As part of a Tommy Boy production. Tales is a podcast created to bring
short stories to life. These stories will be brought to you by a number
of authors and narrated by yours truly, with some help from other amazing voice
actors and actresses. So bunker in, start that fire, hold your loved
one close, and Joe, we are story talents, and so my torturous
tale continues. When I last left you, I was still in the early
stages of my unplanned and certainly unwanted journey through Hell, a latter day repeat
of Dante's Inferno. I was I chosen for this unevitable odyssey into the underworld?
I couldn't say, and my agnomatic guide, taking the form of an
elderly elevated attendant, was unable to tell me. Technically I was not dead,
but it was clear I could suffer during my travels, and the monsters
I encounter could certainly harm me, both physically and mentally. What's more,
this hell was very personal to me, as I was confronted by literal ghosts
from my past, dragging up old traumas which I tried my heart ist to
bury deep in my subconscious. First, my sister and then my father cut
frension experiences that shook me to my very core. That was level's one and
two of hell, and I still had seven to go. And if that
wasn't bad enough, the devil was aware of my presence in this kingdom and
was watching my every move. These fears were foremost in my mind. As
the elevator hit the third level, emitting and ominous pin before the doors slid
open Level three gluttony, my guide announced I would advise you to watch your
step. When the lift doors were fully adjar, I found myself looking out
on yet another wasteland stretching as far as I can see. Except while Level
two was a rocky, wind sweat plane, level three was an endless feel
of wet mud under a seemingly permanent cloud front emitting cold, icy rain.
I sighed in miserable resignation as I realized we would need to cross in another
grim hellscape to reach next level. The attendant led the way, motioning me
to follow. The freezing cold rain hit me as soon as I walked out,
and my feet sunk into the mud. Every step was a struggle as
we trudged forward, but before long the true horrows of level three were revealed.
I looked to the horizon, and sort of beasts emerged through the heavy
wall of rain, a huge monstrosity tearing towards us. I started to back
off instinctively, although noted how the attendants stood tall and did not retreat.
As a monster rapidly approached, I made out its hideous shape for the first
time. The creature was a black dog, as big as a horse,
but instead of having one head, it had three, a trio of snarling
mass full of dagger like teeth, and six eyes filled with hunger and hatred.
The monster barked aggressively as a charge, the sound amplified by its three
months. I didn't share my guide's courage and so attempted to flee, but
my feet became bogged down in the mud, and so I didn't get far.
I turned back around in impotent terror as the beast closed the gap,
its house growing louder as its three mars, salivating as it closed in for
the kill. But the attendant didn't budge from the spot, instead reach into
its jacket pocket and inexplicably withdrawing three slabs of raw meat, flinging them into
the beast's path. To my astonishment, the trick worked, as the hellhound
ceased its charge and the three hungry mouths grabbed at the meat, devouring their
meal in quick order. Nevertheless, I thought it would only delay the beasts
temporarily before it renewed its attack upon us, But once again I was wrong.
Once the beast had finished his meal, it cast us a part and
glare through its six eyes before casually retreating back into the rain swept hellscape.
I stayed down in the mud until my guide walked over to me, offering
me in hand and pulling me up. Cerberus, the hound of hades.
He guards this level and torments its inhabitants. My offerings will keep the beasts
at bay for a time, but it is not safe here and we must
move on. No shit, I swore. I knew I should be grateful
to my guide, after all, he'd already saved my ass on several occasions
and hopefully would continue to do so. But by now I was thoroughly pissed
off. Clearly, the attendant had at least some idea of what we'd face
on each level, and he should be keeping me informed of the threats we
face. I threw my head up when he ordered me to continue through the
mud and ring to an unknown destination. This is bullshit, man, I
exclaimed angrily. Just look at this shit hole. I pointed to the endless
wasteland of wet mud, knowing the wretched figures slowly sinking into it, utterly
defeated as the grim misery of this housecape weighed them down. We can't cross
this, I can't go on. The attendant looked upon me, would riosity
rather than frustration, and in an instant he offered a solution of swords.
