Hallowed Horror

by Mark Tufo

  The girl wore a white cotton nightgown. The neckline reached to her chin and was lined with frills, held together with a little pink bow. Perhaps it was young for her age, but it suited her; made her look ‘sweet’. Her thick brown hair was tied in a ponytail. The tear-filled eyes were large and hazel, brimming with fear and despair.

  Zakerny had seen faces like hers before, frightened and so very vulnerable—like a baby deer hit by a car waiting to die. The children he had tormented in his life had looked the same, deliciously fragile. This little girl stirred a dark longing, and made him want to pull out a knife so he could cut into her young flesh. A smile blossomed on his face.

  The father kicked off his underwear, and pulled his arm back to let the strap of the belt collide with the girl. She twitched and yelped each time the leather connected with her young body with a sharp thwack. Zakerny counted seven swipes, and then the man discarded his weapon. The belt fell to the ground with a dull thud, and Zakerny watched as the large figure mounted the girl. The springs of the pretty pink bed groaned under his weight. She didn’t fight him. The abuse must be something the child endured for many years. She knows how to block it out. If I were to torment her I would introduce her to new pain and humiliation, to keep the anguish fresh. This child is already broken, he thought when he looked at her faraway gaze.

  Zakerny usually killed his victims when they started to look like empty dolls during torture. The sight of the man and the child bored him, and only when the man was done did Zakerny look at the scene with renewed interest. The man sat up, and grabbed the leather belt from where he’d dropped it next to the bed. He towered over the curled up figure on the bed and lashed out once more, but this time he put more strength behind each blow, and he hit her across her face and naked thighs.

  “Now look what you made me do, you little whore. Look what you made me do. You disgust me, you filthy thing. The good Lord will punish you for your sins.” Spittle flew from the man’s lips, and he put his back into the beating. The girl on the bed only protected her face. Zakerny—the silent voyeur—saw the belt leave bloody cuts on her body, and her nightgown tore under the force. The intensity of the lashes faded and the man bent over forward, leaned his hands on his knees and panted. He glared at the blood covered girl, and inched closer to the bed. One knee pushed down on the mattress and wrapped the belt around her neck. His muscles flexed as he tightened the strap.

  “That’s for killing me,” he hissed, his eyes mad and round. The girl’s face turned a purplish blue that was familiar to Zakerny, as her delicate hands clutched the belt, trying to release its grip from her neck. She gagged, her tongue protruding from her bluish lips like a fat leech. Her legs flailed around as they tried to find grip on the slippery covers, and she struggled until the life faded from her eyes. Her hands fell to the side of her body, and her legs twitched once more before they relaxed in a crooked stance. The large man just sat and stared at her body, and he hung his heavyset shoulders and began to cry. Then the scene dissolved and the girl sat in the corner of her bed again, sobbing softly.

  Zakerny had seen enough, and walked out. Once again he had been the observer rather than the participant, and he felt the same emptiness as he had when he walked away from Tantalus.

  Amateurs. Are these the tormenting skills of Hell? He shook his head, and closed the door behind him. His eyes scanned the labyrinth, and he spotted the next door he wanted to open, but before he reached it he heard Lucifer’s voice.

  “You have met the girl.”

  The Lord of Hell leaned against the door he had just closed, a slight smile on his beautiful lips. “She’s rather special to me. How did you like her punishment?”

  “Her punishment lacked imagination,” Zakerny answered, and he narrowed his eyes. “I did not realize you punished children in hell?” A smirk twisted the killer’s thin lips, and he shot the Lightbringer a brazen look.

  “You think this child is too young for Hell?” Lucifer raised an eyebrow.

  “Not at all. I find it refreshing that we… I mean you… torture souls that are so young and innocent. But why would a child deserve a spot in Hell? Was she a wicked girl?”

  “No, this little girl isn’t wicked. Tragic perhaps, but not Wicked.” Lucifer cocked his head, furrowing his brow. “We punish everyone who wishes to be punished.” He sighed, and there was an expression on his face that resembled sadness.

  “Wishes to be punished?” Zakerny parroted the words. “I don’t understand.”

