Hellstock Valentine

A demon learns about love at a hellish festival.

Baashon found a seat on the crowded gondola ride at the annual Hellstock festival. The activities had so far been the same cheesy slop that tradition dictated, with heavy metal blaring from every speaker, deep-fried rats dipped in honeyed bile, and everyone's favorite: the carnival attractions.


This year, a pair of married humans sat entwined in their cage. They appeared to carry no malice, no hatred, or even the slightest irritation with each other. Rumor had it that the pair had been abducted from the surface and would be returned soon after the Hellstock festival's end. These were living mortals, not the usual human souls that came here in the afterlife. Either way, Satan had a rule: No damned souls were allowed at Hellstock. No, this was strictly for those beings, like Baashon, that had fallen eons ago and had sworn allegiance to their dark ruler.


The ride started, and the rickety gondola creaked along on the track. Baashon had heard mutterings and rumors about this ride, how horrifying it was supposed to be this year. As if on cue, his friend Ash turned around from the seat ahead of him and leveled him with her crimson eyes. Have you heard what they're saying? Dag said a couple of hours ago, some guy threw up all over the place and they had to carry him out." Ash deftly swept her raven black hair into a loose ponytail. "Not me, I'm not that hard to gross out." She spun back around, gripping the bar in front of her with a lethal hold.


Baashon grimaced with delight. As much as he liked Ash, he had to admit it would be funny to watch her tough exterior crumble. Her tight grip hinted at her being a little more brittle than she'd have him believe.


The train of rusty gondolas crept inside the dark, cavernous funhouse. Baashon struggled to see his surroundings; a strange warmth permeated the air, not like the usual heat of hell, but a special heat that made him feel lonely. Nausea began to build inside of him--a strange feeling, uncommon in demonic folk.


The gondola screeched to a jerky halt. Dim light switched on with the subtle buzz of old electrical work. A surprise flash of red lit up the surrounding walls, which were massive screens, bigger than the ones at the cinema. Thousands of hearts appeared, pulsating in a disgusting, shocking display.


The gondola creaked forward again, a slow, anxious progression. The hearts on the screens morphed into paper lace, like the valentines that the evil humans give out in February.


"Hopes," a low A.I. female voice droned over the loudspeaker. The word "hope" lit up the screen, replacing the lacy hearts.


"Dreams," the voice continued. The word appeared on the screen in large block letters. Pictures appeared within each letter: a candlelight dinner, a box of chocolates, a man and woman engaged in a sappy hug.


Baashon's eyes began to burn, and tears threatened to spill down his cheeks. What sort of angelcraft was at play on this ride?


Ash spun around once again and pleaded with him with her eyes. He wondered as she did if they were in any real danger.


"Love," the voice drew the word out, as if the developers hoped to inflict extra pain on the riders.


It must have worked because Baashon's stomach did a clumsy back flip, and he could hear Ash retching in her seat.


The gondola creaked and moaned its way into a new room, large and gothic, like a cathedral. Hundreds of life-like animatronic humanoids sat in long pews facing the front of the room, dressed in their Sunday best.


The sickeningly sweet marriage ceremony went about how you'd expect. Disgusting. Full of the promised excitement and mushy lovey feelings that those things tended to bring out of people. Baashon's hands began to vibrate and flutter. He studied the bride, as beautiful as a robotic human could be, adored by her guests, loved by her darling new husband.


His eyes began to blur, his peripheral vision fuzzy like TV static. He couldn't contain the fear burning him up inside.


What if this love spread outside of the ride?


Why would the festival allow such blatant good here? Such a thing could take hold and change their world. What about the younger ones, the wishy-washy ones? What if they weren't strong enough in their hatred to prevail against this?


Baashon scanned the room for the exit. How long had he been there, anyway? It had to have been an hour ago that he'd climbed into the ride. He had to get out, get away from the ride and the festival. He'd never felt so vulnerable in his entire life.


"Honey," the animatronic man proclaimed through the echoey room. "I will love you with all my mind, body, and soul for the rest of my life." He stooped down slightly to kiss her sweetly on the cheek.


The audience began to clap and whistle. The audio track that played from carefully hidden speakers took on a warped quality. The voices dipped down to a demonic level, which should have been a comfort to Baashon, but wasn't. In fact, when he broke out into a cold sweat, Baashon gasped. He never knew that demons could sweat at all. They lived in hell, after all.


Was he dying? Was he becoming possessed by the love and goodness in this room?


Why had he ever agreed to go on this horrible ride?


Soon, the animatronic wedding guests clomped around the room and formed a large group, no doubt reminiscing and exchanging joyful stories.


Before the darkness folded Baashon into the comfort of hellfire and hatred, he promised himself that he would fight like hell to rid his world of all good.


He would not tolerate the blatant angelcraft, romantic notions, and benevolent good that some of the younger demons were beginning to embrace.


What troubled him more was the longing he'd felt watching the fake ceremony. Had he always been so alone? And the church. There was something about it. So-


Holy, so


GOOD.


Those things angered and enraged him. So why did he want them so bad?


When the ride ended, Baashon pushed his way through the crowded festival and barged into his home. He cried. He added crying to his list of things he didn't think demons could do. Then, he washed his face in the filthy spring behind his shack, put on a mostly clean suit, gathered some nice-looking trash, and made the best Valentine he could.


The next stage of his plan would take courage. He knew his friends would mock him; he'd never live it down if he failed.


He dropped the Valentine in the designated mail receptacle for Satan himself. The big man. The ruler of their world.


He trembled now, thinking about his plan. Was he stupid to have done such a thing?


Not if it worked. He'd seen the big boss send many failed demons to the human world multiple times. He wanted to pray that he'd be one of the lucky ones, but he didn't know who to pray to. He'd also watched Satan toss his own kind into the lake of fire, so maybe his Valentine idea had been completely insane.


Baashon cleaned up the mess around his little hovel, sat down on a broken sofa, and something strange flooded his whole being.


Hope, as sweet and thrilling as Valentine chocolates.