TOUR 1. At age eighteen, he butchered his family and then went on to do in a police officer. He was arrested and after twenty years, placed on death row. Now death row was another name for anxiety. It was all coming to a closure and the Maker was going to magistrate his unrelenting disciple. It was only too diverting that Dean had a bad feeling now and not thirty years ago while holding the hatchet. "Mcguire! It's time," a Constable said. Two officers, one on each side of Dean, followed by a minister, lead him to the room where he was to be put to death. "The parson's here to read you your last rites," an officer explained. "Tell that fucker that he'll get no such
pleasure." A police officer held his arm down on the prisoner's "You let him read you your damn rites!" "No!" "Damn it! Parson, read him his rites." "If he doesn't desire me to read him his rites, then I cannot," the minister stated. "Fine!" The aggressive officer yelled. A tall, black police officer pulled his companion away from the prisoner. "Richards! That's enough!" He yelled. A bare headed officer's eyebrows lowered. "For God's sake, let's put this poor man to death." He said firmly. Both the black man and the other officer escorted the man to his seat. "Have a seat, asshole. Cigarette?" The black officer said. "Yes please." The officer handed Dean a cigarette and assisted him in lighting it. "Thank-you." He smiled and took a few puffs constantly grinning The officer that held him down bent at his knees to strap his legs into the chair. As he was busy fiddling with the straps, Dean bashed his lit cigarette in the officer's head and bent to remove his gun. The other two officers aimed their guns at Dean, telling him to put his down. Dean grabbed hold of the Parson and shoved the gun in his mouth. "That's right, put 'em down." He said. The black officer put his down. "Easy now, I put ‘em down." He said. "Baldy over there don't hear so well." Dean said as he turned the Parson around so that the back of his head was facing the bald cop. Then, past a white cloud of smoke, a bullet collapsed the Parson's skull and blasted into the bald officer's eye. "You dirty rat!" The black police officer
yelled as his burned friend came charging out of no where. "Jesus fuckin Jupiter! Aint you done shooting
yet?" The black cop screamed while, holding his foot. "Now that's all the lead you got in there, punk." He pushed Dean into the electric chair and held him there firmly while the other officer tied him. Then, the black officer turned the chair on as the two of them carried the wounded policeman out of the room, tightly securing the door. A day passed on earth, but it seemed to be a year in
hell. Dean lived in hell now. He was a military Annabell Mosiere' was a young woman living a dirty, heartland life in the west part of Nebraska. She lived in an attenuated trailer park. She had four cats that weren't litter box fit. They postulated that they could abandon their excrement anywhere they pleased. This didn't bother Annabell. She was a filthy, unattractive woman; thin, but her
bad habits and uncleanness hid the beauty that she had. She was a chain smoker, constantly
embracing a fat, white cigarette between her chapped On a dry Monday afternoon, a black Volkswagen Beetle
approached Annabell's driveway. A short, "What the hell do you want?" She asked. "Well, I'm a traveling Jehovah's Witness. How's life treating you?" "What's it to you?" "Well by the look of you and your surroundings,
I'd say, that life's the shits." He walked past her and "Piss off, asshole." "Relax, my dear. I'm here to help, not judge.
You've heard about heaven, right? The great heaven "Knowing me, I'd probably go straight to the fiery depths of hell." "There is no hell, Annabell, it's just a story to
scare little children. Trust me. I'm going to go now, I'll Annabell thought for a moment. Whatever it is, it's
got to be better than this life. How should I do it? Her soul was passed onto the gates of heaven, where she was instantly rejected and placed in the depths of the underworld. She found herself surrounded by nothing on a solid floor. Suddenly she heard a dark, loud voice echo at her from a source that was unknown. "Annabell Leigh Mosiere!" "What? She said meekly as the blood and brains still leaked from the poor woman's skull. "You are here because you chose to exit your past
life before you accomplished what you were "What was I designed to do?" "Silence! That is not your concern anymore. Now
you exist here. You are now designed for us. You "Touch my hand," the voice said. Annabell walked near it and put her hand in his. "Good." He said as his lengthy, erect part passed through the red mist. "Touch it," he said as the woman gently
moved her fingers up and down his shaft, "Embrace it, After several long moments of motionous sucking, the
rest of the body came collapsing out from the The voice she heard was not that of the pile of bones she had encountered, it was a trick A clever trick that she wouldn't fall for again. The voice sounded again. Never suck on a dead man's dick. It can leave a bad taste in your mouth, eh!" The phrase was followed by a high pitched laugh. "Enjoy your stay, bitch!" "What the hell am I supposed to do here? I'm all alone!" She cried out, but no one listened. She was alone. Alone and bored, for eternity. At the University of Winchester, in New Jersey, Dr.
