Beetlesmith's Ch. 21

"I know it hurts, Mr. Henry. Losing a child can be painful. Take heart, though, it will all work out for the better in the end. The Master will see to that."

"I said shut the fuck up about it!"

Not heeding, or caring about the danger he was in from my growing anger, he continued to mock, "You're a fool, and your indignant ingratitude is distressing. You've been privy to things most men would suffer the fires of Hell for, but like the fool that you are, you spit it back in our face. I'll tell you something else that I know, Mr. Henry. You should be thanking us."

Seeing my look of incredulity, he reiterated, "Oh yes, thanking us. What with the powers granted to you, you were finally able to bring that rabid slut, bitch of a wife to heel. Did you really think Kendall was her first, or that the first time she did that Mr. Cope fellow was at that supercilious party of yours? Your wife's been quite the democratic drawbridge throughout your marriage, going down for just about anyone who crossed her path. And I do mean going down."

He smiled sanctimoniously, and then continued, "Would you like to hear about one of her more lascivious exploits? It was that time you went on business to Seattle. Remember?"

He waited for me to respond. When I didn't, he continued, "You two were beginning to have your problems, and she was developing that itch your pedestrian lifestyle could never scratch. You weren't gone for more than a day when feeling even randier than usual, all foot-loose and fancy-free because she was finally free and on her own, tarted herself up in the tightest spandex skirt she had, pantiless of course, and went trolling.

He must have noticed me balling my hands into fists and paused. He smiled sanctimoniously again when I didn't make a move toward him. "Anyway, she didn't have to search for long, ending up at that bar located just outside of your hometown. You know the place. Pepper's. All greasy biker types that smell of burnt motor oil, stale beer, and even staler whiskey. You know the type. When they're not vomiting out a fifth of Jack in the open cesspool they call a latrine, they're engaged with low-rent strippers who charge twenty dollars for a back ally blowjob. Ten for a hand job. Very entrepreneurial, those twats."

He winked at me, and I felt the blood rushing to my head. "Surprised? Anything to add? No? Very well, it took her no more than five minutes to invite four of the larger fellows to the rat-trap motel across the street. They fucked her in every orifice, mouth, cunt, and ass. Most times all three at once as she jacked off the odd man out. Who knows how much semen she ingested? Probably enough to impregnate a small country. Young, dumb, and full of cum, those fellows, and your slut-whore of a wife was more than willing to indulge in all of their debauched fantasies. She's truly insatiable. One time, she even talked to you on her cell phone as she took it up the ass from one of them. They all had a great laugh about that. Can you picture it, Mr. Henry? The drunken sod pounding away into your wife's already semen-coated ass as she's talking to you, and them laughing their sick asses off afterwards."

I really didn't believe a word he was saying, but his words still stabbed me deeply, wounding my pride.

It's funny, though, after all the crap I know this asshole's heaped onto Karen and me, it's his smug taunts that finally send me over the edge.

As quick as a cobra strike, I leaped over the counter with the intent of beating him to death with my bare hands. Damn the police and damn prison. I was going to make it personal, and I was going to make it hurt.

Beetlesmith went wide-eyed in surprise and quickly turned to run from me.

Then, just as I was about to lay my hands on him, I was assaulted by a stench that sent me reeling backward and putting me on my knees.

It was a stench worse than anything I could ever imagine, let alone encounter. Not even a thousand corpses rotting days in the summer sun could produce such a reek. So overwhelming to my senses, I vomited right there on the floor. It wafted around me like a heavy fog, encasing me in a shroud of putrid death. I was certain I could feel it oozing into my every pore, weakening me...corrupting me. I dared not breathe it in, and vainly forced air back out my nostrils and against the invading stink. I vomited again, and shut my eyes to it, less its corrupting force would somehow leave me blind.

Then, as quickly as it came, I felt it leave. At the same moment, I sensed a sudden change in the sounds and atmosphere around me.

I took a quick breath through my mouth. I could tell the air was more wholesome again, although a bit stale. When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in Beetlesmith's shop.

I recognized where I was immediately. I stood, weak-kneed, in the cavernous room from my dreams.

