A Short Stay in Hell

by Steven L. Peck

  1

  THE BEGINNING

  UPON LEAVING THE DEMON, I was disoriented and could only tell I was in an immense, spacious building. Strangely, to my surprise and despite my terror, confusion, and fear, I felt better than I had for years. Before my death I had suffered terribly, but I noticed quickly I was now in perfect health. I stared at my hands. My wedding ring was gone. The scars and age spots had disappeared, leaving only the scattered freckles from my sunny youth. I touched my front teeth, surprised that those lost so long ago in a head-on collision with a drunk driver had been replaced and the once jagged row of my staggering bottom teeth was straight. I suppose I was also surprised I had a body at all. As a Mormon I believed I would eventually get a perfect body after the resurrection, but immediately after death I was supposed to go to a spirit world. It was clear this was not what had happened.

  Feeling lost and confused, I was overwhelmed with a desire to pray, as I had so often during my mortal earth life. While alive, I often knelt in prayer and asked for blessings and sought direction from the Lord. As then, I dropped to my knees and began to pray, but I was overwhelmed with doubt and fear. Could I pray in Hell? Could I pray my way out of Hell? Who was I praying to now? The God I believed in was a kind, wise Heavenly Father who loved me and sent His son to redeem me. He had an eternal plan, which would end in my deification if I lived according to the commandments and obtained the proper ordinances here in this life. I was supposed to go to a spirit world to share the gospel with other dead spirits until the resurrection. I would then go to the Celestial Kingdom and live with my wife forever – becoming a God like my Heavenly Father and continuing His work of redeeming the uncreated intelligences that filled the universe. This Hell did not fit anywhere in my belief system.

  I began to cry. I bawled like a baby – tears falling onto the white smock. I prayed, but all the while I was shrouded in blind confusion. I knew nothing about Zoroastrianism. I missed my wife and children. I missed the familiar trappings of my home, my work, and my routines. Questions plagued me. Was I supposed to pray? The demon said God was called Ahura Mazda. Was he kind and loving? What was his nature? Was it even a he, like the God I’d worshiped all my life as a Mormon? Could it be a Goddess? I had no way to know. How do you pray if you don’t know what God is like? Maybe God was a demon – that would explain much of the misery of earth life. Would prayer do any good? I could not tell.

  Suddenly, no more than a few minutes after I had arrived, or so it felt to me, the lights went out, and in the dark I wept until I slept.

  At six a.m. – and I knew it was six o’clock because there was a large (almost two meters in diameter) round clock near me on the wall, like a giant version of the kind that hung above my elementary school teacher’s desk, and underneath it was a digital readout that said, “Year 0000000, Day 2” – the lights came on as quickly as they had gone out the night before. I surveyed my surroundings carefully for the first time. I was in a long corridor about twelve feet wide. Running along one side of the hall was a thick metal pipe–like railing about four feet high, intended, no doubt, to keep me from falling into a fearsome chasm. The railing was painted a soft brownish red and fashioned with rounded corners and turns like the low fences that front the wire cages at the zoo. It extended down the endless hall until it disappeared in a vanishing point, almost as if I were looking into parallel facing mirrors that give the illusion they go on and on forever. Looking across the railing to the other side of the chasm, which seemed as bottomless as the corridor seemed long, I could see I was on an upper floor of a vast building. The floors on the other side of the chasm looked like a series of matching floors to the one on which I stood. The floors across the hundred-foot span extended upward and downward as far as the eye could see. On every floor were rows upon rows of books. Millions of them (you will see soon what a terrible underestimate this is). It struck me as nothing so much as a prison block with books arranged on shelves on each floor rather than jail cells.

  The floor was carpeted with the drab, gray, highly functional carpet that seems ubiquitous in public buildings. People were scattered everywhere on both sides of the abyss, some standing, staring blankly, others walking in a daze, some weeping uncontrollably, some kneeling in desperate prayer as I had done last night. Everyone looked as stunned and frightened as I felt. No one looked interested in talking, and everyone seemed as preoccupied as I was with trying to understand this strange afterlife into which we had unexpectedly been tossed.

  I turned back to investigate my surroundings. In the vicinity of where I slept, I found a break in the shelves of books. Looking over the rail to the other side, where I had a panoramic view of this strange building, I could see that such breaks in the rows of books occurred about every three hundred yards or so on each floor. The breaks were identical: on each one there was a round clock with large black hands and a digital date readout in the center of the clock-face. In front of every clock in the hallway was a small kiosk near the railing. Next to the clock was a sign with a set of rules and advice. There was also an open entrance into a small room. I peered into the closest and found it led to a small chamber furnished with seven neatly made beds, the frame being constructed of the same metal that fashioned the railing. On each bed was a mattress, fitted sheets, pillow, a blanket, and a smock identical to the one I was wearing. There was also a drinking fountain near the entrance. Attached to the little bedroom was a spacious bathroom with a shower, sink, and a generous full-length mirror on the wall opposite the sink. There were no necessities like toothbrushes or razors of any kind; however, there was toilet paper, tissue, and soap in a pump bottle. Somehow I had always assumed going to the bathroom was something of such an earthly nature that it would be unnecessary in the afterlife. There were to be many surprises.

