Damned Fiction

by David Kempf

  How does one descend into madness? David thought. David remembered when he was a young man, years before becoming a renowned author and selling what was left of his poor soul to the Jinn and what his life was like before that.

  His father owned a pub and all of the sad souls would come in and drink themselves into oblivion.

  This was, of course, a very long time ago….

  Watching the patrons, David would ask “Father, why do they do this to themselves?”

  “Help me clean up and keep your eyes open and I think you can figure it out all by yourself.”

  “I can?” David asked.

  “Yes, you can. You’re a smart lad.”

  This made the young son blush but he always trusted his father.

  So young David watched the parade of his father’s damned customers come inside the cheerful, clean but misleading English pub of yesteryear. It was like a trap. In some ways, the pub was worse than the Devil himself. And now David could say that with a certain degree of confidence.

  “Why do these gents hurt themselves like this, father?”

  “Keep watching. Give it a few nights. You’re sure to understand, David.”

  So more drunken days and nights passed by and more of his father’s customers passed out on the pub floor.

  Still, David could not solve the mystery.

  Men got into brutal fights. His father would ask them to take it outside and then the real chaos would begin. Men would stab each other to death or simply beat the life out of another.

  And David said, “Father, this makes no sense.”

  “Listen to them, son.”

  David loved his father so he did as he was told. The men were like Jekyll and Hyde. They would begin during the first round of drinks talking about how they wished they could provide more for their families. Then others would say they couldn’t understand how a cruel God could allow so many innocents to die fighting this stupid war in America. They didn’t care if America wanted its bloody independence. It wasn’t worth the lives of their sons who had so bravely served the crown.

  And they had always assumed that God was on the side of England. This was something that they had in common with every other land in the world.

  “They have no meaning in life, father. That’s it. Isn’t it?”

  “Yes, son. They see themselves as important and they sacrifice everything and get nothing in return.”

  Then David Proctor finally understood the insanity of human nature. That’s why he sold his soul to the Jinn and went on to achieve all he had. The bestselling author thing had been overall, a waste of time. For all of his efforts, he still ended up in Hell.

  Even more disturbing was that he remembered himself as an innocent young boy working for father. It was only a month later that he went to fight with his fellow Royal Soldiers against the American Revolutionaries.

  “Am I not entertaining enough for you?” Satan asked David.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The most gruesome sociopaths in human history are right in front of you and you’re daydreaming?”

  “Sorry,” David answered in an almost stereotypical English accent.

  Satan rolled his dark eyes. “I thought you lost that accent.”

  David laughed. “So did I.” Inside, however, he did not feel like laughing. He wanted to cry. He really wanted to cry. He missed his father and mother. There was still some good left in him and yet here he was again making deals with the worst thing the universe had to offer.

  “The way you answered that fucking question,” said Satan. “You’re feeling sorry for the mortals you left behind, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I have news for you. You’re still fucking mortal!”

  David grew silent and instantly recognized his own mortality.

  “Unless, you win the bet!” Satan grinned horribly. “Now pay attention. This young girl you’ve dragged along is beautiful, I’m not a fag like the Bible thumpers say, neither me nor my future anti-Christ son will be. You are getting on my nerves and she is paying attention!”

  “Jesus Christ, you’re a bigger narcissist then me,” David said.

  “Yes, my reputation proceeds me.”

  David shook his head and shivered a moment.

  “I know how shocked you are, David. You assumed my domain would be full of fire and screaming. This is how you pictured Hell. Am I right?”

  “No,” replied.

  “Oh?” Satan asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “I used to think Hell was fire; that’s what I was taught as a young lad. Then I began to think it was simply the final destination…”

  “Of what?” Satan asked.

  “The final destination of a followed path. The path that is followed by always listening to that little voice. I don’t mean the one that tells you right from wrong, that would be your conscience. I mean the path formed by following that other voice.”

  “I see,” Satan said. By the way, I’ve been comparing your stories and taking notes. I want my story, my tale to be dedicated to Saul Alinsky.”

  “Rules for Radicals?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes, he believed we could overcome a common enemy, my adversary. Even if he didn’t take the story literally.”

  “Hell does not reside in fire,” said David slyly. Anyway, that’s still not where hell resides. I’m in Hell now and I don’t believe it. I was always afraid to be here.”

  Sarah laughed but mostly shivered.

  “The closest thing to Hell I ever saw wasn’t selling my soul to the Jinn to get what I wanted most in the world.”

  “What was it, then?” Sarah asked.

  “Ten years ago or so, I knew a student who was a promising writer. He had great talent and a wonderful sense of humor. He also loved to party and have fun. The operative word is fun and to him that typically meant plenty of drugs with a little bit of booze to wash them down.”

  Satan and Sarah were staring at him right now; they were expecting a compelling cautionary tale.

  “He drank too much one night at a bar in the middle of nowhere. He wondered out to take a piss and passed out in the snow and wasn’t found until the next day by his father.”