Phillip J. Crandal was working on a new The second reason was, if they did believe in
hell, there isn't any way to back what Crandal had It wasn't twenty years after Crandal had begun his
experiments that he had learned that there was a way to get to the place in which he had
based his conception on. There was new kind of drug that was being produced, it was almost
always lethal. It was banned in nearly every country throughout the world. Crandal had
spent a year in Africa, which is where the plant that the drug is made from exists. He had
collected several of these plants, known as Macaspo weeds, and mixed them in a While in this coma, one tends to be legally dead for
five minutes, or at least, the lab mice were. He laid down on his floor, injected himself with the
Macaspo mixture in his arm and was "This is simply amazing!" He cried. "I'm looking for some answers!" There was silence. A lone man with the lower division of his face absent stepped out of the mist in a black uniform. "I'm your tour guide.. come with me." The guide turned around and walked into the mist, while Dr. Crandal followed, very beguiled as to his surroundings. The guide led him down an protracted and cylindrical corridor with white doors about two inches apart from the next. Everything was neat and tidy, like that of a funeral home. The corridor in time turned to a thick sea of red, sinuous blood. The guide did not stop and the sea would not part.
Crandal had changed his mind. He "Who ever said hell was fair, huh?" Crandal said out loud to himself. "Indeed." the voice of the tour guide sounded. He was dry and not a drop of blood was on his uniform. "Just where the hell did you come in, I saw you walk into that lake." "Don't believe your eyes, they mock you," the guide said as he started walking again. Crandal followed once again. "Where are we going?" "Long trip?" Crandal asked inquisitively. The tour guide made no attempt to answer his question. Hesimply kept walking, and so Crandal followed, asking no further questions, just walking down the narrow hallway. He carefully took mental notes of everything he had seen. All alone and surrounded by red mist, Annabell had fallen asleep on the cold metal grate that covered the ground. A lit cigarette, flicked from inside the mist, hit her in the face, immediately bringing her awake. "You dirty little bitch." a voice sounded. "Who are you?" She asked angrily. The man stepped out into plain sight. It was the man she had met before she had died. "I'm a recruiter for the Empire. I've come to draft you." "What if I say no?" "Then I will make your torment extensive." "Fuck you!" "If that's what you want, you little cunt faced
piss licker!" He said as he held her to the grate and "Get the fuck off of me!" She yelled as the man's hands placed a strong grip on her blouse, tearing it open. He slid his wet tongue over her chest.] "You have great flesh!" His eyes were wide open and he was drooling in titillation. She spat onto his face, but it only aroused him more as he licked the running saliva from around his lips She screamed and squealed, but the man gripped onto her flowered skirt and tore it away. It looked like his tongue was about to leap out of his throat as it hung outside his mouth, salivating over her body. He unbuttoned his uniform pants and pulled them down to his ankles, revealing his raised rod. In the only hall way to hell, Dr. Crandal and his guide walked past five hundred doors. He came to the conclusion that everyone that arrives at hell, goes to a room that acts as a sort of lobby. The lobby is surrounded by a red mist. Once someone comes to guide you to go somewhere else, you leave. This happens to everyone. "What are all these doors? Where do they lead?" Crandal asked his guide. The guide did not respond. "This is a tour right? How am I supposed to learn if you won't tell me? Are these doors for employees only or are they for patrons as well?" "Hell is for the unforgiven, Mr. Crandal. We are all, as you say, patrons." "All except me. I'm only visiting." Crandal said. "Mr. Crandal, " the guide said, "your tour is over." "Then I'm free to go, right?" The guide was
silent. Crandal looked around the hall. On top of the tall, "No one checks out, Mr. Crandal, no one,"
the guide said to the remaining skeletal frame, "I believe Crandal's chassis climbed to it's feet and marched to room number fifteen just as the guide had instructed. The Recruiter had been forcing Annabell to endure his
grinding intercourse. After some time, she had learned to relax and started to enjoy it.
