Steven L. Peck - A Short Stay in Hell

ADVANCE PRAISE FOR A SHORT STAY IN HELL

Profound and disturbing, A Short Stay inHell is a perfect blend of science fiction, theology, andhorror. A terrifying meditation on faith, human nature, and therelentless scope of eternity. It will haunt you, fittingly, for avery, very long time.

Dan Wells, author ofIAm Not a Serial Killer

An irresistible invention. Peck has somehowsqueezed all of human experience, not to mention near-infiniteexpanses of space and time, into one miraculously slim novella. Youwont be able to stop thinking about this book.

Ken Jennings, author ofBrainiacandMaphead

FIRST EDITION, MARCH 2012

Copyright 2012 by Steven L. Peck

Published by Strange Violin Editions atSmashwords

STRANGE VIOLIN EDITIONS

Washington, DC

http://strangeviolineditions.com

All rights reserved. No part of thispublication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by anymeans, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, orany information storage and retrieval system, without permission inwriting from the publisher, except for the inclusion of briefquotes in a review.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personalenjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away toother people. If you would like to share this book with anotherperson, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Ifyoure reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was notpurchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.comand purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard workof this author.

ISBN 978-0-9837484-3-4

ISBN 978-0-9837484-4-1 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-0-9837484-2-7 (trade paperback)

Library of Congress Control Number:2011941923

Cover design: Matt Page

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1

2

3

4

5

A LTHOUGH I HAVELOVED MANY, there has been only one genuine love in mynear-eternally stretched life Rachel who fell to the bottom ofthe library without me. Did I know her only for so short a time?Strange, how a moment of existence can cut so deeply into our beingthat while ages pass unnoticed, a brief love can structure anddefine the very topology of our consciousness ever after. Imgetting ahead of myself. I suppose I must start at the beginning a beginning so long ago that its horizon is a vanishing point atthe convergence of two Euclidian lines that would be parallel byany human measure.

The first years are the easiest to describe.They were years of adventure, companionship, and love. I have notseen anyone for uncountable years. Yet, even after so long, I stilllisten for the sound of anothers voice, the ring of footsteps onthe stairs, or a figure moving silhouetted in the distance. Once Ispent a year just listening. Another, trying to build a telescopemade from clarified sheep intestines from the kiosk, so that Imight look deep into the library. Despite my substantial efforts, Ihave failed to find another soul. We have all scattered far andwide into the vastness of this space and cannot find one another. Isuspect by now we are all alone.

Yet I labor on. By my count (which I know isaccurate, for my memory in this place, it seems, is incapable offorgetting even the smallest detail) I have climbed innumerablelight-years, from the lowest level to this one where I sit withthis book in my hands reading of my stay here. It is not the storyof my life, so it serves little purpose, but as I read I marvelthat Ive found such a book. It is close to the one I seek.Sometimes I fantasize I will discover the book that describes thelocation of the volume I have been searching for. But alas, howwould I know it was the right one? There are countless books in thelibrary that claim a particular floor contains the one I need. Andthen, of course, no single book could contain a number so largethat the height and depth of this library could be expressed as anumerical digit. Silly thoughts in this monotonous place areinevitable I suppose.

I have found many treasures. A couple of eonsago I found a book that looked like it described my earthlydigestive history from beginning to end, every meal, how the foodwas broken into its chemical composition and then sent on to theintestine. Ive also grown fond of what Im sure are very close toMickey Spillane novels. So, too, I remember that for about sevenhundred billion years I carried a book of short stories some werefantasies, some romances, and one was a farce. It was a marvelousbook. The last story was my favorite. It told of a monkey, once thepowerful owner of a lawnmower repair business, who falls intoobscurity and despair. It told of his sorrow at having lost hisgreatness and reputation in the field as technological changesoutstripped his ability to keep up. He spoke movingly of his searchfor religion. I still get teary-eyed when I think of the ending ofthat story (which I wont spoil by telling you).

One book I found not long ago was full ofrandom characters except for pages 111 to 222, wherein I found anexposition that speculated that God had created the universe as away of sorting through the great library, finding those books thatwere most beautiful and meaningful. It argued that in the meresixteen billion years of my old universes existence, a vast storeof great thought and literature had been produced during the shortcreative life of human existence on the planet. The workentertained the notion that evolution was the most effectivesorting algorithm for finding the subsets of coherent and readablebooks that are scattered thinly throughout the randomness of thelibrary. The argument took on special meaning to me because it hadbeen almost 160 billion years since I had found such a long stringof coherent text. To find such a delightful work was a treasureindeed especially such a germane treatise nestled between suchauspicious page numbers.

Forgive me. Im getting far ahead of myself.I must start at the beginning if there is to be any hope that youmight understand my life in Hell and the fateful day the greatdemon sent me here.

I must start with the interview or none ofthis will make sense. So I begin here:

~~~

THE PROFICIENT DEMON leaned back comfortablyin his large, high-backed red leather chair, then swung away fromthe five terrified guests seated before him and turned to thewindow behind him. The room was well lit, with long incandescenttubes arranged in several functional pairs that spanned the lengthof the ceiling, giving the room a soft, businesslike feel. Pottedplants, placed tastefully here and there, lent the room a sense ofproportion and order. The demon was the only thing that did notseem to belong.

The monsters yellow gaze was directedthoughtfully out of the large framed window that dominated the wallbehind his desk. Behind the glass was a large cavern lit with adancing red glow. He sighed and scratched his leg with one of hisblack-tipped hooves as he surveyed the seething, molten bed oflava, bubbling thickly like slowly boiling sweet candy syrup in thescene below him. Occasionally from the lake of fire a blazingfountain would erupt violently, spackling the ceiling of the greatcavern with hot lava, which then would drip in large globs slowlyback to the enormous magma lake, creating high, thick splashes ofbright orange liquid rock. Inside the lake, scores of wailingpeople could be seen wading through the pool, screaming in agony,and even though their cries could not pierce the thickness of theglass window, the muted agony and terror visible on their facestransferred the terror of the situation to the five seated guests.All five were trembling and breathless.

On the lakes edge, small shadowy demonswielded jagged leather whips and long rusted pitchforks to drivethose souls desperately trying to scramble out of the pool back toits bubbling center. The yellow-eyed demon swiveled back toward thethree men and two women staring back at him wide-eyed with horror.They were dressed simply in thick white robes of rough cotton.Their feet were bare and they were seated on unstable gray metalfolding chairs that squeaked loudly whenever they moved.