Living in Hell EDITED

         September 9, 1945, one week after Germany was defeated in World War II and five months after Adolf Hitler committed suicide, an old woman, who should have been out celebrating with the rest of the world, sat beside the hospital bed of her comatose grandson.

         The woman’s grandson, Johnny, was twenty years old and had fought in Italy for the United States Army for the last two years before receiving a bullet wound to the head.  Amazingly, the shot had not killed him; he had been transported immediately to a local hospital where his injuries were treated as best they could.  When he was stable enough to be moved, he was transported yet again to a hospital back home, in Kansas, where he had grown up.

         Johnny had been fourteen when his parents had both become sick with influenza and died, leaving him an orphan.  He was an only child and went to live with his widowed Grandmother on her dairy farm.  He helped her on the farm until the war came.  He made sure his Grandmother would be taken care of and went off to join the army.

         “Oh, Johnny!  Johnny!” his Grandmother cried beside his hospital bed.  “Wake up.  Why won’t you wake up?”

         But Johnny could not wake up and he could not hear his Grandmother’s cry, for in the comatose dreams of Johnny Fisher raged a terrifying nightmare.

***

         Fire burned his body and anguish erupted from his mouth.  Everything was as black as the darkest night, except for the burning coals gleaming faintly from beneath his bare feet.  The air shimmered with the heat and the putrid smell of burning flesh surrounded him.  He was in a room, he thought, but he couldn’t see any distinguishing features, not the size of the room or if there was even a ceiling.

         Johnny stumbled blindly, the burning embers giving no true light, only pain.  Each step brought another wave of agony as flesh from his feet burned and fell away from his body.  “Dear God, where am I?” he thought, surprised that he could think anything rational or any thoughts at all while being in so much pain.

         He kept moving, away, any way, groping for a way to escape the Hell he was trapped in.  He searched everywhere, trying to step as lightly as he could on the hot coals beneath what had once been his feet, but now were nothing more than black “things” attached to his ankles.  His entire body was covered in ash, sweat, and terrible burns.  He was naked to the fire; he did not know if his clothes had burned off or if he had never had them.  Johnny soon gave up searching for an exit.  He had already lost track of how long he had been trapped in this place.  There was no way out, only darkness surrounded by darkness, closing in on him, suffocating him, trapping him, and damning him.

         Johnny wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner and die just so the pain would go away, but a terrifying thought crept to the front of his mind: maybe he was already dead. And if that were so, he wanted answers. He refused to sulk, refused to give in to the pain and misery that surrounded him.

         “What Hell is this?” Johnny screamed in anger, pain, and most of all fear.

         “Why, dear boy, it is the only one,” said a deep male voice that could only be described as pure evil. A voice dripping with anticipation for the pain soon to be inflicted and glee for the pain already dealt.

         The voice was silky smooth, but so cold Johnny felt a shiver run down his spine despite the intoxicating heat. Johnny turned toward the voice but could see nothing but the blackness surrounding him. For a moment he was afraid he had gone blind. With a swooshing roar, great flames burst alive on either side of a throne sitting at the far end of what could now be seen as a large, bare room with cave-like walls on all sides, no windows, and two great doors that Johnny had missed in his search for an escape, but now was not sure he wanted to pass through.

         Johnny turned away from the light, unused to its brightness. When his eyes adjusted, he turned toward the man sitting on the throne, if a man he could be called. He looked like a man, mostly, except for the hatred and horror emanating from his person, more evil than any man could ever posses in his lifetime. But Johnny recognized him with ease, as would most people with access to a newspaper or a dime to see the newsreel at a movie. His dark, parted hair and signature mustache were the same, but instead of a suit with the Nazi symbol on the arm he wore a long, dark robe that shone red and glittery like the coals. “Hitler,” Johnny whispered in both curiosity and horror.

         The man’s face became even colder, “Adolf Hitler no longer exists!” he cried. “I am The Devil now, Lord of the Underworld!”

         Johnny was speechless, frozen in place by a terror so profound that even burning hot coals could not move his feet.

         “Are you surprised, my boy, to see me here? Or perhaps you are surprised to find yourself here? Well all the same, you seem a bit surprised, so grab a seat and let me fill in the missing pages.” Hitler gave a nod and a pair of strong hands came out of nowhere and pulled Johnny into a chair. “You see, I had a great plan for a new and beautiful world and when that was taken from me I vowed I would leave my mark in the next world.” Hitler’s voice rose with every word.

         “So when I realized I had failed, I sold my soul to the Devil and killed myself before the Soviets could take me.  When I arrived here the Devil was so impressed with my endeavors in the land of the living that he and I merged together into one entity.”  And here Hitler threw back his head and let out a laugh, that even in the boiling heat, made Johnny’s body go cold.  “You will have plenty of time to think about the reasons you are here.  All of eternity in fact.”

         “And so, here I am and there you are.” Hitler gave the unseen hands another nod and suddenly Johnny was put in shackles and dragged across the coals of the floor, but he could no longer feel the fire and the pain. The doors of the room were thrust open. “Welcome, boy, to Hell,” said Hitler as Johnny was dragged out of the room.