You must cross this level or stay here for all eternity. But Hell can
take many different forms, and this environment is only one. Would you rather
take a different path? I nodded my head enthusiastically and answered, yeah,
of course I would. Very well, he answered, as the rain continued
to be down. It shall be done, But I have already warned you,
sir, there are no easy routes through Hell, and this alternative path
will be just as challenging in its own way. Fine, I replied,
without thinking I should have considered his warning more carefully, but right then I
just wanted to get away from this damned mud and rain. What happened next
defied logic, but then so had everything which had occurred thus far. All
the attendant did was clicked his fingers. This was followed by a sudden burst
of light which temporarily blinded me, and a moment later we were miraculously transported
to another place. I adjusted my eyes to my new surrounding and was astonished
to find myself in what looked like the inside of a saloon bar, a
real spit and sawdust establishment with wooden fit ins and a stench of whiskey,
piss and vomit. It really was like something out of an old Western I
walked across the sticky wood flow in astonishment. As I took in the bar
and its patrons. It soon became obvious that there was something very wrong with
this bar. When I looked upon the tables, I realized there was no
druviality in this place, only miserable over indulgence. At one table, I
saw it looked like a family consistent of a middle aged mother and father and
two teenage boys. I knowed how the table they sat at was filled to
the brim with fast food cheeseburgers, fried chicken pizzas, tacos and more.
I've watched and disgusts as the family stuffed the greasy food into their mouths.
They ate and ate, never stopping even to take a breath. From what
I could tell, none of them were taking any pleasure from their feast,
merely piling food down their throats like it was some kind of mandatory task.
I soon realized that this was the whole point of the enterprise. These damned
souls weren't eaten because they were hungry. They were being forced to feed by
some unforeseen power. Their bellies could never be full, and their hunger never
satisfied. I could only watch for so long before my stomach turned. At
the next table, I saw a group of grizzled men wearing outfits from different
periods of history, including a Roman dignitary dressed in a traditional toga, a
cowboy in jeans and boots, and an eighties dude with a mullet and shell
suit. They were playing cards and down in shots of whiskey. Once again,
there was no pleasure in their game or drinking, only grim faces and
dead eyes. The men could have been robots, merely carrying out automated task
which brought them no satisfaction. This depressing scenario was played out at every table
and stool within the bar, as hundreds of tortured souls lived out their own
individual nightmare, all victims of the vice and addictions they'd had in life.
Gluttony, confirmed the attendant as he followed closely behind me. Whether they sink
into mud or dragged down by their vices in the end, it makes little
difference. I nodded my head but made no comment. I was too busy
thinking about my own glutt in his habits, drinks, drugs, sex.
Was I any better than these folks? Honestly, I didn't think so spoil.
I turned around as a prized to see the figures standing behind the bar,
apparently waiting to serve me. There was something extremely unnerving about the barkeeper,
however, a barely concealed malice in his dark eyes and a wide grin
which was anything but sincere. The attendant touched me firmly on the shoulder.
I turned and saw fear in the man's eyes, and his voice quivered as
he spoke. Don't engage with him, don't even go near him, he
whispered. I had never seen my guide so scared before. And therefore took
his warning very seriously. I didn't want to risk the twisted barkeeper's wrath,
however, and so I answered politely, saying thank you. No. The
bar man's grinn didn't falter, although I noted a glint of anger behind his
eyes as he spoke, suit yourself. We slowly back away from the bar
and pushed past tables of suffering souls. The attendant was right, this hell
was no better than the mud and rain on the outside. I wanted to
leave this level, but it wasn't done with me yet. I found her
crouching a dark corner, hiding from the world as she fed her addiction.
I looked over her emaciated, half naked body and was horrified to see needles
sticking out from almost every vein. She slowly raised her head, brushing back
her straggly hair. The recognition was instantaneous when a vie glanced into her bloodshot
eyes. It was my mother, the woman who brought me into this world,
but who'd been dead for eighteen years. And so I must return to
my tragic family history and unveil the next chapter of my fucked up life.
