A Message from Hell

Reads: 33  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

A man's experience in hell, and the reason why he was transported there.


If you are reading this, then I have found a way out of hell, my goal now is to tell you why even the mention of Hell… can invoke fear. 


Have you ever heard the saying “as you sow so you shall reap”? The saying means however you treat others will affect the treatment you receive. If you haven't already figured it out, to put it simply, I died and was… summoned?… rebirthed?… There is no clear way to describe what happened to me so I guess I will start from the beginning. I was born to a middle-class family with a dog and little sister, let's call my sister Ella and my dog Blue. The school I attended was bland and I didn’t have too many friends, though I preferred it that way. The one thing that set me apart is that when I was alive... I loved to watch people suffer…


“BOO!” Ella screamed, nearly giving me a heart attack. I turned around to see her cracking a grin. “Do you seriously have to do this every year?” I demanded with a scowl. Ella giggled as she sprinted back to her 10th birthday party nearly tripping on the presents scattered on the floor. I understand her excitement this year because she was promised a pet, but she does this every year and I always forget until it's too late. I wiped the sweat from my eyebrow and walked back out into the summer heat. 


“Hot one isn’t it?” yelled my senile neighbor from over the fence. I looked over watching him hobble towards me.


“Yeah.” I sighed, trying my best to get out of another one of his exaggerated stories. “Ella needs help setting up the party.” I lied. “Which one is that?” he questioned. I swear, his memory gets worse and worse each time I see him. “Ella is my sister.” I stated, clearly not wanting this conversation to carry on. Before he could continue, I treaded to the side of the house to a spot he couldn't see me, waited for a second, and heard him struggle back into the old lawn chair he came from.


I snuck back the way I came to get the cooler and ran inside. good, I don't think he saw me. I stumbled my way through the kitchen and dining room, right as I began to curse Ella for leaving all her presents strewn across the floor, I heard a car door shut from the front yard. I thought it weird given that our parents declared they would be home at 2:00, not 1:30, so I rushed outside almost tripping on the stupid pink doll she loves. Right as I stepped outside, cooler in hand, I heard the slight growling from inside the car get louder as the automatic door slowly opened revealing an old mut. Ella, a wide smile resting on her face, shrieked with pure excitement loud enough to shatter my eardrums. However, this smile did not last long as I saw the old dog jump out of the car with the hair on its neck standing. The growling still echoed through the air. I saw my parents jump at the dog, they barely missed as it ran towards Ella. It jumped on Ella as she screamed. The face that was Plastered on her filled me with an immeasurable quantity of…..Euphoria….. An indescribable ecstasy filled my body from the soles of my feet to the tips of my fingers and ending at the top of my head. Ella thankfully survived, but my memory from that point onward is a little fuzzy. But what you should gather from the story is that the face of my sister that was now scarred for life introduced me to my passion for torture.


Throughout life, after Ella’s accident, I caught animals, such as cats, rabbits, mice, small dogs, and if I was lucky maybe a deer. I was searching for anything that would give me a reaction and satisfy my hunger. I tried anything from burning, drowning, cutting, starving, I just wanted that thrill I got from Ella’s face. For my younger years, that's all I needed but my appetite grew as I got older. The same cat and dog I would stab no longer gave me a rush. No matter what I did, the feeling was gone and as the days passed I became addicted to finding something that would relieve me. Usually, I caught one animal every two weeks, maybe a month if people became too suspicious. Luckily, we lived in a secluded town next to a larger one which allowed me to drive a little while or just catch something in the forest. Anyways, the number of animals slowly grew from 1 every around 3 weeks, to 3-4 every week. By the time I turned 19 it was 2 every day. Until one day it happened.


I was walking down the street in the large town I drove to when I saw a poster on the street lamp. It read, in a slightly weathered, bold, times new roman, “CHILD - TIMOTHY, MALE, 7 YEARS OF AGE, MISSING, CALL THIS NUMBER IF FOUND 1-204-5892-####”. The boy had blond hair with blue eyes, the picture looked like a birthday party. After reading my heart skipped a beat, images of Ella’s face flashed in my mind as I stashed the paper in my hoodie pocket. I strutted to a nearby gas station and bought a map of the area along with a sharpie. I sped home and locked myself in my room while marking the map thinking of the places a child might end up if it got lost. If he wasn't kidnaped. I almost shat myself as my mom opened the door. “SHIT!” I thought, I guess I didn't lock the door. My heart was racing, she scanned the room and placed her eyes on the map. She loves gossip, I know she knows about the kid, she even volunteers in the neighborhood association for Christ’s sake. We stood staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Before I could stammer out an explanation she broke the silence “you're looking for the child aren't you?” smiling. She was also looking for him, she elaborated. Before leaving she said “diners read, come down when you are ready” closing the door on her way out. I let out a sigh of relief and continued with my plan.