  “Punishment is the road to redemption.”

  “Souls come here out of their own free will?” The thought unsettled the human.

  “Quite.” Lucifer nodded. “Everyone in Hell is here at their own request. They all believe they should be punished, and we comply. I don’t select the punishments. They pick their own.”

  “What?” Zakerny’s eyes widened with surprise.

  “That girl in there is a great example.” Lucifer leaned forward. “You remember when you were judged, before you came to hell?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, everyone is judged, even innocent souls. Humans create their own sins, and when they are confronted with those sins, they make a choice.”

  “What sort of choice?”

  “They choose whether or not they need to repent for their sins. They choose to go to heaven or to hell. Well, up to a point that is. Sometimes we make the choice for them, not every soul can simply enter into heaven.”

  “That girl in there, she chose to come here?”

  “Yes, that girl desires to live through her own nightmares. She believes she has something to atone for, and thus she relives the same terrifying moment of her life.”

  “Why would a little girl chose a punishment that’s so harsh?”

  “Because humans often choose what they know. The girl was shaped by the events in her life, and she took her fears, sorrows, but also her lessons with her in death.”

  “All humans make this choice?”

  “Their own punishment? Yes, they all do, if they go to Hell. Heaven works differently.”

  “I mean, do all humans make a choice to go to Hell.”

  “In a way, yes. Though it may not always be a conscious choice. Sometimes the choice is made by the actions in a human’s life. God granted all humans free will.”

  “I don’t remember being asked if I wanted to go to Heaven or Hell. I only remember the angel asking me what sort of punishment I wanted.” Zakerny cocked his head, and straightened his shoulders. “I answered I desired no punishment.”

  Lucifer took a deep breath and his blue eyes pierced through Zakerny like daggers made of ice, then the lord of Hell threw back his head and laughed.

  “I believe you made your choice at a young age.”

  Zakerny nodded. He chose Hell many years ago, when he killed his first victim. His taste for blood was never accidental or due to an abusive childhood. Zakerny knew he was meant for evil from the moment he was old enough to form thoughts.

  Lucifer walked to the next door and opened it. Zakerny peered in, but he did not enter.

  “All the souls you see here chose their own fate.” Inside he saw a man lying naked on a silver tray in the middle of a dining table, a shining red apple in his mouth. Around him sat eight diners—four men and four women—all dressed in expensive outfits that probably dated from the 1940s. One of the guests held up a large carving knife, and he showed it to the man who sat at the head of the table.

  “Tyrone, old boy, would you do us the honors?” He handed the knife over with a dramatic gesture. “Carve me a fine piece of thigh.” Tyrone and the other men laughed, while the ladies around the table tittered, but the naked man on the silver tray screamed behind his apple. Tyrone brought the knife to his victim’s chest. The metal sliced through skin and blood welled up from the cut, Zakerny leaned forward to get a better look, but Lucifer closed the door.

  “They all carry their burdens here.” Lucifer walked to the next door and opened it, which gav
e Zakerny a flash of a woman, her face torn to ribbons, who sat sobbing in front of a mirror. “They come to me to punish them, and you’ll be surprised what human minds come up with. They are their own worst enemies. My kind could never be so… creative.” The door closed, and Lucifer looked at Zakerny with those eyes of sky blue. “Sadly, the ones who are good in nature, but were forced to act in their own preconception of sin, often find it most difficult to forgive themselves, and they stay here longer than those who acted out of selfishness. Not in all cases, but in some.”

  “What do you mean by ‘stay here the longest?’” Zakerny rubbed his arms with his hands, the conversation left him unsettled, something in the way Lucifer spoke challenged the killer’s belief in Hell.

  “When souls have repented, they move on,” Lucifer answered plainly.

  “Move on? Where to?”

  “It depends on the soul. Some go to heaven, some reincarnate, some become spirits... some just die...” The words hovered in the air.

  “Souls can die?”

  “Yes,” Lucifer admitted. “When they don’t move on to either heaven or a new life, and they leave hell, they fade. Not instantly. They must lose all connection to the living, that’s when they truly stop existing.”