I don't know when my mother first developed her substance abuse problem, but I
can't remember her ever being sober. Vodka was her tipple of choice when I
was a kid. In a way, I can't blame her for the drinking.
My father treated her so badly that I guess she needed something to dull
the pain. Still, in truth, she was a nasty drunk, prone
to violent outbursts. I'd hope things would improve after when my father left,
but Mom took the break up hard. Her drinking got worse, and she
started taking hard drugs. The final show was when Sarah died. That's when
Mom got hooked on heroin and there was no way back for her after that.
I'm not going to claim I was a dutiful son, but I did
check it on her occasionally and gave her money when I had it, even
though I knew what she'd spend it on a fix. It was me who
found her overdosed and lined in the pool of her own bodily fluid, a
dirty needle still protruding from a vein in her arm. The memory of my
mother's emaciated corpse and yet another traumatic image I tried to forget, but it
was no surprise that I had to face her here as my journey through the
hell of past nightmares continued unabated. I couldn't help but feel sorry for her
as I looked into my mother's pained eyes. Although I was horrified by her
physical condition, at first, she didn't seem to recognize me as her son
as she mothered incoherently whilst jamine yet another needle into her thigh. It doesn't
matter how many times I fix, Nothing takes away my pain. I just
want to die, but I can't. I don't know d no matter how
many fucking needles I stick in me. Her words shook my very soul.
Then my mum realized she was already dead. I dreaded having to be the
one to tell her. I stuttered, struggling to speak my words through quaking
lips. Don't you remember me? I'm your son. I saw it,
a sudden change in her bloodshot eyes, the slightest of spark as she opened
her mouth to visibly gas, revealing yell and rotten teeth. As she did
so, My boy, my papy boy, she exclaimed in astonishment, You've
come from me after all this time. I've always knew you come back.
My heart sank as I lost control of my emotions and tears began rolling down
my cheeks. Abandoned and my abusive and absent father hadn't been very hard,
but this was different. For all her faults, this woman was still my
mum, and I didn't want to see her suffer like this. There was
something else, too, a lingering guilt about her death. True. I
hadn't forced to take drugs, but I had enabled her addiction and done nothing
to help. The image of her decomposing body was etched in my memory.
But now she was here, not alive exactly, but conscious and in pain.
Was this my second chance? Take me away from her son? She
pleaded, to get clean, take me home and we can be a family
again. I shook my head and broke eye contact. This was too much.
Suddenly, I remember the attendant turning to face him and delivering a heartfelt
but desperate plea, surely there must be something we can do. We can't
just leave her here like this. He nodded his head and opened his mouth
to speak, but I never got his answer, because in that moment,
all hell broke loose. We heard an immense crashing sound and turned around in
time to see the bar wall collapsing under a huge impact. There was a
terror filled moment as we all stood dumb struck waiting for the dust settle.
And then I saw it, Service, the three headed hell hound. The
beast was hungry and this was his all you can eat buffet. There followed
the briefness of pause before the bar room descended into bloody pandemonium. The glutt
in his patron suddenly came into life, screaming and overturning tables as they desperately
tried to flee, but there was nowhere to hide. The hound hit the
OBEs family first, using all three mouths to tear into their flesh create a
horrific display of chaos and viscera. I could only watch in horror as hungry
jaws ripped bodies apart, flinging limbs and intestines in all directions as the floor
was covered in blood. The massacre of the family was sickening, but thankfully
they didn't last long. Soon Service was done, with them raising its three
head, their jaws still dripping with fresh blood as they search for new prey.
By now the bar had descended into total chaos as screaming and terrified patrons
search in vague for escape, Service moved fast, hint and sinner at the
sinner, ripping them to shreds and feasting on their flesh before moving on its
next victim. The beasts acted like a fox in a chicken coop, and
no one could resist its bloody wrath. I looked down to my mother and
sold a sheer terror in her eyes. Instinctively, I reached out to grab
her hand as I planned to pull up onto our feet. But as soon
as I touched their cold skin, my mother's frail body literally fell to pieces.