“It doesn't take too long to find a person if you're addicted,” I thought while driving down into the forest with Timothy in the back. He was licking a lollipop I gave him, kids are so gullible. He held my hand as we walked through the wood to my regular spot, a small clearing and hidden in the trees, a tiny base I constructed to continue my hobby. It is miles from any house that I could do anything to Timothy without restraints. “Want to see something cool?” I asked cheerfully. “YEAH!” Timothy exclaimed as I lifted him into my arms and started at the creaky wooden ladder up to my base. My heart beat a million miles an hour. Each step in the forest ringed in my ears. Killing a human is a lot easier than an animal but I'm nearly having a mental breakdown. Twigs cracked and leaves crunched as I stepped forward. I quickly stepped up the creaky ladder almost breaking one of the footholds with the addition of Timothy. We reached the top and Timothy was put down, watching him survey the area left me time to get out my blade. “This is cool!” he mumbled while sucking on the lollipop, referring to the pelts. I retrieved my knife where I left it, in a sheath nailed to the side of a support beam. I snuck forward as to not startle him slowly reaching for his throat in the process. Right before I grabbed him, he spun around wide-eyed with tears streaming down. I searched for the object he was sobbing about, I ran my eyes up and down the table frantically looking until I found what he was holding...laying his hands...a soft, ginger cat pelt laying in his hands, a red collar with the name “mittens” to the side...This cat belonged to Timothy... I grabbed Timothy’s neck and slammed him on the ground, the wind-breaking his lungs as it left them. I felt the base shake when I slammed him, it seemed like we were about to fall. A smile crept over my face as I slowly started to cut the skin off his arm, I watched his face warp as my knife worked its way up. The tears fell off his face like a broken faucet, the twisted and dry screams made me feel intoxicated. I grabbed a rope from the makeshift cabinet I built and tied him to the tree. Every 5-10 minutes the knife would be plunged into Timothy, from the years of torture and from that time in anatomy class when I memorized all the vital organs, I found the best way to induce the most pain without the victim losing consciousness or dying. The sun began to sink below the horizon when the screaming and tears stopped. I checked his pulse and when I felt nothing, I took off my blood-soaked clothes and changed into spares that I kept in the base. I started a fire to burn Timothy's lifeless body, then threw my blood-soaked clothes. 


Now as it turns out, my mom didn't think I was trying to help the investigation. I found out later that she saw me one day killing a mouse whilst smiling. So throughout the years, she followed me until she found my hideout. “You only see what you want to see.” Is a saying I blurted out every once and a while in hell. Sitting on death row got me thinking about how she threw me in prison, I suspect she set up a camera out in the woods. Footage of the murder and the animals’ hides would be very good evidence to lock me away…My time is almost up. When they asked me for my last meal, the only thing that appeared in my mind was the meatloaf and mashed potatoes my mom prepared before she discovered my plan. I always hated needles but when they stuck the IV in my arm to euthanize me, I felt nothing. I was not scared of the afterlife, nor the needle. Strapped down on the table the overwhelming urge to glance at the mirror swept over me....my heart stopped...my sister's tears poured down her face...For the first time in my life, I knew someone cared about me. I felt regret, I felt sorrow, I felt desolate. The feeling of water falling off my eyes, down my cheek, and settling on the table startled me. My heart felt as if it was being ripped. Images of Timothy, mittens, Ella’s face, and the tortured animals swirled around my head. I wished with all my heart I could go back and change what I did. I wish I could go back and save my sister. I wish I could return Mittens to Timothy. I wish I could give Timothy to his family...“I’m...Sorry”… words I’ve never said before. It felt like trying to turn the world's stiffest wheel. The final thing I saw was my Ella falling to her knees followed by the monitors…"BEEEEEEP”...Everything went black...


