Hell Sent

Mr. Barnabus stepped out of the pentagram drawn on the floor. Shouldering a hiking pack, he unfolded a sheet of paper. He adjusted the pin on his lapel, tarnished brass that read: Postmaster. He cleared his throat and began reciting. "Lorum ipsum..."

The candles blazed. As he went on, their flames grew brighter and the garage grew colder. Something hummed.

The door opened and Roland stuck his head in.

Wait, what? Roland?

Oh no.

"There you are! I was..." Roland faltered. "Mr. Barnabus? What are you doing?"

Mr. Barnabus shook his head and gestured to his mouth.

Roland inched further into the room, eyeing the pentagram. He frowned. "Witchcraft? Don't you know that's nonsense?"

Taking a breath, Mr. Barnabus sped through the rest of the spell. He finished, coughed, and sucked in air. Coughed again. "Get back!"

The ground under the pentagram bowed down, bulged up, and then down again, creating ripples across the ground like the waves on a beach. The waves got more violent, like an earthquake.

Mr. Barnabus braced himself against the waves. Roland yelled and tumbled to the ground.

The shaking slowed and stilled and the centre of the pentagram glowed bright red. A circle grew from the middle of the pentagram outward. It grew beyond the pentagram and enveloped where Roland was picking himself up off the floor. He yelled as he pitched sideways into the growing hole.

"Shit," Mr. Barnabus said. He dived into the hole.

He landed hard on some kind of gravel that radiated warmth. The world lurched under him and he threw up in his mouth.

Nearby, someone coughed and retched.

The sky was purple. Deep purple, almost black, and starless. The gravel beneath him was blood red. Behind him there was a hole in the ground, a window into his garage. Roland, on all fours, spluttered and rose shakily to his feet. Mr. Barnabus rose too, though the world still tipped and swayed.

"Mr. Barnabus." Roland stumbled over. "What the hell!"

"An accurate description."

"I'm sorry?"

Mr. Barnabus gestured to the horizon. "Welcome to Hell."

"You're pulling my leg."

"I'm pulling your leg," said a voice, light and shrill. A black claw, somewhat transparent like a shadow, reached up from the ground and grabbed Roland's leg. He squealed and tried to jump away but the grip held, tripping him.

Roland kicked it with his free foot. She hissed and let go.

"You're a violent one, aren't you?" The shadow rose from the ground. She was almost human-shaped, but smaller, with claws for hands and talons for feet. Sharp horns spiraled from her head in a complicated pattern and she hunched over, gold eyes gleaming.

Mr. Barnabus drew a sharp silver dagger.

"You guys aren't very friendly," the creature complained as Roland scrambled away from her. "A 'Hello!' might be nice for once. Small talk, compliments; 'Hey, I like your jacket!' Your jackets are very nice, by the way."

Mr. Barnabus approached her. "Demon. Tell me where your master is."

"Master?" She laughed. "Are you looking for Lord Satan? Believe me, you don't want..." She sniffed. Her eyes flared. "Oh. Oh. You're alive. That's new. I'd better report this." She melted into the ground.