He didn't get overworked or pause because he was out of breath, he could pump inside of
her for days or even weeks. However, he did not seek pleasure out of the woman, but
instead her suffering. She had been screaming for hours, which encouraged him to shove
harder. As soon as he realized that her moaning was out of lust he immediately withdrew
and started to kick her. Tears rolled down her eyes while she took the force of his boots
beating in her face and stomach. "Linda, have you seen my rut call anywhere?" He asked his wife. "No, honey." "Well then where the hell did I lose it to?" He looked under his truck and searched through a few boxes, still not finding it. "It's time for dinner, dear." "Oh, I'll just pick up a new one at Marv's." He said as he wiped his hands off with a rag and then walked in the house, into the bathroom, and washed his hands. He sat down for dinner. Linda had prepared a delectable pot roast and some potatoes and carrots along side; all smothered in a greasy, brown, gravy. "Sweetheart, this looks real good." He commented as he folded his hands for their dinner prayer. "Come Lord Jesus be our guest and let these gifts to us be blessed, Amen." Gunner dug right in, fixing his plate with large quantities of the roast and vegetables. His wife was slower and ate much less than he. "I got a raise." "How much?" "Thirty cents." He brought his fork to his mouth. "What for?" "Hard work, I guess," he said, "How was your day?" "Not too bad. I packed Mae's clothes for her to go to her father's house and he came and got her." "How's her school work coming?" Gunner asked as he scooped some potatoes onto his fork. "She's got a B in everything except art." "What's she got in art?" "It's a D." Linda took a drink from her glass of milk. "How the hell can you get a D in art?" He said as he too took a drink from his glass. "She says the teacher is too hard on her when grading." "Do you want me to talk to the teacher?" "No, just let it run it's course. Are you packed for your trip?" Gunner finished chewing a potion of beef. "Yeah, I just need to check the fluids in the
truck." He took a napkin to his mouth. "I'm going to bed, "I love you with all my heart and soul." He said. "I love you more." She whispered, blowing warm air into his ear. He smiled. "I'll be back before you know it," he said, "I promise." After a goodnight's rest, Gunner was up early in the morning to leave for his trip. He gave his wife a nice kiss on her cheek and walked out the door, carefully making sure that it was locked, before he climbed inside his truck. He started the truck and shifted it into reverse to back out of the driveway. He started his long trek through the mountains of
Wyoming. It was cool that morning, but not so cool that anything had froze. The roads were
clean from any obstruction and the skies were still black Suddenly a man jumped in front of Gunner's truck,
swerving to miss him, yet unable to, Gunner's He had been cut badly. He looked around the ground to
find the man he had hit. After noticing that the man was gone, he stopped to breathe a
moment. His breathing was hesitant and blood was "Great, I'm in hell." He said out loud
to himself. A guide passed through the mist to greet "Welcome to oblivion Gunner Folk, follow
me." The guide said while beckoning Gunner with his "Just where are we going?" Gunner asked the guide. "Room four hundred and forty three." "What do I have waiting for me there?" "A surprise," said the guide. He kept
walking, never changing direction, simply walking down the Time had passed as the guide and Gunner had been on foot. The scenery repeated itself in a white flat wave. Finally, they reached room four hundred and forty three. "So this is it, huh? My ticket to paradise? Open her up, let's have a look see." Gunner said nodding toward it. The guide ignored him, standing in front of the door.