The all too familiar sticky and wet flesh capsule surrounded me. Slowly being pulled to the location I know all too well. It is difficult to feel fear in this cocoon. Lovingly wrapped like a mother’s embrace. The number is lost to me on how many times I've been pushed out. It's a violent action, being pushed out. Like vomiting after eating a piece of rotten meat. My time in this cocoon is almost up, I can see the light. A blinding light, ever-growing… flickering… spreading… 


Squirming on the floor I look up and there is no end in sight. Millions of small holes throbbing. The sight of it makes you want to gag. People fall, and before splatting on the ground the cord stops and it slowly disconnects. A cord connects you to the hole from which you separated from, a long tentacle bound to your torso. Some who fall are new, they look around in horror, some in curiosity, and some in shock. Not nearly strong enough to move myself, I twist and jerk my body. The adults gather around and collect the newcomers, depraved smiles all around as I witness the children being ripped apart. They scream and cry like newborns. They are in a hopeless situation because they are placed in infants' bodies. Despite their appearance, each one of them is an adult. They've sinned and now must pay the price. 


I look up and realize a crowd developing around me, the same wicked smile plastered on their faces. Their eyes are glazed, devoid of life, humanity is gone… These groups have a hierarchy, the leader is usually the strongest and most psychotic. I look over and see a burly man walking forward, the others coward away as not to anger him. He looked 7 feet tall with a buzzed head, his hands were the size of the members' heads and his footsteps made everyone pause. The leaders are normally just average people who made mistakes in life and became tainted by hell. This one, however, sent shivers down my spine. He looked like a couple of the other leaders I’ve seen, but all my instincts were screaming at me to run. One member didn’t move. Everyone jumped back when the leader bumped into him. The members' faces contorted in fear. It seemed like everyone’s smiles disappeared, they all forgot about me. The leader stopped, took a deep breath, then jerked his head. I know I should have squirmed out of the situation, but my eyes were fixated on the scene displayed before me. In hell, you have these creatures some call “hellspawn”, others call them “Hades dog”, I opted for “skinwalker”. These massive beasts come in different sizes and colors. Some are jet black, others are red. You can also have them as fat or bony. The bigger and heavier the skinwalker, the tougher they are to kill, and the potency of the cores increase. When you eat the core of the skinwalker, you get the ability of the one you defeated in exchange for your humanity. The leader unhinged his jaw to an impossible length revealing dozens of rows of teeth, an impossible amount given the size of his head. The teeth ran down his throat to a location unknown. A slimy tongue was draped over them, wriggling. The tongue was unnaturally long and jagged, almost as if daggers grew on it. The sight made me force down a gag. He twisted his head back at an angle that would break any normal man's neck. The member who was now on the ground trembled with terror. He looked like a child who just broke his mom's favorite vase. The nasty, distorted hand on the leader came forward and grasped the neck of the member. I regained my free will. I Somehow, on my back, shuffled backward with my elbows and managed to get on my feet. I heard the man's blood-curdling scream. I ran as fast as I could, never looking back until I found myself in purgatory forest…


People have a common misconception of what purgatory is. They think it's a place for lost souls to wander eternally until they find peace. They are wrong, it is simply a forest in hell, no wandering souls or inner peace. The forest is draped over with a light gray fog, walking into the forest will have you lost. Once you lose sight of the ashy red of hell's floor, finding an exit is nearly impossible. Everything is gray in purgatory, the trees, grass, dirt, leaves, nothing has color. Time is different in the forest. You can be walking for hours and stumble into hell with only seconds passed. Some unlucky souls accidentally walk into the forest for seconds, and when they discover hell again, decades have gone by. The forest’s location is always changing, it's never in the same place twice so it's almost impossible to find. One thing that makes purgatory forest wanted by the members of the nether, is the buildings. Sometimes in purgatory, you will find yourself stumbling upon buildings that make no sense. Structures that seem normal on the surface, but under closer inspection are placed incorrectly. Imagine walking through the woods on a nice day. Birds are chirping and the sun is shining down on you. You make your way down into the forest, not following a trail so your journey could be dangerous. In a couple of hours of traversing through boulders, waterfalls, and the occasional animal, you want to rest. You make your way through a clearing in the forest and see a nice fallen tree to lay on. And it's in a perfect location because a stream is behind it. On your way to the log, you didn't realize it. Inches away from your eyes, your vision focuses on the wood directly in front of you. You stumble back, startled about how you almost walked into something. You regain your composure and stand, brush the dirt from your ass, and back up to see what just happened. In the middle of the woods, you find a staircase. A wooden staircase. You think nothing of it. For some reason the staircase just makes sense, an instinct telling you that nothing is wrong. Once your spike of adrenaline falls, you notice it. You listen to the forest. There is nothing. No birds, no crickets, not even your feet stomping on the leaves. You snap your fingers, you clap your hand, you scream, but you can't hear a thing. You then set your eyes on the staircase. It finally sets in. You found a wooden staircase in the middle of the woods, miles away from anything. Then you observe the staircase, there is nothing on it. Mother nature has a way of spreading her shit everywhere, but this old-looking staircase smack dead in the middle of the woods has nothing on it. It just looks like a normal staircase. Like if someone took your staircase from the bottom step to the top and pasted it in the woods. That is exactly what people are searching for in the forest. Most of the time it's just something weird that has no use as a table. Sometimes you will find a book or drawing which can fetch you freedom from some leaders if your life is in jeopardy. They have nothing else to do so decide to collect whatever they can. But some are very lucky and find stores or small medical facilities. Most of the belongings in the buildings are gone, but once in a blue moon, people find drugs or liquor which is highly valued in hell. Depending on the brand of liquor or type of drug, you can get a cozy position as a top member of a group. 