Her ashes scattered all over the floor. I shed a tear, but
almost felt relieved. By now, Service had finished his killing spree, leaving
bloody carnage and viscera in its wake. The beast slowly walked towards us.
It stands now more curious than aggressive. The attendant bravely stepped in front of
the beasts, raising his hand and speaking in an assertive, booming voice.
You have had your feast, now go to my astonishment. Service obeyed my
guide's order, slowly retreating across the blood splattered floor and heading back towards the
hole in the wall. Don't know how he done it, but once again,
the attendant had saved my skin. We should leave now, he instructed,
whilst pointing to an elevator door which had suddenly appeared on the far side
of the bar. I didn't need to be told twice, but our time
at level three was not quite done. A shout from behind forced us boat
to turn our heads, and the voice was a familiar one. You think
your special puncture because you little fucking whole past. It will keep them safe.
It was the barkeeper who was the only one still in one piece after
the massacre. But this was no man. That much was now very clear.
I saw how his eyes burned that demonic bread, and his teeth were
replaced pypertatory fangs. Suddenly I realized who was addressing us. You know who
I serve? Who protects us? The attendant answered, although I could sense
uncertainty in his voice. The barkeeper cackles satistically before replying, Yes, no
more masteries. But this is Marborough, and the deeper the more we shall
see how forms prostruction would speak peopoth interesting being vital Swiss possess. The woman
chilled me and I looked to my guide for reassurance, but he appeared uncertain.
And did not respond, instead retreating and walking briskly towards the weight and
lift. I quickly followed, not wishing to stay in this circle for a
moment longer. But just before the elevator door closed, I saw how the
barroom had reverted back to his previous appearance with the glutton. His patrons,
now restored in body, if not sold, back at their table, was
indulging in their individual vices. And there in the corner was my mother in
certain a needle into her arm, whilst mothering incoherently to herself. I understood
then that this scene would be played out forever, and as soon as we
left, service would launch another attack. As the doors closed, I could
hear the devil's hateful laughter as we descended to the next level. The fourth
circle of Hell was initially less imposing than the previous two. When I stepped
out of the elevator, I thankfully wasn't hit by extremes of weather, only
by a darkness and a cold chilled, which I believe was more due to
the atmosphere than the temperature. As always, I obediently followed the attendant as
he led me down a dirt path illuminated by burning torches on each side.
I felt uncomfortable as we wore pass a fire. I don't know whether it
was paranoia, but I was sure there was something of flames. When I
stayed into the fire, I swore I could see eyes staring back at me.
He was watching us always. I remember the Devil's words and realized he
was waiting for his opportunity to strike. This was the worst thing about hell,
in my opinion. The danger increased the further you descended, but apparently
we could only go forward, not backwards. We walked for some time along
the torchlit pathway before reaching a steep hillside. Then I began to understand what
this level was about. I saw men and woman lined up at the bottom
of the hill, all looking down, trotting, and defeated both physically and
mentally. The damned were split into three lines, all waiting for their turn
to climb. At the bottom of the hill was a pile of massive rocks,
and each victim needed to carry this weight while they ascended the hillside.
Their progress was slow and painful. But this wasn't all. An overseer was
present at the start of the line, a huge brute with bulgion muscles,
his face scarred, and his eyes full of pure rage. He wielded a
mighty whip and old fashioned catamine tails. By a look of it, the
overseers very zealous for his whip, thrashing his victims without mercy as he motivated
them with abuse and threats. Come on, you maggots, move. Damn
you you think you know suffering, I'll show you fucking suffering. He hit
them again again with the whip, and I winced with every strike. The
damned pride in agony put off her no resistance, merely continued a slow climb
of the steep gradient whilst carrying their heavy boulders. Level four is greed,
my guide diligently explained. The weight they carry is punishment for the material possessions
they craved and accumulated during their immortal lives. I nodded my head, but
did not respond. It struck me, not for the first time, that
the punishment seemed swell out of proportion to the sins committed. This was hell,
I suppose, But I'd done some really bad shit in my life and
so dreaded what fate was awaiting me. I didn't want to witness this violence,
but my guide took me close to the line until my ears were filled
with the last ships from the whip and paying cries of the damned. I
wonder why he was subjecting me to this horror, but of course I should
have known, for when we reached the bottom of the hillside, I saw
a familiar face, my brother deceased for over fifteen years. Time in front
of the trip down memory lane and a delve into my always tragic family history.