  Zakerny wrapped his arms around his chest, and squinted his pale grey eyes. His skin was cold, which surprised him—he was, after all, in Hell. “What happens if the soul doesn’t lose the connection with the living?”

  “Dead who have a tie to the human world become spirits, but these spirits rarely last beyond one or two generations. Humans call them ghosts. It’s usually love that binds them to that world, or some sort of unsettled business with loved ones. Some of these entities tend to exist longer than normal, unattached souls, because they find a way to reach out to the living and create new memories, new bonds. But that’s a rare talent and it takes a special soul; most humans don’t even see ghosts.” Lucifer sounded amused, but Zakerny heard a sting in his voice that he couldn’t quite place.

  It took him a moment to process all this information. On the one hand it made perfect sense, yet at the same time this image of Hell was so different from everything Zakerny had ever believed.

  “So the whole point of Hell is to find redemption through torture?”

  “You have a way to make this complicated process sound very simple, my dear Adolf.” Lucifer’s tone was sickly sweet and low, and his eyes sparkled with a dark sarcasm.

  “I do not wish my soul to be cleansed, and you know this. And if you don’t know this, you should. I’m here because of my talent, not because of my sins.” Zakerny bristled, his hands moving with short, irritated gestures as he spoke. “I don’t see the point of torturing me as you do the other souls. Surely I’m of better use? I can be of aid to you. I’m far more valuable than any of the souls here.” He examined the lord of Hell, a small smile playing on his lips. “I doubt there is a room like this for me here.”

  “You’re right.” Lucifer brushed the blond curls from his forehead, and looked down the long path ahead of them. “There is no room for you here in the labyrinth.”

  A mixture of disappointment and pleasure washed over Zakerny, a ripple of goose bumps came over his skin. He almost wanted to see if Hell could find something that would truly torment him, yet he knew that no demon would be up for the challenge.

  Lucifer chuckled, a low and pleasant sound. “I have a special room for you at my mansion.” He shot Zakerny a winning smile, and the killer’s cold heart fluttered with a tingle of excitement. “You didn’t come here to seek to redemption for your soul. That’s not your purpose.”

  “You’re correct. I’ve no need for redemption, I stand by the decisions I made in life. I dedicated my existence to this afterlife and to Hell. It is only suitable that I am to be rewarded for the life I led.”

  “That’s what I thought. There is no torture for you.” He winked at Zakerny, who nodded, his chest puffed out. “Torture is just an instrument. It cleanses the human and gives him a better understanding of himself. Pain is very spiritual. Only that’s not necessary in your case, is it? You are very aware of who you are. You always have been and you always will be. Your evil is in your nature, not in your nurture. In a different environment, you would have made the exact same choices. You came to Hell because you wanted to be here. You are not like the others who seek forgiveness through their anguish.”

  “These souls, do they seek your forgiveness?”

  “No.”

  “God’s?”

  “No.” Lucifer shook his head irritably. “They seek their own forgiveness. It is not my habit to trap souls, though it happens on occasion, and it is not my place to forgive. If I was forgiving, all Hell would break loose, so to speak.” The Lord of Lies chuckled at his own joke.

  “What will be my fate here in Hell?” Zakerny didn’t want to speak of the fate of others anymore; he wanted to know his own.

  “I’m glad you ask.” Lucifer clicked his fingers. The sound rang through the labyrinth.

  Zakerny flinched, his eyes only closed for a fraction of a second, but when he opened them his surroundings had changed. They stood in the middle of a stone corridor. The walls around were made of rough grayish brown bricks, the floor of large grey stones, and the whole area resembled a dungeon from an old castle. A pungent smell of wet wood and rotting mortar lay thick in the air. There were rows of doors again, but they were different from the doors in the Labyrinth. These were made of coarse oak, with little barred windows centered near the top, and they had no handles. Lucifer waved his hand and opened one of the doors.

  “This is where you belong.” He gestured for Zakerny to step inside, and the killer obeyed with a hint of hesitation.