"All right, you chicken shit, I'll do it." Gunner "Big fuckin' deal, you call this hell?" Gunner said. Instantly, a wave of human blood, blasted out the doorway, catching Gunner off guard, and smothering the guide. Gunner climbed onto the side of the door and glided down the hallway at rapid speed, until the hemoglobin river disappeared and the door smashed against the ground, catching the knob and spinning into the side of the wall. He pushed his brown hair out of his eyes. He was near rooms in the two hundreds. He continued to walk down the hallway. He walked to the doors in the single digits and decided to open door number one. Once inside he met with another hallway. The doors along the walls weren't numbered. They were labeled as Laboratory, Torture, Kitchen and Hell. He resolved that he would go into the laboratory. The laboratory was full of hundreds of beds with what
seemed to be patients lying on them, severely The robed man next to it turned around, only to catch the sharp blade of the knife in his neck. Gunner ran out of the door and down the long hallway to room number fifteen, where he stopped to open the door and hide inside. Inside was the storage of hundreds of palls. Although he was confused, he opened a casket and was about to climb inside, when he noticed that it was already occupied by a burned corpse. "Maybe I should knock before I decide to just climb inside. What the hell is going on here?" "Perhaps, I can be of some avail." A voice sounded as Gunner's eyes scanned about the room to find out who had spoken. The corpse sat up and climbed out of the pall. "I'm Dr. Phil Crandal. I've been studying hell for an odd number of years I had theories that now are proved false. I can tell you what I know for a price." Crandal said. "What price?" Gunner's eyes narrowed. "When you escape, take me with you." "Agreed, what's the news?" "What's the first thing you remember, being here? Crandal asked as he walked in a pacing motion. "Please forgive my pacing. I haven't been on my feet for quite some time." "Darkness, with a red tinted mist all around it, a concrete floor, and a big cement slab or rock." Gunner answered. "Me too, but that is not where this begins. You see, somehow the same body you died in gets transported here. It gets taken to this room, and is placed in a casket. Then when the time comes, they deliver your body to that laboratory, and the doctors find a way to re-animate you. Once in a living state, they give you some kind of drug that puts you to sleep and they put you down in that red misted room, or as I call it, the lobby. I've been in every room, except the one labeled 'hell'. They keep that one locked with a dead bolt." Gunner thought for a moment. "I'm going to get one of those uniformed fuckers to come to me." He said. "What for... .uh, I'm sorry, I missed your name?" "Gunner, Phil, and we need to be disguised." Gunner ran out of the room and into the hallway. He hustled down to room number one where he entered the other hallway and then rammed himself through thedoor to the laboratory. The doctors paid no attention to his presence. They were far too busy performing corrective surgery to the vital organs that had failed to operate before the patients had died. Gunner walked right next to them and peeked over their shoulders. He saw a form of shock therapy, as the doctor sent volts of electricity into the patients heart to try to re-animate them. It seemed to be the modern reality of a Mary Shelley novel. Gunner tapped the doctors on the back and even yelled at some of them, but the robed men diagnosed that the silent treatment was the immunization to Gunner's pestering. Annoyed at their ignorance, he pushed the patient's stretcher aside and then he and the robed man met face to fist. The doctor fell to the ground. Gunner pressed his foot to the doctor's neck, holding him securely while he quickly removed his robe. He then ran out of the room and into room number fifteen where Phil was awaiting him. "Gunner, I'm not so sure we will need those." Crandal said. "What makes you say that?" "Did those doctors besiege you?" "No, they completely ignored me until I beat one's face in." "Then why would anyone attack us now? We're in
hell, Gunner. No one needs to hurt us. We've "Phil, I don't think this is hell." Phil's burned corpse lit up a cigarette. "I'm sure I know what you mean." He said as he took a drag. "I have a theory doctor, that whatever is behind that door is hell. This whole place is as you call the red misted room, a lobby. A lobby designed to put us to work." Phil exhaled his exhaust. "What do you suggest we do? Knock?" He asked. "Yeah, let's knock." "A lot of good that will do." "Knock it down. Knock that whole damn door off
it's fucking hinges." Gunner said with a dark look in his eyes. "Sorry about the clamor boys. Here's your robe back. What I really need is a chair." The doctors continued to work on their patients. "Okay, well, I'll just set this here." He said as he placed the robe on one of the patients. He pulled a chair right out from under one of the
doctors and pushed his way right outside of the "You're an asshole, you know that." Phil said with a deep smile on his face stretching from ear to ear. "I can be when I'm in hell." Gunner lifted
the chair above his head as Phil stood back, unsure what to "This isn't working." He said and then thought for a moment. "Phil, there's a surgical drill in the lab. Get it for me." Phil left to retrieve the drill as Gunner set his
chair down and sat on it. After a few moments Phil "What are you going to do?" He asked. "My cousin has a wrecker yard. He had an old car that the trunk was locked and he didn't have the key. He drilled through the lock." "Will that have enough power to drill through steel?" "It cuts through bone marrow...." Gunner explained as he pressed the bit against the lock. The bit spun at rapid speed spitting out shards of metal as it cut through the cylinder. After some time, he passed through the door. He tried to tug the drill from the door, but some kind of force had locked it inside the door. "All right, if that's the way you want it." He said as he kicked the door open. The air inside the hallway blew Phil out into the vast
void of airless space where the brain matter Hell was a space conveyance and the doctors and guides
were astronauts. The Space Program had cleverly created a transport to imitate hell.
Gunner climbed inside the hallway by bracing his feet against the white boarding trim. He
slowly climbed against the wind and pulled himself out the door of the hallway. He shut
the door and stopped a moment to breathe. There they prepared to unload their escavators of the
dead. These men would do what ever means April 1999 HofP |