I was a middle child between my little sister Sarah and my older brother
Chris. He was five years my senior and, to be honest, a
total shiit heead. My early memories of Chris were as a bully, very
much cut from my father's cloth. He picked on me and Sarah, and
I'd fight with him frequently to defend my little sister. Chris home before Sarah
died and Mom got hooked on heroin. But I reconnected with him later in
life. Why, you might ask, Well, he was still my brother,
my flesh and blood. But there was an altruistic reason too. I
was turning bad, getting myself involved in petty crime, shoplifting, pickpocketing and
the like. I was small time, but ambitious, wanted to break through
to the big leagues. Back then, I looked up to my big brother,
if only because I didn't know any better. In my naive and impressionable
young mind, I saw him driving fast cards, stating hot women, and
living the high life, and I wanted that lifestyle. I knew Chris had
connections with the criminal underworld, and his wealth wasn't made Honestly, I thought
he was my way in. I latter learnt that my brother was nothing more
than a petty con man who lived well beyond his means, owing money all
over town. His addiction to the high life was only going to end one
way, and in the end, his love of sport cars with the death
of him when one night he drove his Ferrari off the side of a bridge
and drowned in ice cold water. Greed was his vice, so it was
no surprise that he'd end up here. My brother was in a sorry state,
stumped over his back, covered in scars from the weapons. The confidence
and bravado he had when alive was gone, and it was sad to see
a once proud man reduced to a broken breck, his eyes sullen and full
of pain, and fear. I thought he would be shocked to see me,
that he would plead for my help like the others. But that wasn't
Chris. He looked over to me and smiled but what I imagine was the
first time in years, and greeted me in a manner that was nearly friendly.
What's up, little bro? A long time no see? I guess
they sent you to this shiit hole too, he laughed, But it didn't
sound sincere, well, not exactly, I answered awkwardly, how are you?
Brother? Nig it again, although this time the pain in his voice
was clear. Oh yeah, man, I'm having the fucking time of my
life. What can you do? Eh? It is what it is.
He paused for a moment, looking thoughtfully. Man, I missed the old
hay Stough. Remember the good times we had? Man, We made a
good team, didn't we, brothers in arm? In truth, I had
few good memories of my brother in life. He'd been an arrogant, selfish
bully who'd done next to nothing to help his family. But when I saw
Chris now, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. To see a
once proud man reduced to this, I was still mulling over my answer when
the attack took place, as the British overseers lashed out with his whip thrashed
him the defenseless Chris on his bare back. My brother screened in agony,
but was given no mercy as he was struck again and again until he could
no longer stand. I ran to my brother's aid, noting the bloody wounds
across his skin. Then I looked up in anger, confronting the attacker.
Leave him alone. What the fuck is the matter with you? I shouted.
I soon realized my outburst wasn't the smartest of ideas, because when I
looked up to the whip wheeled and brute, I saw his face was filled
with rage. The overseer was huge, his muscle bulging as he gripped his
whip tighter. I was terrified, but wanted to protect my brother and so
stood between him and his attacker. Once again, it was the attendant who
saved my neck, put in a firm hand on my shoulder and shaking his
head in the negative. By now Chris had somehow gotten up on his feet
and had lifted his heavy boulder. He was obviously struggling with the immense weight
and his injuries, but no doubt knew from bitter experience that more beatians would
follow unless he completed his task. He looked at me with vulnerability in his
eyes and spoke with his most genuine words. Yet, what do you say,
brother? Will you help me my burden for old time's sake? Instinctively
I nodded my head in affirmation, reaching out to take hold of the boulder.