         “No! No! I don’t belong here!” Johnny tried to struggle, but the hands were strong and held firm. “God, dear God! Please help me!”

         “God?” Johnny gasped as Hitler’s voice spoke to him inside his mind. “God is not here. God does not want you. You have killed, you have sinned, your blood is tainted and it is mine!”

         Johnny was half carried, half dragged down a hallway lit every few feet by torches flickering high and low, sending eerie shadows crawling all along the walls. The hands that dragged him belonged to two large, very sweaty, muscular, bald men who, from the looks of them, had never smiled a day in their lives. Being in Hell, Johnny could think of a few good reasons why.

         Before, everything had seemed quiet, but now Johnny could hear the cries and sobs of damned souls being tortured, slowly and without pity, unable to die because they were already dead.

         Johnny’s living quarters were little different from the first room he had been in. The cell was dark, hot, and contained no furniture, so if Johnny were to try and sleep, which he rarely did in the days that followed, he would have to do it on the floor where burning embers waited to eat the flesh off his bones and excruciatingly slowly burn the rest of his body to ash.

         When Johnny was first thrown into his cell, he was not alone. A man was huddled up in a corner of the room like a beaten animal, which is exactly what he was. His only reaction when the door opened was to curl up tighter; his curved back tightening and his head between his legs. The demon-men tossed Johnny inside the small room and bolted the door behind them. As the bolt slid home, Johnny leapt to his feet and began pounding on the door. “Let me out! Let me out!” he shrieked.

         “Don’t even bother.  There’s no escape,” Johnny heard in a harsh whisper.  He turned to see the terrified man had moved into a crouching position and was watching him.  Putting his arms down, Johnny moved towards the man, but stopped as the man shrank away from him.

         “What’s your name?” Johnny asked, trying to calm the man down.

         “I don’t remember,” he replied.

         Johnny moved to the opposite corner of the cell and looked at the strange man.  His skin was burned black and he had no hair.  Fresh red wounds mixed with old scars all over his body as if he had been tortured mercilessly for months.

         “How long have you been here?” Johnny asked.

         “A day? A year? Time means nothing here.”

         Johnny tried to think of how long he had been here.  It must have been only a few hours, but it felt like forever.  “Where are we?” he asked.  The question was rhetorical, but he got an answer anyway.          

         “Hell,” the man glanced at Johnny, “but you already knew that.  We are in a cell, a special cell.  For prisoners who still have hope.  For those who hang on to the dream that one day we will live in peace again.”  The man’s voice began to shake. “Souls don’t last long in this room.  Oh no.  They accept their fate, yes.  After the torture, the torture.”  Johnny watched, terrified, as the man put his black hands to his face and began scraping his nails across his scalp, pulling out hair that was no longer there to be pulled out.  The man seemed to have forgotten Johnny was there and they did not speak again.

         Every day, men like the ones that had dragged Johnny to his cell would come and torture him.  They used whips with spikes, burned him with torches, and dragged out the pain for as long as they could.  Only when the men were inflicting pain did they every show a hint of satisfaction, of pleasure.

         The first day, the men ignored Johnny and went straight for his cellmate, whose eyes immediately went wide and his mouth opened in a shrill scream.  While they beat him, Hitler’s voice spoke out of thin air, “God does not want you.  God is not here.  God does not want you.  God is not here.”  Over and over again the voice chanted, while the man screamed until his voice gave out and cried tears that were dried by the heat before they could fall.

         When the men left, Johnny went over to his new cellmate and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.  The man shrieked, hugged his knees to his chest, and began rocking back and forth, staring at nothing.  “God does not want me,” he said, “God is not here.”  Watching the man, Johnny noticed something strange about his mouth.  There were six holes just above his top lip and six just below his bottom as if they had been pierced.  “What happened to your mouth?” Johnny asked softly, hoping not to alarm him further.  The man’s gaze flickered to Johnny’s face then back at nothing again as he continued rocking.  “They found me praying,” he said in a mad whisper.  “Sewed my lips shut.  Then ripped out the stitches so they could here me scream.  God does not want me.  God is not here.” Johnny’s mouth opened in horror as two demon-men came back into the room followed by Hitler.

         “He is broken.  Take him away,” the Devil commanded.  The two men grabbed the man, who began screaming again, and dragged him away.  Hitler looked at Johnny and smiled.  “Before long, it’ll be your turn,” he said before following the men out the door.

         When the torture began, Johnny tried not to scream, tried to hold it in, but then, what could have been weeks, or months, or maybe only days later, he let it all out.  He screamed and raged in pain until his voice grew hoarse and then he kept on screaming.  The torment would go on until, ringing clear through the walls, Hitler’s voice would say almost unwillingly, “That is enough.”  The men would depart to attend another appointment with another unfortunate soul.

