Dealing with Satan

*includes murder (possibly sensitive)

Hell. Inescapable Hell. A place of horror, torture, malevolence. A place, only some, unlucky souls are welcome to. 

Me, for one.

I awaken to the familiar sense of darkness, the smoky air slowly poisoning me, attempting to take me. Again. But something else wakes me. Purpose.

Hell isn’t what some think it is. It’s not houses on fire, not bone-crushing monsters pouncing on us every five seconds. It’s not screaming people. It’s not hysterical crying until there are no more tears. There are no volcanos, or lava that simply fills from the ground, taking us as victims for the second time. 

It’s like earth, but with a darkness that leaves us sinking in regret, where harmony is non-existent. 

We have happiness, but a different kind. Satisfaction, more like. Smiles at suffering. Laughter at assassination. Telling the truth is frowned upon. Our ‘leader’ encourages war, as he takes over innocent minds below, whispering words of chaos into their ears.

Chaos. The word that sums up Hell.

Minds spiralling, a whirlwind of thoughts clouding our air.

‘Why?’

‘They deserved it.’

‘What is wrong with me?’

Inhumane beings, remorse or maliciousness fogging their aura. I take back what I said about monsters. We all have a beast, fuelled by enmity, that lives within us. That’s the one thing we take before we leave earth. And of course, our history.

I leave my space, a proposition burning in my mind. None go where I’m going. None cross the one that I’m crossing. None ask what I’m asking. 

No one makes a deal with the Devil.

I walk through the gates that lead into his fortress. Four impenetrable walls mark his space. No windows, the inside dimmer than a black hole. A ghastly shadow overlooks his castle, keeping all light out.

I take a breath, filled with the peculiar sense of fear. An emptiness in me, slowly eating me inside out. 

I regain my focus, pushing any feeling of vulnerability away, pushing it so deep, light will never reach.

There are no guards here. There isn’t a need for them. No one, no one, dares to take anything from Satan. No one dares to interact with the demon that sits on his throne, admitting people of evil into our realm.  

“Satan,” I say, my voice echoing in the darkness. It rings in my ears, a reminder of why I’m here, what I’m risking my afterlife for.

The reply that comes sounds like something out of a horror movie. “Who dares enter my fortress?” He booms, as I make out a figure rising to their feet.

“Keres Ashford.” I hide the tremble in my voice.

He ponders for a moment. “I remember you. The one who killed the schoolteacher. Isn’t that right?” His tone has changed. No longer the intimidating boom but more of a playful tone, teasing almost. “What brings you to my humble home?”

Something I can’t place lies within the depths of his voice. “I have come baring a proposition.”

I hear the friction as he rubs his blood-stained hands manically. “Oooh, let’s hear it then.”

I clear my throat. “I want to bring the one I killed here.”

“You mean the teacher?” Surprise laces his tone, along with disorientation.

“Yes. That one.”

“‘Course, you haven’t been killing any other professors, have you?” He chuckles to himself. 

“Uhhh, no.”

He walks towards me. I can see him properly now. Despite the dark, his red skin shines, illuminating his bull like horns, proudly sitting on top of his shiny scalp. Black robes drape over his arms and legs, giving him a mythical, unholy look. His wine eyes bore into mine. 

“You want to bring him here?” Challenge flashes behind the blood red irises. 

I nod my head, slowly, full of purpose. “Yes.”

“Why?” Scepticism covers his crimson skin. 

Memories of the foul man flash through my mind. “Injustice. I’m here, while he’s in heaven, as if he never committed any crime. One action from me and my life is taken. I’m brought here, but the many violations he carried out took him to the gates of heaven. All those horrible lessons taught; racist opinions shared, misleading morals. Why, Satan? Why?” 

He tilts his head up, a thoughtful expression plastered across his face. “What’s in it for me? Why should I help you?” He crosses his arms, flames behind his empty pupils.

“Anything within reason,” I say, crossing my arms back at him. 

He raises his eyebrows. “Anything, huh?” His lips turn up in a mischievous smirk.

“Within reason,” I repeat, uncertainty in my voice.

“Within reason,” he mimics, sticking out his tongue.

I roll my eyes, but ever so slightly so he couldn’t see. I always knew that the Devil had a childish side, the inner juvenile, the reason why he haunts our space. 

“Alright,” he starts, snapping me out of my cocoon of reverie. “I’ll help you. But only, if you help…what’s the word? Oh yeah, spy on the Heavens.” He smiles patronisingly. “Deal?”

Spying on the Heavens? Why? I still don’t ask. What good are they too him? 

I think about the consequences. If I’m caught, I’ll be punished beyond return. Burned, maybe. Dead for the second time. 

But then again, my victim will finally get what he deserves. He can look down and see all the damage he’s done on all these innocent children.

“Deal,” I say, staring into the evil eyes of the Devil. I extend my hand, waiting for him to shake it. 

A satisfied look settles upon his face. “Deal,” the touch of his hand makes me flinch, a jolt of realisation that I am shaking hands with the most nefarious being to ever exist.  