Whilst doing so, my hand accidentally touched my brother's cold skin, and
the results were predictable, as his broken body suddenly disintegrated into dust and the
rock fell heavily to the ground. I took a deep breath to calm my
nerves and tried to collect my thoughts, but my musans were interrupted by a
sudden burst of movement and a sharp biden pain. I screamed and fell backwards,
glancing up in horror as the brutus overseer prepared to strike me again.
I closed my eyes and braced myself, but a familiar booming voice called out,
how dare you? We have protection from the almighty? The overseer laughed
and open mockery, although did not strike. Your protection is waning, old
man. My master is always watching now be going, you lowly maggots.
Your time and my domain is an end. In that instance, the torches
marked the path up the hillside burnt ever fiercer, until the flames engulfed everything,
burning the lines of the dam and a horrifying inferno. Amazingly, the
wretched made no effort to escape the growing fire. It was almost as if
being burnt alive was preferable to the endless torment they would otherwise face. Chaos
ensued as the whole world burn. The attendant grabbed me and shut it in
my air. We need to leave. A second later, we were sprinting
up the steep hillside, escaping the infernal and arnarchy behind us. My lungs
and calves were burdened by the time we eventually reached the top. To my
immense relief, I saw the elevator there waiting for us our escape, if
you could call it that. I cast one look down at the burning hillside,
watching as the craze overseer continued to mercilessly whipped his victims, even as
the flames engulfed them all. I gave a final thought to my brother before
jumping into the lift and preparing myself to the next level. My guide stopped
me from stepping out the lift. Once we reached the level five, and
for good reason. There were no solid ground on the other side, only
a dark, miscovering swamp with stank of something foul. I physically wrenched when
I looked out upon the grim marshaland and wondered how we would ever cross this
hellscape. But a moment later, a small boat emerged from behind the fog,
a wooden vessel seemingly piloted by a sinister figure wearing a black robe which
covered his entire body and head. The boat moved slowly towards us. I
had no idea how the vessel was being powered, but I suppose this wasn't
really important. This is our ferrier across the sticks and will transport us to
the city of this the attendant explained. Welcome to level five. Anger.
I didn't want to climb aboard this vessel and put my life in the hands
of this creepy pilot, but I had to trust my guide's judgment. I
watched as the attendant deftly reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a single gold
coin, coolly, throwing it across the board, where it was caught by
the hooded pilot in his bony hand. Shall we, the attendant asked,
motioning me towards the waiting boat. I took a deep breath and climbed on
board, closely followed by my guide, and we began our slow journey across
the hellish swamp. I couldn't looked at our pilot during the uncomfortable journey.
I never saw his face, so even knew whether he had one, and
the pilot never spoke a word. Instead, my attention was drawn towards the
dark waters beneath us. We hadn't gone far before the swamp started to bubble,
as if it was boiling under extreme heat. I almost had a heart
attack when I sort of first figure emerged, his head rising out of the
sun as he screamed with absolute rage at the sky above. A moment later
and a second figure popped up, a soul filled with hate, who instantly
attacked the first man, diving and grabbing him by the throat. The two
forth fiercely terrance stripped out of each other until they boat sank back underneath the
surface. They were only the first of many, however, as more emerged
from the depths of the swamp, fighting furiously each other as the water boiled
around them. To my astonishment and horror, I saw the entire swamp transform
into a chaotic battleground. The water swayed back and forth, and I was
sure our little boat would capsize under the waves. But somehow we stayed afloat
and kept moving forward. But the hellish cries, the violence, it was
too much. I closed my eyes and covered my ears, but couldn't drown
out the sound or forget the horrific scenes. My guide moved closer and whispered
in my ear. For once, his tone was sympathetic. It will be
over soon, Stay strong, His words brought me some comfort, but our
journey across the sticks seemed to last an eternity. I experienced a great relief
when I will boat finally reach the barren shoreline, leaving the cries of the
desperate fighters behind, but any satisfaction I felt disappeared as soon as I set
eyes upon this city. We stepped out on the shore and looked up at
the wall, which was easily one hundred feet high and adorned with a warlike
turret, which ascended up into the dark skyline. I saw what I can
only describe as demons. Winged harpies with scary skin and mouthful of sharp bangs.