  The inside of the room was as dark as the rooms in the labyrinth, and did not quite meet up with Zakerny’s expectations. All he could see was part of the stone floor, the rest was cast in shadow.

  “I see you don’t afford your minions the same luxuries as you do yourself.” Zakerny’s voice was cold and he looked at Lucifer, who had a curious smile on his face. “This place looks more like a prison than a home. Or am I supposed to torment someone here?” The man stared at the darkness, and waited for something to materialize—perhaps Lucifer lied, and I’m scheduled for torment after all? Nothing happened. Doubt gnawed at the killer’s consciousness.

  “There is nothing here, what is this place?” The silhouette of Lucifer stood in the door. He looked bigger now, and broader, his wings were almost visible. His posture appeared more threatening, and an emotion crawled into Zakerny’s mind that he never felt before. Fear.

  “This place is called the rim of the Oubliette.”

  “Wait...” Zakerny fought a sense of panic that threatened to master him. “I know what an oubliette is. That’s the place where they used to put people to forget them.”

  “That is correct.” A hint of smug pleasure was apparent in Lucifer’s tone. “You just don’t seem to understand do you? Hell is for redemption. All you bring to me is your misplaced pride. As Zepar said ‘you are a filthy soul’. Do you really think I would deem you worthy to be one of my children? You may know all about human nature, about tormenting your fellow men, but you know nothing of what we do here. We—the demons and I—love our souls. We give them the pain they want, that they crave, but we care very deeply for them. That’s what it takes to be a tormentor in Hell. You don’t bring love, you don’t understand what my kingdom is about; all you can do is despise. And we in turn despise you.”

  “But this is Hell.” Tears ran down Zakerny’s cheeks, tears that would not come for death, for his victims or even for his judged soul, but they flowed freely now.

  “You don’t belong here, Mister Zakerny, unless of course you are willing to change your mind and repent. And you certainly don’t belong in Heaven. You are a true monster, and someone like you should not be released on earth again either, so reincarnation is not an option.”

  “I will certainly not repent. There
is nothing I feel penance for.”

  “Then this is the place where you belong, neither in Heaven nor in Hell.”

  “I don’t understand.” Zakerny sobbed and sank to his knees. “Everything I did, I did to serve evil. Hell is the ultimate place of evil. Why do you tell me I don’t belong? I’ve lived my whole life in anticipation of this, to be a tormentor of souls. I deserve to be eternal.”

  “You deserve no such thing,” Lucifer sneered. “The only option I have to offer you is the death of your soul. That is why I brought you here, to watch you fade into nothing.”

  “But… I have a connection to the human world. You spoke of this. Humanity will never forget me.” Zakerny sat up, his voice high with hysterics. “Not after all the victims I killed, not after the children I butchered. Works of art, each and every one. I left their mutilated corpses for their parents to find. I traumatized whole families. I broke spirits in ways your demons could only dream of. The people close their eyes and think of me. I am what they fear in the dark, I’m the reason they look under their beds. My legend is greater than yours, Lightbringer.” Spittle flew from his mouth; snot and tears mingled on his clammy upper lip. “I will become a spirit, like you said, and I will haunt people. I will walk the earth once more, and damage those precious humans of yours.”

  In his desperation Zakerny felt another surge of pride. Not even Lucifer could bring him down. He, Zakerny, was too powerful to fade away.

  To his dismay the Lord of Hell laughed. The sound froze Zakerny’s blood.

  “You would think that, wouldn’t you? The problem is, Adolf, that you created too much of a persona. You lost your true self, and the people around you who loved you. You have no tie other than a name and a reputation, but that’s not you. No one knows you, Adolf, they only know your myth; and the legend you’ve created has no real link to your actual soul. Soon this legend will belong to the people. You won’t be Adolf Zakerny, you’ll be—what did humans call you again? The Baby Butcher. Much like Jack the Ripper, or his ilk, you will be a legend, a story, and nothing more. You never let anyone come really close, thus it’s impossible for you to become a spirit. Humanity will remember the Baby Butcher, the false idol, yet they will barely be able to recollect your real name. No one will tell their children about Adolf Zakerny, they will whisper about the myth.”