  I looked in the mirror and discovered not the gaunt, forty-five-year-old dying-of-cancer me that stared back from the glass the last time I looked at my reflection, but a fit version of my twenty-five-year-old self. My body was sleek and well muscled, with my hair neatly cut and parted down the middle as I’d always worn it. My teeth were white and straighter than I’d imagined was possible. For a brief second I had a light-hearted feeling of satisfaction. I had been resurrected, as I’d always believed in my religion. I flexed my muscles and stood admiring my flawless grin, greatly pleased by how healthy I felt. Thinking that my resurrected body would be indestructible, as my Mormon beliefs held, I tried to scratch myself. I was disappointed that without difficulty I drew blood. And it hurt. This was not the type of afterlife I had always envisioned. Not by a long shot.

  A man came into the bathroom and saw me preening before my newly fit reflection. He turned around with a quick “Sorry!” and left me alone to my marveling.

  I went back to the corridor to look at the sign placed next to the clock. The letters were large and black, printed on a reflective background – like the surface of a speed-limit sign. This is what it said:

  Welcome to Hell. This Hell is based upon a short story by Jorge Luis Borges from your world called “The Library of Babel.” Here you will find all the books that can possibly be written. When you are ready to leave, find the book describing your earthly life story (without errors, e.g., in spelling, grammar, etc.) and submit the story through the slot below this sign. If the story is accepted, you will be admitted into a glorious heaven filled with wonders and joys beyond your imagination. During your stay you may be interested in reading a book on Zoroastrianism. By special arrangement, there is one on every floor. The other books are randomized. The food kiosk will provide whatever you would like to eat. Just ask for it. We would ask that you please follow a few simple rules during your stay in Hell:

  1. Please be kind. Treat others as you would like to be treated. Failure to do this will bring unhappiness and misery to you and your fellow citizens.

  2. Do not get discouraged. Remember nothing lasts forever. Someday this will be a distant memory.

  3. Please leave towels on the fl
oor if you wish them to be cleaned. Hang up those you wish to use again.

  4. Books not in your possession will be returned to their original place on the stacks every night. A book will be considered in your possession if you are touching it.

  5. If you are killed you will be restored to life on the following day. Please try to avoid death as much as possible.

  6. All contracts, bonds, commitments, covenants, pledges, and promises entered into prior to your entering Hell are null and void. This includes, but is not limited to: debt, marriage, natural births and adoptions, requirements of citizenship, military obligations, student loans, etc.

  7. Remember you are never really alone. Although it may feel like it for very long stretches of time.

  8. Please don’t write on, mark, or mar library materials. Although repairs are made nightly, we would like to keep repairs to a minimum.

  9. Lastly, you are here to learn something. Don’t try to figure out what it is. This can be frustrating and unproductive.

  We hope you enjoy your stay here. We have done all we can to make your stay a pleasant and instructive one.

  I stared at the rules a long time. Especially number six. As a Mormon, I had always believed I was married for eternity, but now my wife was gone? Was she here somewhere? Were my children missing me? Was everyone here who had ever lived? No. I remembered the demon tapping away on his handheld device, seemingly to send people to a variety of Hells.

  Still, all I had believed in during my life appeared to be mistaken. Gone just like that. All my hopes. All my prayers. It was all wrong. I remembered what little I had read about Zoroastrianism: Iranian, started in approximately 600 BC. I found I could recall every detail of my life; every event ever experienced I could remember with perfect clarity. I could remember every word on every page I’d ever read. Every conversation. Every tax form I’d ever filled out. I could reconstruct every second of every day I’d been alive from the moment of my birth until the day I finally shut my eyes at the end.

  This clarity of memory surprised me the first time I tried reviewing the past, but it was all there. (This was to be the greatest curse of Hell. Sometimes I would replay my entire life again and again for thousands of years. Remembering all the things I could have done differently, all the things … no. I won’t go there now. I must tell this story.)

  The first few days were ones of discovery. Everyone just sort of nodded to one another; I think we were all disoriented and confused. It was not until about two p.m. on the second day that I noticed I felt hungry. I had seen someone using the food kiosk earlier. The man had just walked up and said, “Roast beef sandwich,” and one appeared on the tray before him. I decided to be more specific. “A roast beef sandwich, with provolone cheese, Dijon mustard, lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise on rye bread.” Much to my surprise, exactly what I asked for appeared. “Could I get a diet Coke, too?” It appeared likewise and looked and tasted like a diet Coke. “And how about a vanilla shake?” As an afterthought I added, “Like the kind at the Purple Aardvark on Second South in Mountain Grove, Utah.” It came. Just like I remembered it. The taste, texture, and presentation – including being served upside down in a bowl – it was all the same. There were no tables, so I sat on the floor under the railing, dangling my feet over the edge and staring at the rows and rows of floors on the other side of the abyss. Across the chasm, people were also reading the rules, wandering around, and, just as we were, starting small conversations. Some were using the kiosk and eating.

