The Door

A Story by friendlyneighborhoodwriterjan

A short story about a door in the woods

The door stands in the middle of the wood. It stands there on a little plateau, encircled by trees and fungi. When one walks across it, one would not notice it or forget about it the very second after catching on to it. Animals shy away from it, all but the birds, they are strangely drawn towards it. This is the door to Hell.
One morning on my usual stroll through the wood I ran into it. I dislike the forest tracks and strive bare-footed on the mossy paths between the trees. The tingling feeling you get from the soft moss and the moisture makes it feel like walking on a cloud. And that day I ran into that door. The impact took me by surprise and I hit my head quite badly. That will leave a nasty bump on my forehead.
But after the initial shock, I am dazzled by excitement. What was this door without a proper function doing in this part of the wood? I tried knocking. A murder of crows suddenly took to flight from the trees surrounding me, so man of them that the sky went dark as the night. Spooky, but not enough to shoo me away. I try the ebony handle. A click and it opens and with it comes a sulfuric smell, decay mixed with volcanic activity, is what came to mind.
A steep stairway in a coal black mining tunnel presented itself, dimly lit with petroleum lamps hanging from both sides of the wall. Naturally, I move downwards, no adventure left untouched. After some steps the air grew thicker, the door behind me closed and the ghastly lamps lighted up, now resembling proper flames. The descent is smooth and the temperature is warm but not unpleasant.
Then I spy something in the difference. A figure in lumps playing the fiddle as if there were no tomorrow. I approached and I recognized him momentarily. Georgie O’Dimm, the devil. The demon spots me as he looks up from his fiddle, his face broadens into a boundless smile with millions of teeth.
“Now, now, good day, friend.”
“Georgie?”
“Aye, dead and striving as always. You come as a pleasant surprise.”
“What is it you want?”
“You, old friend, have walked to Hell on your own. You may not leave again, but because you came voluntarily Old Georgie has some propositions to make.”
“Fire away, demon.”
“I am, as you see, sick and tired of all this. All I do is numbers, finances, room bookings. Accounting stuff, you see. And it consumes not only my time but also my passion, my fire. I haven’t tortured anyone in centuries because this place is overflowing, crowded even. So, I want to offer you a job, for old friend’s sake. Do my numbers and you’ll be free to walk earth again in say, 500 or so years, dependent on your performance as my master of coin. If you accept in the next five minutes I’ll give you a free pass on torture and you’ll only get the whip every 3rd Sunday.”
“Sounds fair.”
“But listen, there is more! If you accept right now you’ll get a new body, for free, young and sexy for all aeons. Sex of your choice. Without a fee and the best? You get to keep this one for your stay and the new one once you get up again so there will be no damage to it, whatsoever. That’s a fantastic deal!”
“Yeah, I get it, sign me in.”
“Really? Ah well, I enjoy bargaining too much and you bugger know that, so you will get to whip the damned every other week if you can make some income into our treasury. The transport has become so costly, with those damned Valkyries building a monopoly on the soul transports.”
“They were c***s before and will always be. But I am stern. I will make a treaty with them, giving them some new right, like the privilege to cross the Styx, how about that.”
“I knew I could count on you,” out of his ragged pants he pulled a pin labelled Employee, Master of Coin in bright red letters.
He pressed the pin’s needle right into my heart. It tingled a little, but not nearly as bad as last time when it said Damned, Murderer. But you know, hell is much like a prison. You go in, suffer a little and get out “changed” a successful rehabilitee. I will do good this time, I have learned much on my third spin out there. Evil is never dead, even when you kill it. Hell makes us better, they believe, but it just gives you time to ponder on new atrocities you want to try out. One life is not enough for that.
“Hey Jack, you have thought of a new name yet?”
“I think I’ll go old-school. Back to my first time round.”
“Nero then? I always liked that name.”
“And I always loved fire.”
They both laughed, whipping the poor damned. How much longer till the next big evil comes? Or is it lurking already? Circling its prey. The world is on the edge. Beware humanity, evil never dies. You have been warned.