In Dante’s Footsteps

The house was heavy that night. I wouldn’t have been able to explain it then. It was just something lurking, in the walls and under the floor. I wasn’t even sure when I noticed it, but I couldn’t ignore it once I did. And then it called my name. Like a whisper from a voice I couldn’t physically place, “Francis…”

It spoke to me, floating on the air like smoke, calling my name. The first time I wasn’t quite sure I’d heard it. Then again, quiet and hissing, “Franciiissssss…”

I ignored it, pushing the growing uncertainty in my chest down into my stomach, until the voice began repeating my name over and over again. It drew me from my chair as though a rope was tied around my neck. I was powerless against the pull towards the stairs to the first floor of my house. All the while my heart was thundering in my chest, and the dread that was falling over me was pooling in my feet. No matter how heavy I felt, I couldn’t help but put one foot in front of the other until I was standing at the cellar door.

Something had changed, yet everything had stayed the same. That wasn’t my cellar door anymore, even though it was the same as always. As it slowly swung open, the hinges crying out under some unseen weight, my eyes were met with a blackness that I had never beheld before and could only describe as void. Smoke floated out, and on that smoke the voice called again. “Francis, come…”

I don’t have words for the emotion I felt then. Fear, maybe, mixed through with dread and what I can only recall as awe. A scream and a sob was caught in my throat, choking all sound from me as my eyes filled with tears. It dawned on me then that this must be how I die. That realization sat on my shoulders, threatening to break me where I stood.

It’s odd looking back on this now, with a detachment I never could have embodied or even imagined in that moment.

A sensation of heavy gravity came over me then, and even the room itself. I felt pulled towards the cellar stairs like a satellite floating too close to earth. The walls behind me groaned against the pull which I had no power against. A hopelessness seized me as my feet moved me towards whatever fate awaited me at the bottom of those stairs wreathed in that void.

Those were not my stairs. They descended sharply and were endless. Yet, still, I was unable to stop and powerless to turn around. It was only when I was at the verge of exhaustion that I found the end.

I stood on stone, the black void slowly receding from my vision. The stair were gone and I was alone in the darkness. As I became more aware, being able to see a little more and more further away, I saw that I was on a misty plain made of jagged rock. The sky above me was dark, empty like the void, with mist swirling overhead. As I took a deep breath, my legs throbbing from the downward climb, I realized it was not mist, but smoke.

I moved forward, the void solid behind me like a wall. The terror of its nothingness evoked a horror in me I didn’t have the courage to face. In silence I moved carefully into the hazy night, the absence of sound like being underwater and I could hear my own heartbeat.

After what seemed a dreamlike eternity I began to see figures up ahead. They were indistinct, still being far away. But I was beginning to be able to hear them. They were sorrowful, muttered, and it carried with it a despair I had never felt before in all of my life. When I thought I could endure this sinking feeling no more, I heard the crying. A chorus of babies wailed, the way neglected babies wail, throughout the darkness. And when I thought I would break from this I realized they were all around me; the moaning men and women shuffled aimlessly, and the babies lay heaped on the ground.

I tried to break through them, my feet caught on the jutting pieces of rock as I stepped carefully over the children. Here and there a man or woman would bend down, trying to comfort a particular child, only to stand and move on, more desperate than before. My heart hurt in a way that felt entirely physical. I wanted to give up. Just as I was about to join their lamenting chorus, a hand grabbed onto mine.

The fingers were so cold, the grip bony. It pulled on my hand with a strength that betrayed the almost skeletal feel of the fingers, whipping me around. A man stood there, his face very close to mine. His cheeks were drawn, his eyes sunken, his skin only slightly darker than the wispy smoke. Thinning hair laid slack against his forehead. His eyes met mine, the irises were pale memories of their former color. “This place is not for you.” He said, and pointed behind me. I turned quickly, eager to be released from his terrible face.

There, risen from the ground, were wide stones in a haphazard trail through the throngs of the miserable and crying. Wrestling my hand from his I bounded across them. The sea of bodies was unending around and before me, and as I moved through them more stones appeared.

It felt like I traveled miles in this way. The sorrow was unending, until it was over. I found myself standing on the last raised stone, behind me the chorus of grief rose on the smoke filled air.