When I realized I was in the forest I turned around and tried to get out. As I stated before, you will get lost. Directions mean nothing in this forest. I'm sure if a compass was brought in here, it would spin out of control. “Shit” escaped my mouth as I rushed through the gray mist blocking my vision. I've heard stories of people getting lost here forever, I do not want to be one of those stories. After minutes of running, I caught my breath and sat down on the gray dirt. Sound is muffled here, a detail the stories failed to convey. The only sound reverberating through my eardrums was my heartbeat. I took a deep breath and gathered my bearings. My surroundings were simply gray, nothing stood out. My heart dropped as I turned around. A large house stood feet behind me. It's not common to find a building in the forest and it's even less likely for someone to be inside. The man at the window looked strange. He looked around thirty with a bright red shirt on. His thick blond hair was swept to the right, it looked odd, almost like it was moving but the fog made my vision falter. His blue eyes were large, not scary large, but abnormally large given his head size. Greed filled me as I imagined all the items that could be in the house. I could find instruments, all types of food, or maybe even a pillow and blanket. Sleeping on something would be amazing, hell doesn't really have its wide variety of material. Even if hell did, the murderers and psychopaths would ruin it for everyone. I slowly backed up and took a detour around the house. It was baby blue and the paint appeared to be chipping. A large brick chimney stood at the top. I walked to the right of the house and located a large front door painted a deep ocean blue. The stairs creaked as I walked up, doing nothing to calm my nerves. I've heard one story, a woman found a shed in purgatory with an old farmer out front. She ran as soon as she saw it, I still don't know if the person is friendly or even human. The front door was stiff and it took my whole body to shove it open. A cloud of dust swirled out of the way as the door slammed the wall inside. The man was now standing at the end of the hallway. I cautiously and slowly walked down the small corridor. When I reached the man, a smile slowly grew on his face. An unnatural smile. Like if someone pulled his cheeks with strings. I quickly walked into the next room, if I died it's not like I would disap… “Shit, I’m such an idiot.” I thought. When you die in hell, you just get rebirthed. I am in purgatory, not in hell. Millions of questions filled my mind but were immediately silenced. I saw a bottle on the top of the shelf. An orange/brown liquid lay stagnant in the round bottle. A cork on top of the bottle sealing it from exposing air. I squint my eyes and see the gray label with a white outline, it reads “Four Roses, Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey''. I don't know much about alcohol but I know whisky is like gold down here. I ignore the rest of my surroundings and fixate on the bottle. The room looked like a kitchen but that meant nothing to me. I reached for one of the chairs that were squished into this cramped dining area to the right. As I did, I noticed the man standing feet away from me. “I will worry about him later”, I thought, still focused on getting the liquor. I put the chair in front of the stove and reached for the bottle. I missed and felt my sweaty hand cover with dust. I went for it again and it fell on its side. My third and final attempt had my hand clasped around the bottle. The hair on my neck stood up. The man was still behind me, I could feel it. I knew he was staring at me. But this was different. I can't prove it but I just knew. How could he be staring at me…his face was gone, I whipped my head around followed by my body, my heart pounding. For one instance I felt fear like I never knew before. I've learned something down in hell. When people say they are scared of something, they are not actually scared of that thing, they are scared of the unknown. They are terrified of what they do not know. Like a child scared of the dark. The child is not scared of the dark itself, he is scared of what could be lurking. Out of my peripheral vision, I could see it. A solid sheet of skin where his face should be. His throat opened grotesquely to show what could only be called a smile. My eyes focused on him, the faceless man now had a face. From this distance, I noticed more than just features. The man was not breathing. He was not blinking either. What I thought was hair was a thick yellow cover. The cover was now slowly melting. Like if you held a flame to a doll's head. The cover began bubbling, imagine boiling water. I turned right and jumped on instinct. I guess being in hell gave me a sort of sixth sense. Almost slamming my head on the top of the frame, I made it out. Shattered glass went everywhere, all over the grass and me. I twisted my ankle landing out the door. A large shard of glass stuck in my arm. My adrenaline was pumping as I ran. I made one last look at the house and saw the man, faceless. I saw him slowly sink into the house. It almost looked like someone falling into a pond only to disappear below the darkness of the water. I ran and ran until I tripped on a root. The wind blew out of me and I choked on air struggling to fill my lungs. The blade of glass sunk deeper as I stumbled. Wincing in pain, I held the bottle close to my chest. I then looked around and the forest was replaced with the fiery red brimstone lacing the area around me. Still unaware of the amount of time that could have passed while I was gone, it was comforting. Even though it's hell, I've normalized it. The idea that I'm in hell no longer seemed frightening, it's just a horrible home.