  Satan looked at David as if he truly understood.

  “His father called 911 and the kid was rushed to the emergency room. He was thoroughly frost bitten and in a deep coma.”

  The other two lost souls paid close attention to him. They knew the story wouldn’t have a happy ending.

  “Almost a month later, they had to remove his fingers and toes. When I heard this I became very saddened. He was full of dark magic, the magic of youth. He was under a spell. He believed the illusion that he was indestructible.”

  “So am I,” Sarah said.

  Satan laughed. “All of the youth have always been under the illusion that death does not apply to them.”

  David went on. “When he finally regained consciousness, it was hell on earth. It was a living nightmare that one cannot wake up from. They call it storming. The young man had to be tied to his bed and when he woke up again, he had no idea where he was.”

  They all felt the cold winds of Hell blow from the east part of the land of the damned.

  “This chaos was hell. He would have been a king among writers, a true literary giant. Now his father will never hold his grandchild in his arms.”

  The Devil snorted. “David, Hell is full of what ifs?”

  “Do you know this young man, Satan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he here?” David asked, trembling.

  Satan giggled fiendishly.

  Wells repeated the question. “Is he here?”

  “Come, I want to show you something,” said Satan.

  The fallen one took the professor by the hand. Wells was surprised that it was even colder than Hell itself. Sarah trailed behind them. David honestly couldn’t believe that his hand could be any colder but he was wrong. The evil one’s claw was so cold, beyond ice that
it almost burned. They walked causally through the torn landscape of Hell itself for a few minutes until David saw something that caught his eye.

  “Oh God,” he said.

  The two narcissistic writers watched in amazement. They were witnessing a sort of dark miracle. Three beautiful women with lovely black hair and big breasts, completely nude and prancing around someone frozen. They did not shiver as even the Devil himself did.

  “Who are these women dancing around?” David asked.

  Sarah walked up to the frozen soul, hoping for a closer look through the ice.

  “Well?” David asked.

  “Is that?” Sarah asked Satan.

  “Who do you think it is?” Satan replied.

  “Jesus, it looks like…. Josef Mengele.”

  “Yes.”

  David walked up next to Sarah. The three naked triplets were a big distraction but he desperately wanted to see the man behind the ice.

  “Well,” said David, “He doesn’t look like Gregory Peck.”

  “That was just a movie,” Satan said.

  “He’s ugly as sin,” said David.

  “Yes, precisely. He was such a sadistic soul that the chosen three have come to make sure his nightmares are beyond terrible. He is now trapped in his own personal Hell. The three come to make sure unusually evil people like the good doctor sow what they reap.”

  “Why don’t they shiver like us?” Sarah asked the devil.

  “They were sent by the Enemy.”

  “God?” David asked.

  “Friends, I don’t mean to sound like a whiny broken record but please stop using that name. It’s a title of honor that bastard does not deserve!”

  “They were sent by G-I mean the enemy to torment you?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes but ultimately they were sent here to punish me. It’s like I’m soft and the Enemy is strong, handing out real justice. That’s why he froze Hell over, he wanted to humiliate me and make all the fire and brimstone stories into myths.”

  Sympathy for the Devil? David had none. Still, overall he was glad that he had the opportunity to visit Hell. He always had an idea what it should look like but this was now the real deal. Besides, Hell was going to be his home.

  The snow was coming down hard now. The three sexy lost souls were beyond freezing in it. Ice was falling down from Hell’s deep red sky.

  “You know, David, I can’t read minds,” Satan said. “I can, however, read intentions. Especially when I look into the eyes, the mirror or doorway into the human soul. You’re thinking that you will ultimately end up here, win, lose or draw.”

  “Yes,” David answered.

  “Well, you are correct, sir. Whether you receive the greatest honor in history, writing my story or not, you are damned and Hell is your home.”

  There was a long pause.

  “What about me?’ Sarah asked, almost enthusiastically.

  “Yes, love, you, too.”

  “Wow!” she said.

  “Don’t worry, you are in great company. Many great artists and historical figures have found a good home here.”

  “Writers?” David asked.

  “Oh, especially them. Writers are dangerous. Anyway, I think the two of you have seen enough, at least for now. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Chapter 666

  Actress Jessica Harper and author Jonathan Maberry had sold their souls for fame and fortune. They probably could have achieved great success on talent alone but it just wasn’t in the cards.

  And it wasn’t as if they were looking for a short cut, they were both people of moral integrity. The simple fact was that if you were involved in show businesses, sooner or later, you hit a wall. That wall was Satan himself. Jessica Harper was an actress of the highest caliber with her beautiful black hair and stunning good looks. Jonathan made Bucks County Pennsylvania proud and was an inspiration to writers in his area and around the world. He was like a big teddy bear with a beard and the heart the size of a mountain. You simply could not be successful in show business without Satan, who was pleased to meet you and hoped you could guess his name. This was why so many great books never get published and so many great films would never be made. Jessica and Jonathan were a different breed. Satan never trusted these two because he always knew they had enough talent to make it on their own without him.