**

Everything was the same, save for the two chairs that were usually occupied by Karen and Gloria, but now, stood vacant beneath the two lights. The room felt cold and damp, and I still had no sense of walls or a ceiling, though I knew they existed. There was no sound at first, except for a slow drip of water. Against the chill, I wrapped my arms around myself, and waited, alone, for whatever was to come next.

Then above the sound of dripping water, I began to hear soft murmurs coming from somewhere in the darkness of the hall.

I followed these new sounds, and as I drew nearer, the murmurs became louder and more rancorous.

I continued walking toward the sounds.

A lighter shade of black, surrounded by the deeper darkness of the room, formed and grew in front of me. I recognized it as an opening to the cavernous hall.

I quickened my pace.

As I neared the opening, the more discernible to my ears the rancorous noise became. There could be no doubt as I stood at the threshold; it was the human sound of monumental hopelessness, pain, misery, and horror. It filled the air as I stepped out of the room.

There, before me lay the same flat plain dotted with craggy outcroppings that I saw outside of Beetlesmith's months ago. This was no vision, however. The look, smell, and feel of it all assaulted my senses. It was all too real, and filled me with monumental dread.

On the opposite side of that narrow, fetid river from my visions, I saw the reason for the horror-filled voices.

Two great beasts stalked the far bank. Each was twice as big as a man, walking upright as we do. Their bodies carried by two, long, muscular legs. Great, powerful arms hung down low below their knees, like an ape's, their knuckles nearly touching the ground.

A thick neck supported a massive, triangular-shaped skull, wide at the brow, but narrowing to a point at the chin. A row of small horns rimmed the top of their foreheads, given them the appearance of wearing a bony crown.

They swiveled their massive heads constantly as if seeking hidden prey, and sending thick stands of putrid drool in all directions. Wide mouths housed rows of sharp fangs, which they bared often in a horrific display. When not overtly displaying them, their teeth were concealed by fat, liver-colored lips, which bestow to their faces an almost slothful and gluttonous look.

I couldn't discern a nose or snout to speak of, just two small opens just above their fat lips.

Their large, unblinking eyes were amorphous with no pupil or iris, appearing to be made of a solid piece of stone rather than anything organic—hard as steel and black as coal.

Carrying kukri—long, scythe-like forward bending blades in their claws—they incessantly paced back and forth like caged dogs in front of a large throng of people, grunting and screeching in some unknown tongue while waving their blades wildly above their massive heads, and keeping the people herded into a tight group like animals.

The people were reminiscent of those from a mortal life. All were adults, male and female alike, each having a head, body, two arms and legs. However, they possessed an odd, yet warm, internal luminescence that glowed brightly, and often sparked briefly whenever they moved—appearing as if they shimmered reflected sunlight off the rippling waters of a pond.

I can only assume I was seeing the eternal manifestation of the soul of those recently departed from our mortal plane.

Using a free claw, one of the beasts grabbed a male spirit by his neck. Lifting him from the group as one may pluck a flower, the one beast pressed the man into a heavy post that was jutting out of the ground. As the beast held him up against the plank, the other one hammered a spike through the upper part of the man's chest, just below his collarbone, securing him to the post.

There, left dangling from the spike, the man writhed and screamed in agony. Moreover, and adding to the nightmare I was witnessing, with his full weight bearing him down against the heavy spike, I could hear the discernible sounds of bone cracking and splintering above his screams.

Flanking the crucified man, the beasts touched the tip of their kukri high on either side of his chest. Although they didn't draw their blades across his body, they cut nonetheless. Two, long gashes formed from where the tips of their blade touched his sides, extending to his breastbone, and splitting him open to expose the muscle and sinew beneath.

The soul emitted a high-pitched screech, more animal-like than human, as he thrashed his arms and legs anew against the pain the beasts had just inflicted.

Many in the captive throng tried to run at that point, turning their bodies opposite to the tortured man in an attempt at a quick dash.

There was no escape, however. Even that small desire to step a smidgen away from the eternal carnage was denied them, as some unseen force froze their feet to the ground. Nor could they close their eyes, or turn their heads, or even cover their ears against the tormented soul's animal screams. They were made to stand, and watch, and listen to the horror unfolding in front of them. The horror they, themselves, will soon experience.