Some people attempt to create civilization or an echo of civilization. They try to get a taste of humanity even though it has passed. One of the most common questions asked by the ever-growing residence of hell is if you can create a child. Women are scarce in hell. They are biologically weaker so need support from a team. Almost no one can procreate. And for some reason, unknown to me, women are somewhat of an uncommon occurrence. My friend Evan told me about how he knew of one child who was born. The child came out with a very weak heartbeat. It looked premature even though it took around 20 months to conceive the baby. Everyone was so happy, grins all around as they just solved one of the mysteries of hell. But they didn't notice it, they didn't notice the baby wasn’t crying. Babies cry because of the fluid releasing from their lungs, also the new, cold environment they are released to. But this child did not react. Everyone went on and worked very hard to support the family. They built houses from the stone and wood in hell. They made sure the mom was always safe and could provide for the child. They were extra cautious from invaders and murderers. Some issues presented themselves as years passed and the child grew. The party members noticed how the baby didn't move, didn't cry, it didn't even look at anyone. From what I heard, the child's eyes had no pupils. The eyes were round brown irises surrounded in a white backdrop, the black of the pupils was gone. It did not show any emotions. When the kid was around 6, it started to move. Basic movements with the arms and legs, almost like it was testing them. It began to stand, however it stood unmovingly, observing. The simple buildings they constructed evolved as the town grew and more people wanted to rebuild civilization. There were many problems that this presented, one was the fact you couldn’t create a society without a farmable food source. The second was that this is hell, you don’t get in hell by doing good. Bad people were moving into this town. And the third most crucial is that monsters were drawn in by the child. Most believed that a large number of people caused the increase in skinwalkers and terrors. But I knew that the child was drawing them close. I could not prove it but instinctively I knew it was summoning them. Like the cry of a beast searching for its own kind. Something is wrong with the child, this is a creature that should not exist. Every day it looks less and less human. First, it lost all its hair. All the hair on its body fell off and refused to grow. Next were the nails, the kid peeled them off and they also didn't grow back. He then started to gouge out his eyes, plucking them from the sockets. They fell to the ground like grapes off their vine. The kid was blind but something was not right. He would just stand there. Facing the wall of the shack with an emotionless face. Blood would constantly fall from his mouth as he continuously bit at his tongue and cheeks. He just stood there and started to rip his teeth out one by one. Pain meant nothing to it, blood was not needed to maintain consciousness. People were disgusted and terrified, his mother stood behind and waited, everyone, relied on her to do it. They somehow felt it was right for her to kill her own child. She did not want to, but this was not her baby, it was something inhuman. Everyone left the shack and waited for her. She stood there shaking as not wanting to kill her first child. Then it began to move, slowly turning around and staring at its mother. It knew where she was without eyes. The dark holes that made up its eyes had blood trickling from them. Its mouth contorted in a grin far too wide for its face. Blood fell down, it looked like tears. It slowly walked forward hands up trying to convey it wanted to be lifted up. Walking forward ever so slowly. It looked hungry… 


Evan passed out after this story, the lemon heads he traded for finally kicked in. A drug made exclusively in hell, only one person knows the recipe. If I remember I may ask why he finished the story but I will probably not. The look on his face before he lost consciousness would give anyone nightmares. 


Submitted: May 19, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Beholdreece. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:

Facebook Comments

Other Content by Beholdreece

Short Story / Horror