They glared down upon us with malice, calculating as they flew between the
ramparts, closely watching our progress. As we moved towards the long bridge,
which granted access to the huge gate built into the city walls, I made
the mistake of looking over the side of the bridge as we crossed, seeing
the deep moat below. It was too dark to see much, but I
noted the predatory creature of swimming in the foul water, snapping and biting.
Excitedly say sense of potential prey walking above them. As if this wasn't bad
enough, the harpies chose that moment to swoop down, shrieking like bansheeses as
they flew only inches above our heads, snarling and snapping at us with their
claws and fangs. Holy shit, I cried in terror as I dug to
avoid the beast's assaults. Keep on walking, the attendant ordered, don't look
up. I don't know how I kept moving forward, but somehow I summoned
the strength. Finally we reached the end of the bridge and the gate a
huge doorway of thick wood and steel. I was astonished when the attendant confidently
approached and banged his fists against the gate, shouting out to someone or something
unseen. We have been granted permission to enter. I insist that you opened
this gate. The harpies that saw it above us cackled cruelly, but they
didn't carry throughout wood an attack. Instead were drawing and taking position on the
towers above. A moment later, and a huge gate opened, ever so
slightly, allowing us access to this the city in the middle of Hell.
I knew none of this at the time, of course, typically receiving the
bare minimum of information from my secretive guide. Nevertheless, I found this was
predictably grim and soul, crushing the vote of any beauty or character, and
instead made up of brutal military structures and crumbling buildings. As soon as we
entered the wall, it started to rain. A heavy deluge descended from the
dark skies above, only adding to my misery. I observed the depressing architect
of this as we walked through this lambreth like street of Hell's capital. This
appeared to be abandoned, and I wonder whether it had any residence, dead
or otherwise. But then we walked into a small square and saw a gang
of thugs squaring up to fight. There were four men in total, three
against one from what I could tell, all preparing for mortal comeback in the
heavy rain. The three attackers were an odd mix. Their tattered uniforms marked
them out as soldiers from different periods of history. A Roman legioneer in full
armor, a British redcoat from the American Revolution, and a German infantryman dressed
in a First World War uniform and helmet. All were armed with sharp blades,
short swords, or bayonets. The man they were facing off against was
familiar to me, my old friend and criminal associate, Rocky, the toughest
motherfucker I ever known. Back in my teens, I ran with a street
gang in my neighborhood petty stuff, mostly shoplifting, burglary, selling weed,
shit like that. We frequently fought with other gangs too. Now. I
was handy enough with my fist back in a day, but I was nothing
compared to Rocky, which obviously wasn't his real name. This guy could beat
this shit out of six rivals without drawing a sweat. And he fought with
the cops went in. Most of the time, no one would fuck with
us when Rocky ran with our crew, but we were frightening of him too.
This was a guy who would go from zero to one hundred with a
snap of your fingers. He had a foul temper and you never could tell
what would set him off, but when the redness came over him, you
were wise to get the hell out of his way. Eventually, our little
gang split up as we went our separate ways. I lost touch with Rocky
in the years that followed, but a crazy son of a bitch like him
was never going to live into old age. A few years later I heard
he'd been shot and killed her in a botch arm robbery. I felt bad
for my old friend, but quickly moved on. But now here he was
preparing for deadly combat on the rain silk streets of this I knew my friend
was tough, but I didn't think he'd survived an attacked by three trained soldiers.
Therefore, the rapid flurry of violence that followed was astonishing yet sickening.
Rocky armored only a baseball bat dodger. First attack with a legionnaire avoiding his
sword and striking him in his throat with his bat. The Roman reeled on
the ground as Rocky quickly grabbed his sword, using it to stab the legion
Man through the eye. The British and the German soldiers both attacked simultaneously,
slashing out with their blades as they desperately tried to deliver the killing blow,
but Rocky countered their attacks, blocking their blades before he struck back. He
stabbed the Redcoat in the belly, leaving him thrashing and agony in the mud.