  “Thanks for coming to meet me today,” Satan said.

  “You’re welcome,” said the lovely Jessica.

  “It’s the least I could do after all of those Stoker awards I won,” Jonathan said.

  “You know, I’m glad you guys favor the artistic side of things rather than just concentrating on making money,” Satan said.

  “Excuse me, I know you’re the lord of darkness and all but I think of myself as a business man and an artist,” Jonathan said.

  A devil-may-care attitude was not present at this moment. Satan grimaced.

  They were meeting at the office of a certain professor who felt he was out of line to show up in public like this.

  David walked up to his own academic office and eaves dropped for a few moments.

  Jesus, David thought, Jonathan and Jessica sitting in his office and talking to the devil himself. This was no ordinary Monday morning.

  He opened the door. “Sorry,” David said, “I have to meet you guys. I’m a big fan.” David sat down next to Jessica and smiled.

  “I’m happily married and I know all about your reputation,” said Jessica Harper.

  “Well,” he said, kissing her hand, “It’s an honor.”

  “I enjoyed your book about the wishes gone wrong,” Jonathan said.

  “Thanks, I was happy to have your endorsement. I’m happy to finally meet you in person.”

  “You’re welcome,” said the award-winning author.

  “You know, one of the benefits of being a bestselling writer is getting the opportunity to meet folks like you and Jessica.”

  “Are we done with the love fest?” asked Satan, unable to hide his impatience and boredom.

  “I hope not. I’m enjoying it,” said Jessica.

  “Me, too,” Jonathan said.

  “Please don’t let me stop whatever deal or contract you are discussing with these fine people,” David said. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

  “If there is one thing even harder to ignore than the elephant in the room, it’s the narcissist in the room,” Satan said.

  “Please don’t embarrass me in front of my fellow celebrities,” David said.

  “My God, you interrupt me during a private contractual talk and now you want to introduce yourself because you think you are a big deal.”

  “These two people always had the right amount of talent to make it on their own. They never needed you. You’re a goddamn liar.”

  Satan did not appear to be offended.

  “Yes, rumor has it I’m the father of all lies.”

  “Let me spread another rumor. Perhaps you’re just an asshole.”

  Satan ground his teeth in fury. “You better what that shit,” he said.

  “We all have one thing in common. We want to matter, to make our mark on this life, on this earth,” David said.

  “Man’s reach exceeds his grasp,” Satan said darkly.

  “That’s God’s truth,” David said. “No offense…”

  “None taken asshole.”

  “Let me pass a compliment or two to these fine people, please.” David felt like a fan at some dorky horror convention.

  “Very well, get it over with,” Satan answered.

  “Jessica, Suspiria is one of my favorite films. It’s terrifying and it inspired my greatest student Christopher’s first novel.”

  “Dark Fiction,” Jessica said.

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s not forget about old Joe,” Jonathan said with a grin.

  “Joe Ledger,” said David.

  “Yes.” The author nodded.

  “He is a hero for our times,” David said.

  �
��Yes, he is. A real people’s hero,” Jonathan Maberry said.

  “Thanks for all you do, Jonathan.”

  “David, you’re welcome.”

  “Jessica, you put many a spell on me,” David added. “I love your movies; you make good choices.” “They’re not all money making hits,” said the actress.

  “They’re movies that become respected for their quality as time goes by.”

  “You know, Dr. Wells, perhaps we could collaborate on a book sometime,” said Jonathan.

  “That would be an honor, sir.” David chuckled at the proposition.

  “Do zombies make wishes?” Jonathan asked jokingly.

  “Well, we could have zombies versus the Jinn.”

  “All we need to do is make something happen. That’s all I did. I wrote and wrote and ended up with an award-winning series of books.”

  “You did great, Jonathan.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And you did it without the benefit of mind altering substances. You have a great reputation as a man who drinks very rarely.”

  “Well, you know what I drink when I write.”

  “Coffee,” said David.

  “Yes and a hell of a lot of it,” Jonathan answered.

  Satan rolled his eyes at the two writers. He knew that writers were dangerous and had a seductive power that was even stronger than his own. And he was the Prince of Darkness for God’s sake. And once the fuckers got to talking, you couldn’t shut them up.

  “You should know that I’ve always believed that people, artists could only showcase their talent when their minds were altered with chemical dependency,” Satan said.

  “I’ve never felt that way,” said Jonathan. “It leads to dying at forty like Poe.”

  Satan scoffed. “Poe’s stories took him out the grave and gave his presence a life of its own.”

  Satan knew there was an easy way out. Alcoholism and drugs provided something very special to a writer. They opened up the doors of perception.

  “All I have to do is look into your eyes, David,” Jonathan said. “The window of the soul, you know.”

  “What are you trying to say, Jonathan?”

  “I’m saying that you, my friend, are a dark dreamer.”

  “Well, I have always thought of myself that way, yes.”