I was standing on a cliffs edge, the void stretching out before me. Below me, narrow crumbling stairs jutted out, hugging the cliff face. The thought of going back through that expanse of sadness pitched my body forward and I caught myself on my knees. The only way was down.

It was treacherous going. I clung to the cliff face and I could feel the skin of my fingers begin to open and bleed. Like my cellar stairs, these seemed to descend to an unnatural depth.

At long last I found myself on solid ground. It was stone, rough and uneven like before. The air here was thick with humidity but moved with a heavy wind that whipped back and forth. The smoke had become soot in the damp and coated the stone, leaving it slick under foot.

I was alone.

I moved forward, mindful of the sludge coating my shoes. The raised stones from the plateau above had not followed me here, and the rock was sharp like broken slate. I was exhausted by then, and the air was oppressive, despite the wind.

I wondered at the darkness. Surely, there should be daylight by now. But there was only an ambient light with no discernible source. I thought, if it weren’t for my beating heart I would swear I was dead.

Like before, I began to see the faint shapes of people in motion. On this languid breeze I could hear them moaning. But it was different here. I knew these moans. These were the songs of ecstasy. And I found my own breath was picking up and my heart was racing in the way it did my first time with a woman.

It wasn’t until I got closer that I realized, once more, that I was surrounded by them before I understood that I was and had been for some time. Men and women, men and men, and women and women, writhed in uninhibited lust. My own desires rose as hands from all around me pulled at my clothing. As I was about to yield to their overwhelming advances, and my own overwhelming want, I gathered what I was really seeing. Bodies, practically melded, undulated in their fervor. Their moans, the sounds of anticipation of a release that would never come. The frustration, a song within their song, was shadowed but a current of hate.

That was when the stones appeared, pushing naked bodies out of their way. They were clean, free of the slick damp paste of ash.

I was fraying. My logical mind and the reality I found myself in were at complete odds. Madness was breathing down my neck as I stood on the precipice of the next cliff.

The following descents were all the same but different in the dread of their inhabitants. Each expanse populated by horrors I could barely comprehend. Massive bodies eating dirt and rocks compulsively on one plateau, men and women under the crushing weight of material hoards on another.

The plain of violence, mayhem and fire was the most terrifying to cross. Never in all of my life have I witnessed such violence. The fires raging there billowed the smoke I had seen the whispers of up above.

On and on this went; the next worse than the one before the further I went.

It dawned on me where I was as I stood among men and women struggling to free themselves from ice. Or maybe I knew all along and my rational mind finally let go of all of its instincts. I was in Hell.

In a moment of clarity I recalled Inferno. Dante was close, but he took some liberties. I passed ring to ring with no opposition, and knew no souls trapped here. The way was laid before me, allowing safe passage through the torments.

How long had I been here? And was my personal hell to view these punishments for eternity? Was my hell madness?

I was standing on ice then. Time had ceased to be linear and I couldn’t recall the journey to this frozen landscape. Below me, from within the glacial surface, I could feel the muffled pleadings for release. A face stared up at me from between my feet. Eyes wide, its mouth frozen in a scream, it seemed to plead with me. I was numb, as cold now as the ice under foot.

Frigid wind wiped across the smooth surface, carrying with it the memory howling torment. The darkness was absolute here, almost as thick as the void. I was sure now that this was my end, that I would fall to my face and be encapsulated in this wasteland. But my feet continued with a will of their own, moving me closer to a destiny I did not have the fortitude to confront.

Far away there was a light, like a pale winter sunrise. It felt like it would be years before I would reach it, if I were ever to reach it at all. Was this my eternal torment, then, to see a destination I would never meet? Tears rose in my eyes, freezing instantly. The pain was unbearable, like ice shards being pressed into the softness of my eyes and burning my cheeks.

Just as I was resigning myself to my punishment, I perceived the light growing in the darkness. My step quickened to meet it. I was on the verge of running, my legs threatening to come out from underneath me, until the lights were immense. And there were so many lights!