Next, he moved on to the German, slicing his head off with
a mighty swipe of his sword. Rocky finished by putting the brit out of
his misery, clinically cutting his throat. He exhaled heavily, his eyes wild
and face covered in splattered blood of his victims. It was only then that
Rocky noticed my presence, greeting me admissibly as he stepped over his freshly produced
bodies. Hey, what's up, old buddy fancy and you here? I
stepped forward under the heavy rain, shocked and confused by what I just witnessed,
but also strangely reassured Rocky was the first damned soul i'd encountered who was
able to fight back against his tormentors, to fight back and win. Perhaps
this was a turning point that was impressive, I stated, looking down at
the three dead men. Yeah, Rocky said proudly. Shit's crazy down here,
but if you know how to fight, you can hold your own stick
with me, man, we can really clean up this joint. As smiled
for the first time in a long while and seriously considered his offer. Maybe
hell was like prison, you just had to join the right gang to survive.
But of course it wasn't that simple. Rocky was still grinning when a
horde of zombie like attack is charged from behind him. I shouted out a
warning, but it was too late as the bloodthirsty mob jumped him. Rocky
fought back, bravely, taking out several, but he was too overwhelmed by
sheer numbers. As the mob beat him mercilessly before slicing his belly open with
daggers. Rocky screamed in agony as they feasted on his flesh and internal organs
in a sickening display. I turned away and discussed as my friend's scream died
away. The sound being replaced by a sadistic laughter that was sadly all too
familiar. I turned around to see a solitary figure standing at an open window
overlooking the blood splattered square. He'd taken a new form, but I recognized
him at once. It was the Devil, still stalking us and observing our
progress, taking a perverse pleasure from all setbacks and failures, he exclaimed,
still calculing as he moved away from the window and disappearing into the shadows.
I fell to my knees in the spear as the rain kept beating down predictably.
An elevator had suddenly appeared in the doorway of a nearby crumbling building,
and my ever present guide was emotioning me to join him inside, but I
couldn't. I had reached my breaking point and refused to get off my knees.
I won't go any further, I screamed emotionally. This shit is crazy.
Every level is worse than the last. How can I hope to survive
this? Enough is enough. I won't play the sick fucking game anymore.
The attendants response surprised me, as it seemed so out of character. I
watched in dismay as his face screwed up with anger, and he marched towards
me, striking out his right hand and slapping me hard across the face,
knocking me down as I cried in pain and shock. Next, he grabbed
me by the collar and forced me to look into his intense eyes. How
many time must I tell you, he screamed angrily. We can I'd go
back or stay in one place, We keep moving forward or die. Believe
me, what you've seen so far is nothing compared to the suffering your face.
If you fail this task, I will drag you through these hells,
even if it destroys us boat. Do you understand? I shook my head
vigorously as I looked into the old man's crazy eyes. In that moment,
I was more afraid of my long suffering guide than I was of all the
demons and horrors and hell. He pulled me up on my feet and dragged
me into the weight an elevator, and I held my head in my hands
and wept as the lift door slam shut and we descended once again. Yes,
I know, I know it's been a while, but as its life
and live in a dream and adulton, But this episode of Tales was written
and edited by author Health Horus and narrated by Dean Madison. Join us once
again as we venture deep into the inferno. If you like this podcast,
please hit that follow button and give the podcast a review. Remember, if
you want your short story on the podcast, you can email me or hit
me up on my social media. You can find an information in this episode's
listeners notes. Also in the listeners notes are the link to the author's websites
where you can support and or read some more of his short stories. As
always, thank you for your support, and to those who have continued to
listen waiting for the notification for a new episode. Those who continue to spread
the word of out for the podcast, I want to thank you because the
numbers are slowly but surely growing, even in my little hiatuses. I am
a small podcast and so every listen follow review, well, it matters,
and so I appreciate it. But most importantly, remember we are the storytellers.