way so as to not be trampled.

  “Hey, watch it!” Pudding yelled.

  “Sorry Pudding!” called one dog over his shoulder. “Gotta chase the gamblers. You know how it is!”

  “No problem, Carl,” she yelled back. She turned and muttered under her breath. “Stupid, air-headed mutt.”

  “Where are we now?” I asked.

  “Violence,” she said.

  “It’s…terrible.”

  “It’s Violence. What’d you expect?” she said with a shrug.

  I surveyed the land. Horrifying acts of violence were happening all around me. People were being chased and beaten. Dogs ripped entrails from fallen souls. Terrified screams of agony were everywhere. There was no respite from it.

  “I don’t know what I expected. This is sort of how I expected all of Hell to be honestly. But seeing it, it’s just…”

  “Remember, these are the people who sought violence, one way or another, in their own in life. They hurt people. It’s why they are here,” Pudding said.