I stopped myself, fighting the external force pulling me along, when I saw the shapes moving in that pale light. Some were giant, some were less so, their details indistinct. A bright light at the far end of this throng overpowered it all, and something moved within it.

The ice began to crack and pop beneath me, revealing a stair full of frozen pieces of people. It was a short stair, leading down to a polished black floor. When my foot struck the surface I found myself far from the icy hell, standing on the edge of an unfathomable crowd.

A hush fell over them and they turned to look at the interloper standing on the periphery of their gathering. They were terrible but magnificent all at once. Their faces human like, but different. I don’t know any other way to describe it. Their coal black eyes radiated a light that illuminated nothing as they looked me over. And just as I thought my heart would explode in my chest, they parted, clearing an aisle straight through to that distant shining light.

Their murmurs were melodic, animalistic, and grating all at once. As I passed between them they leaned into each other, whispering in that indiscernible tongue, their shining eyes following me all the way.

That is when I beheld Him. The King of this Court sat enthroned; colossal, terrifying, and beautiful beyond my humble comprehension. As I craned my neck to look up to his dizzying height he looked down at me. Like looking into the sun, I had to avert my eyes. I fell to my knees instinctively, my forehead pressed against the cold floor. Through my peripheral vision I saw the light wane, and my ears were filled with that guttural language. It boomed through the hall and I felt the legions shrink back. I couldn’t understand the words with my ears but with a knowing in my heart I heard Him say, “Look upon me, Francis. For you are chosen by me. You are my honored guest.”

I looked up, sitting back on my heels. I wept at the sight of him. Giant does not do justice to the imposing figure of The King. He towered above me in radiant splendor. His face was serene in all of its terrible beauty. His eyes, six in all, were as brilliant as the most precious gems dug from the earth. A golden halo shimmered brightly around his head, jeweled by a blue flame above his crown. Three sets of enormous wings stretched out behind him, moving softly in His benevolence. He was truly angelic, but seemed perfectly in place in this infernal world.

He leaned forward from his golden throne, bringing his face to mine. The mouth set in that mighty head could have devoured me in one quick snap of His jaw.

His light undulated and became a deep red, but only for a moment. And in that moment the flame above his head burned between two vicious horns, and the hands that rested on his knees were talons. But this apparition was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

I realized, as he began to speak that strange language again, that His mouth never moved. Yet the overwhelming sound filled the hall again. “It was I who brought you here, calling to you from the pit. You are to be my disciple, Francis. You will further The Work back on Earth. We have been watching you all your life. We knew you were special when your mother brought you forth from her womb. And now, you are ready.”

There was applause from the great horde around me and the air shimmered before my eyes.

The King spread His hands wide, and a towering figure appeared before me. His aura was dark and gleamed like an oil slick. He was dressed like a sort of priest, in black robes sewn through with red and gold. He had no face and wore a crown made of obsidian shards on his oversized head. He reached towards me with overly long fingers tipped with sharp claw like nails. He took my face in those hands and they were as hard and cold as stone.

The priest squeezed tight and my mouth opened in pain. A mouth of his own appeared in his featureless face, mirroring my own. Flame as blue as the flame crowning the king shot from his mouth into my own and every fiber in my body burned so hot I thought I would die. But I didn’t die. Instead I was overcome with strength and my mind was filled with images I had no context for, and my ears were filled with that monstrous tongue. When, finally, the detachment I speak to you with now settled over me he let me go.

I fell to the ground, staring up at the smoke from the rings above. It was thick like storm clouds and full of lightening.

“Go now, Francis.” Said The King. “And when The Work has been completed, you will have a seat of your own in this Court.”

The lightning flashed brightly and I felt the stone beneath me begin to shudder and crack. It gave way with the force of that heavy gravity in my kitchen, and the light of The King and his legions became very small. I was falling in darkness. But I wasn’t afraid.

When I opened my eyes I was back in my kitchen. I was flat on my back and my head thundered with my own pulse. In my left hand I clutched a shard of obsidian and it was cutting into my palm.

Dante was close, but took significant poetic liberties. Or maybe he was never meant to be there in the first place, and was shown a different version of Hell than what was presented to me.

I stood up quickly, the room spun from the rush. But there was work to be done, and I needed to get started.