Grabbing what could only be a loose flap of skin hanging from the newly formed gash, one of the beasts pulled it down, ripping a long panel of flesh away from the tortured man's body. The other beast did the same from the other gash.

Over and over the beasts took turns cutting, then ripping the man's flesh away from head to heel. They skinned him, leaving his hide in a tattered mound piled up at the base of the post.

His screams... Oh the screams, loud and incessant and defiantly unearthly, they tore into the other waiting souls like a dull knife that rips flesh rather than cuts. I could see his screams stamped on their faces, the looks of great suffering, as each of them reacted to the infinite depth of pain and helplessness the tortured man was inflicted by.

Drool dripped profusely from the fangs of the beasts as they howled and hooted uproariously in laughter. The soul's writhing agony was providing them great sport as they continued to flay.

And each time they ripped a piece of him away, the man's internal luminescence dimmed, slowly but inexorably, until appearing no more than weak candlelight behind thick, smoky glass. Finally, as the last tattered piece of skin was torn away, even that feeble light winked out into darkness.

Their fun momentarily ended, the beasts quartered what remained of the man's carcass, throwing the pieces and limbs along the banks of the river. Pulling the spike out of the post, they tossed the torso along the bank with the rest of him, and with a loud grunt, they kicked the gathered pile of skin there as well.

They then went back to pacing in front of the throng of souls, barking, and hooting, deciding who will be next for the post.

One of them grabbed a smallish woman nearby.

Her internal luminescence sparked and pulsed as she fought vainly against its grip.

Its lips curled into what I could only construe as a twisted smile before he put her whole head fully into its mouth. Then it bit down ripping her head from her torso.

Just as her head was severed, a brilliant flash of light emitted from deep within her, casting shadows everywhere. And just as quickly as her essence flashed of light, everything went black, as if a light bulb had burst, momentarily bathing everything in a warm luminescence before the filament quickly grows dark and cold.

In the shadow play caused by that brief luminescence, I saw the other beast dance and howl a pagan rite of delight, and then capping off its merriment by throwing its kukri hither and yon into the group, and haphazardly slashing, stabbing, and gutting everyone in its wake.

The beast with the woman threw her torso toward the river bank. It continued to roll her head around in its mouth like a child sucking on a jawbreaker before spitting it out at her lifeless carcass. The head was covered with a thick, putrid drool that sizzled and smoked, eating away and corrupting what little flesh still remained on the skull.

I turned my eyes away, looking down at the bank of the river, hoping beyond hope that I had seen the worst of it.

It was then that I saw the gnome-like creatures from my dreams emerging from the reeds. They went about picking up the scattered pieces of the soul that was flayed alive earlier, and placed them together in close proximity along the bank.

Then, I saw the pieces of him moving...reattaching. Arms and legs, bits of flesh and skin recombined back into something barely resembling a human form. Even the soul's internal light was back, though greatly diminished from before.

Yes, he was recombined, but it was all done imperfectly. Everything about him was skewed. Nothing on him matched to what used to be. No limb placed in its proper position or orientation. Even his skin was haphazardly arranged so that it bunched in great fleshy knots in some places, and in other places none occurred at all. He was recreated. Yes, forever recreated into a bent, twisted, crippled, disfigured and misshapen, manifestation of his former self.

The soul briefly and silently looked at the others before trudging off across the plain, as if some silent command beckoned him to go. The headless woman followed, also bent and crippled, her near fleshless skull was attached somewhere close to the base of her spine.

I heard another scream and more wailing. The beasts had chosen another soul to torment, nailing them to their cross in preparation for skinning. I didn't watch. My eyes followed the ones who just left.

In front of them, and at some distance, I saw another crippled soul, and then another further along the plain. There was a whole line of them, some walking on misshapen and mismatched limbs, others slithering because they had no limbs at all, and all making for the same destination. And there, where the line of souls ended, I could see the opening of a great cave.

My heart froze as fear gripped me. I could feel unspeakable evil residing in that place. An evil manifestation so dreadful and horrific, it made everything I had seen so far pale in comparison. Cruel and calculating evil, forever feasting on the misery it inflicts on both the living and the dead.

I knew above all else, I did not want to meet what resided in that cave.