         The torture was not only physical.  At night, though he never actually slept, Johnny would have nightmares about every terrible thing that had ever happened to him.  Night after night he relived his days in the war; fighting and killing and seeing his comrades and friends die.  Civilians and soldiers alike, all were gone.  He dreamed of his parents, catching a glimpse of their happy life together only to relive their deaths over and over again.  Everything he had ever loved was lost to him.  He also dreamed of days he would never see again, happy times when he was just a little boy on his mother’s lap or atop his father’s shoulders.  Then, on his Grandmother’s farm doing good, hard work.  The smell of baling hay and the taste of milk straight from the udder assaulted his senses, making it all the worse to wake up to the smell of charred flesh and blood mixed with tears.  He dreamed of a girl he had known before the war.  Her soft brown hair shining in the light of the setting sun, her small mouth growing wide in a smile just for him; he would kiss her smooth skin, and they would dance beneath the stars.  He had written to her a few times during the war, but had never received any letters in return.  He had hoped the letters just hadn’t been able to reach him.  Now he would never know.

         But no matter how long they made him suffer, no matter how faint his voice grew from screaming, Johnny did not permit himself to believe that he belonged here.  He prayed silently everyday to God that He might hear him and rescue him.  Hitler’s voice would enter Johnny’s mind and mock him, telling him, “Don’t you understand?  God does not want you.  You are mine.  He cannot hear you here.”  But Johnny persisted and never wavered in his faith that God would save him.  He refused to end up like his cellmate.  He could not give up; even in this place of demons and sin, God still ruled.

         Souls came and went from Johnny’s cell.  At first they were as determined as Johnny, but one by one they would be broken taken to their permanent cell.  Johnny never saw any of the other damned souls beyond his little room, but he heard them, every day, screaming in pain, but never for mercy.  They knew mercy would not come no matter how hard they begged and pleaded.  Johnny shouted for mercy, but only once.  “For here in the Underworld,” exclaimed Hitler, “Mercy means more suffering.  You ask for mercy and more pain will follow.  Hell is Hell and the torture does not cease.”

         There are no mirrors in Hell, but if there were, Johnny would not have recognized himself.  His body was mangled and broken, his skin charred.  His eyes shone black against his scarred, black face.  There was despair and insanity in those once blue eyes, but also still a hint of determination.  But today was different and those bright eyes dimmed as Hitler himself walked through the door and stood in front of Johnny’s crumpled body.  “Still here, I see.  I’m almost impressed.  It’s a shame your hope is useless; it’s actually rather pathetic.”  Johnny simply stared at Hitler’s black shoes and wondered briefly how the rubber soles didn’t melt on the hot bed of coals that formed the floor.  “Today, you will be broken and I will do the breaking.  Your body has been ravaged, your mind has been crippled, and now your soul will be shattered,” Hitler roared.          

         Hitler took his time, enjoying the suspense.  He moved to stand above Johnny who tried to scuttle away, but with a wave of Hitler’s hand, he became paralyzed.  He couldn’t move no matter how hard he struggled.  Hitler touched Johnny’s scarred abdomen, but his hands continued moving through the skin and into Johnny’s body.  Johnny stared, incredulous, at the place Hitler’s hands disappeared into his stomach.  As the pain hit him his back arched and an unholy sound exited his mouth.  Johnny screamed and screamed, but could not move.

         Back in the hospital, Johnny’s heart monitor began beeping fast and erratic.  The change in sound awoke his Grandmother, sleeping in the chair beside his bed.  She looked around frantically and screamed, “Please, get a doctor in here.  Please, he needs a doctor!”  Within seconds, a doctor and two nurses entered the room.  “He’s going into cardiac arrest,” the doctor explained.  The doctor began performing CPR as the two nurses escorted Johnny’s Grandmother out of the room.          

         Light poured out from around the Devil’s hands.  Johnny had never known such pain could exist.  He felt his soul being ripped out of his body and then slowly shred to pieces.  He couldn’t take the pain.  His hope was being extinguished.  The light of his soul was slowly transforming into an eerie, unnatural, black glow.  Johnny’s moans of agony were drowned out by Hitler’s malignant, psychotic laughing.

         Johnny’s Grandmother cried in the arms of one of the nurses as Johnny’s heart began beating so fast it hardly seemed possible.  The doctor frantically continued to do CPR, knowing any second Johnny’s heart could give out.

         With salty tears burning the wounds on his face, Johnny shouted out to the ceiling one last time, “God. Please!” and then he hung his head in defeat.

         Johnny’s heart stopped beating.  His heart monitor flat lined, the constant, steady beep filled the otherwise silent room.  “He’s gone,” the doctor said.  “Time of death is 9:46 PM.”  Johnny’s Grandmother burst into the room, went to Johnny’s side, and grabbed his still-warm hand.  “I’m sorry,” the doctor told her, “We did everything we could.”

         Suddenly, Hitler’s voice rang through the Underworld.  “No! You cannot have him!  He is mine!”  Johnny looked up and wondered what was going on when his cell was suddenly filled with a bright, powerful, white light.  His burns were healed and the pain vanished.  Johnny shielded his eyes against the light and felt strong, soft arms lift his new body into the air, holding him like a child.  The bright light dimmed and a soft rhythmic beeping began to sound in Johnny’s ears.

         When he opened his eyes again he was lying in a bed in a hospital room staring into the familiar, aged face of his loving Grandmother.