I leave the fortress, my thoughts, a tornado in my mind. Will he hold up his end of the deal? Will I get caught? How is this going to work?

I step outside, the dark skies shading me. I head to my Hell home, scenarios spinning in my head. I shut my eyes, and let the world slip away from me.

I don’t dream anymore. Only nightmares, as if they’re trying to find an ounce of guilt in my soul, failing every time. No trace of culpability invades me, just fulfilment of my deed. I replay the crime that was my ticket to Hell. 

Alfred Rooney. 

That was his name. A communications professor at my school, which I can no longer remember the name of. You see, when you enter this abyss of a realm, you forget. Details that don’t matter, family, friends. The only thing which makes its mark in your memory, etched within moments of time, are your scandals. They haunt you, endlessly until shame floods you, drowning you in regret.

Sir Rooney was something else entirely. I was fed lies for years and years, believing every spoonful, acknowledging and unintentionally spreading hypocrisy to all my friends, colleagues, classmates. 

He made us admonish racist opinions; skin colours were all that was important. Opinions on what girls should do, how we should act, behave. 

But I didn’t realise until the exam, where, on my pristine white page, lay the words, racist and unfairly opinionated.

Failed.

I looked over at my classmates' pages. Overwhelming, burdensome Fs sat on their sheets, as they weeped into their hands. Tears of shame, disappointment and anger were shed, our eyes pinpointing the one man who caused our failure. The one man who infiltrated our minds, placing old, tired sentiments into our brains.   

It all came back to me. The foreign kids, heads hung as he talked about current affairs, how outsiders were slowly taking over our country. 

I did them a favour.

I had only planned for unconsciousness. Never death. But when his heart stopped, satisfaction enveloped me. 

I had watched and waited. Until he was leaning over the balcony, the railing reaching only to his hips. It didn’t take much. I single, firm push sent him flying. The screams still echo in my ears. The bleak wailing of the sirens. I watched as the Deputy Head knelt beside him, watching as the blood pooled from his head, life slipping away with every drop. Watched as she punched 911 into her cellphone. I watched in shock and ran. Ran as fast as I could, away from the scene of the crime. But as I fled, I felt something I hadn’t before. 

Freedom. 

The cameras caught me. It was an immediate court trial, and of course, I was found guilty. But really, I wasn’t. Not innocent, that’s for sure. Remorse never found its way to my heart. 

It was a death sentence. Execution.

You know how the rest of it goes.

The next day, or whatever a sleep is here, I wake to find a note in my space, yellowing parchment with scrawny words seeping into the paper. 

‘Outside the fortress at 11 o’clock,’ it read. At the bottom of the page, a small circle with two horns gave away the writer. 

I check the time. 10:50. I freshen up and get ready. Rushing, I head to the fortress, finally reaching, when my breath is sparse. 11:01.

The Devil is waiting, his foot tapping against concrete floors. “You’re late,” he says, his eyes flashing with the hint of annoyance. 

“Oops,” I say. One thing I’ve learned, is that you never apologise in hell. To your friend or to the Devil himself, it doesn’t matter.

“Let’s just say, I’ve had to pull a few strings,” he starts. “For instance, I brought a body up, waiting in Purgatory, which looks just like you.” I nod along, wondering when he’ll get to my end of the deal.

“And you just need to go up to those stupid angels and find out everything you can. How they operate and stuff, you know?”

I shoot him a look of confusion. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter to you,” he snaps back, taking a step forward, as I slowly inch away.

I shrug. “Fine. But when I get back, Rooney better be here,” I threaten, pointing a finger at him.

He shrugs back at me. “Fine,” he mocks. 

I begin to turn away, but Satan stops me, laying a heavy, burdening hand on my shoulder. “Here’s her file.” Turning to face him once again, I nod and walk away. 

As I take my walk through Hell, I read the file.

Name: Delilah Harper Johnson

Appearance: Auburn hair, blue eyes.

Born: 21st October, 2000 (Los Angeles, California)

Death: 5th May, 2023 (aged 22)

Cause: Car accident; Lisbon

Profession: Student at Berkeley, Ethnic Studies

Parents: Adaleigh Camila Johnson, Scott Johnson

Siblings: Ivy Johnson (now Green), Eliana Hazel Johnson

Spouse: None

Children: None

Beneath all the details a picture was pinned to the worn brown file. 

Wavy auburn hair frames her tanned face, her blue eyes jumping of the paper. Her smile glows, illuminating her features. 

I process the information, neither happy nor unhappy. My age, same hair, similar eyes. I take one last glance at her. I could pull her off easily. Just smile, talk about ethnicity and backgrounds.

Easy.

By the time I arrive home, another scruffy message appears in my space, signed by Satan. Huffing, I pick it up, my eyes darting over the words.

‘Step into the light.’

My brow creases into a quizzical fold. What light?

Then, something catches my eye. White, shining, calling to me. A portal type thing, appearing out of nowhere. Light leaks through the ingress, bathing the shadows of Hell in a captivating light. For once, something fills my soul with warmth, which I recognise as hope.

It pulls me, unwillingly taking over my weakened mind. I take a step.

Here goes nothing.