I turned to run back to the room where I first found myself, and nearly ran into a pair of tall stakes sticking out of the ground. I followed the stakes up to their ends. There, towering above me at the top of each pike, was a human head.

The blood still dripped from their severed necks and off the reedy tendons and torn flesh that hung down from where they were severed. Their eyes were still open, but devoid of the spark of life, appearing milky, without color or definition—blank, pale, lifeless orbs. I saw their twisted faces, frozen in their last horrid moments of living; frozen except for their mouths, which continued moving in some grizzly prayer, as if their heads were ripped off as they pleaded for mercy.

It was Karen and Gloria.

I couldn't take anymore horror, so I closed my eyes to it all and screamed.

**

I was still screaming moments later when I felt the texture of the atmosphere change once again.

When I opened my eyes, I was back in Beetlesmith's shop, still kneeling on the floor and looking down into a large puddle of my vomit.

Disoriented, my head still reeling over what I had just seen, I heard Beetlesmith chuckling softly beside me as he sat in his accustomed stool.

Not daring to look at him, I gathered up as much courage as I could, and asked, "What just happened to me?"

Beetlesmith answered, almost in a whisper, "A common frame of reference at last. You are blessed, Mr. Henry. Yes, blessed. It's not every day a man sees his final destination, and lives to tell about it."

Suddenly, all the sights and sounds that I had just experienced played over again in my mind. Just as real as before, I saw it all with crystal clarity. I even felt every drop of pain and horror from all those souls. Their sufferings stab me in an instant, deep within, as their screams filled my head, and knocking all the wind out of me.

It was a quick and casual reminder from the dark powers that everything I witnessed was real, and it would stay freshly imprinted in my mind from then on in order to keep me compliant.

Beetlesmith added a little insurance just in case I didn't get their message. "Did you see your wife and friend?"

Being too sick and weak at the moment, I just nodded my head.

"That was just a warning. Do what we say, or that and worse will happen to them right before your eyes. Make no mistake, Mr. Henry, we play hard ball and we play it for eternity."

Gasping for breath, I asked, "Those people...all those people...so much agony... What was that place?"

"Come, come, Mr. Henry, you're being purposefully obtuse, now. You know its name."

Yes, I knew what I saw, but lacked the guts to say it aloud. I panted, "Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Goddamn it, now you're being obtuse. You know what I mean. Why me? What have I done?"

"You have broken laws, and have committed great sins against humanity when you administered the elixir to the unwitting. So stop all of these childish, 'Whys,'" he mocked, "Your final destination is Hell, Mr. Henry. Get used to that fact."

I yelled at first. Isn't that what the guilty do to feign innocence? They yell. "What laws? There are no laws! Show me these laws."

"Come now, Mr. Henry. Does it really matter?"

"Yes, it matters! How can I break laws I don't know even exist..."

"Oh, they exist, Mr. Henry. They are the universal laws that bind everyone...everything in the cosmos. Even the Cruel Ones and Bright Ones are bound by them."

"Bullshit! How can I be punished for things I don't even know exist?"

He chuckled before answering, "My first reply to that is, "Ignorantia juris non excusat."

"I don't understand Greek, you fuck!"

"Latin."

"Fuck you!"

"Ignorance of the law is no excuse," Beetlesmith translated.

"That's a fucking lawyer's dodge."

"Judge's really, but don't play the babe in the woods now. You knew what you were doing was wrong, and do you know why?" He briefly touched his head and then his chest while saying, "You felt it here and here, each time you administered the elixir. Those were pangs of conscience. Everyone has one, Mr. Henry, even you. It's your very own tell-tale heart. The conscience is issued to us at birth, along with our hearts and our kidneys, and it is in direct connection to those universal laws you say don't exist. All you had to do is listen to your conscience to stay out of trouble. It will never steer you wrong."

"And that's it? I'm destined for Hell for ignoring my conscience?"

"No, Mr. Henry, you fell in league with the dark forces, the Cruel Ones, and that's why you're going to Hell. Come now, you could feel the taint of us on that pathway you chose during our first conversation and many subsequent, yet you ignored all the warning signs from your conscience. Youare going to Hell, and have no one to blame but yourself."