  “Mind if I join you?” The speaker was a young man – but then so was I. That thought cheered me. He was wearing the same cotton robe we all wore, thick with wide sleeves that fell to about the forearm, with a hole cut out at the top wide enough to expose the bottom of our necks. It hung loosely and modestly to about mid-calf. Our feet were bare. The temperature seemed pleasant – not too cold or too hot.

  I motioned to the floor and he plopped down beside me. We dangled our legs over the edge, our arms resting on the railing. He was eating an apple and had a can of V8 Juice.

  “Strange Hell,” he said, motioning to the people on the other side of the chasm.

  “Not what I expected,” I agreed.

  “Not Zoroastrian either then?”

  “Mormon.”

  “Ah. I was agnostic, so of course I wasn’t thinking of this as the final ending,” he said, waving his arm around randomly. “You from Utah?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “I’m from Santa Rosa, California.”

  “Never been there.”

  We sat silently for a few minutes, eating our lunches thoughtfully. I think at the time we were still taking it all in. He drained his can and tossed it down into the bottomless space separating us from the floors on the other side. We both watched it fall until it grew so small it disappeared. We both held our breath waiting for some sound of it hitting the bottom. It never came.

  “Deep hole,” he said conversationally.

  “I wonder how far down to the bottom?” I said, inclining my head downward.

  He shrugged, shaking his.

  “I can’t imagine. What did you think of the rules?” he asked, taking another bite of his apple.

  “Not very informative. Seemed simple enough. I wonder what happens if you don’t follow them? I mean it says if we aren’t kind to each other we’ll have a miserable time of it. Is that because we’re punished in some way?”

  The man looked at me, somewhat frightened. He finally asked if I’d seen the lake of fire and brimstone. I told him what our demon had said about them all being actors.

  “What a strange place. Well, I can tell you one thing. I’m getting out of here as soon as possible. I’m going to find my book and get it in that slot in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” he said determinedly. “I’m not going to stay in this place for twenty years before starting and then spend another twenty looking for it.”

  I nodded and said I would be doing the same. Spending twenty years looking for a book did not sound pleasant. What if it stretched to fifty or even a hundred years? I wondered. Looking around at the size of this library it would not be hard to imagine that there were more than a million books lining the shelves that stretched up, down, and side to side as far as the eye could see.

  We talked most of the afternoon. I told him about my death. He told me about his. He died of a heart attack at age ninety-three in his sleep. It sounded like a pleasant way to die.

  “Of course, I was a little surprised to find myself sitting in a room with a demon and watching a scene from Dante’s Inferno. I’m still a little surprised to find myself here. But it’s all so real. There’s a sense of actuality that I just can’t dismiss. I’m fairly pleased to find myself so young and strong again. If only Sally could see me now. Wouldn’t she get a kick out of this? My, what a strange universe we live in.”

  About this time we noticed a young lady standing by the kiosk next to us who seemed to be waiting for a chance to ask us something.

  “Hello,” my companion said simply. She looked sad and lost. And seemed near enough to tears not to be able to hold them back much longer.

  “Are we in Hell?” She shuddered.

  We both stood up awkwardly. I looked at my companion and he looked at me. He spoke first.

  “We think so.”

  With that, she let go and sobbed bitterly into her hands. I looked at my companion, and tears were running down his face. It took me a minute to realize I was crying too. She looked up and soon we found ourselves in a group hug bawling furiously.

  We looked at one another, all strangers, all lost and alone, and the absurdity of our situation struck us. We all suddenly burst into an awkward laughter that just as quickly melted into sobs again.

  It took some time, but we eventually gathered a measure of composure. I ran into the nearby bathroom and grabbed some toilet paper and passed it around to our small troop. We introduced ourselves. I learned my companion’s name was Elliott Callington. The woman was named L
arisa Sims. She had died of breast cancer at age fifty-four. It seemed odd, standing there in Hell, but understanding how we each had died seemed the most important thing about us. I see now, however, that it was only because it was the freshest thing on our minds – and something we had worried about all our lives in one way or another. Now it was over. We were dead. And now we were in Hell.

  We three talked until the lights went out again. The only light visible was a faint greenish glow coming out of the room with the beds. The source of the light turned out to be a dimly lit exit sign facing into the room. Inside the room was dark, but each of us felt or maneuvered our way to one of the beds. Last time I’d looked at the clock it was about 9:45, so I supposed it was about 10:00 when the lights went out. I lay there a while, but could not sleep. How strange it all was. I decided to try to see if I could get a glass of warm milk to help me sleep. I felt my way to the kiosk and said, “Warm milk, please,” but nothing happened. I tried a couple of times, but apparently the machines only worked when the lights were on.

  As I made my way back to the bed, Larisa asked if I had tried the kiosk just now. I replied in the affirmative, explained my failure to get some milk, and then climbed into bed. Other than the breathing of my companions, I was stunned by the stillness. I’d spent the last month in a hospital and was used to commotion, ticks, hums, beeps, and the hush-swish of air-conditioning systems going on and off, nurses coming in and out at all times of night. Here in Hell it was absolutely still. Not even the whisper of any air movement. The stillness of the grave? I shuddered and curled up into my blanket. The mattress was firm and comfortable, and I soon drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.