Just a quick note before we get going. The following story is intended in large part as humour and has a poke at religion in the process. If you're the kind of person who thinks Kevin Smith's Dogma was evil on a DVD (despite the rubber poop monster) you might want to skip this one.
***************
It is said by some that, come the end of all things, the gates of heaven shall be burnt down and earth shall be remade in the image of hell. There are those that say this has already happened and no-one's actually noticed yet.
When asked what hell would look like most replies inevitably include rivers of fire, brimstone and usually a chain and whip theme running throughout. This though is not true as rivers of fire put far too great a load on the air-conditioning and brimstone is just far too disgusting a smell to actually live around. Oh it's fine for the tourist pictures but most residents of hell prefer something in alpine fresh.
The chains and whips however are a fairly standard feature along with skulls and ornate carvings of badly-defined yet somehow definitely eldrich items. This isn't strictly speaking necessary, they just like the look. You may find it helps to picture the average 16 year old goth bedroom at this point.
When asked what hell would sound like the answer almost always involves a background of screams, whimpers and general begging for mercy to rival the audience at any Celine Dion concert. This too is not entirely accurate, as it is well established that Hell has the best musicians and therefore has a backing track to make any rock DJ sick with envy, though the ticket price is astronomical.
Of course hanging over all this is the big question to end all questions, what does the devil look like? And again, there's a pretty standard answer, hooves, horns, trident, cape, the whole nine yards. Indeed for centuries that was in fact exactly how the big D was. However a few years back he ran into a slight snag, namely that everyone that saw those goat feet and bull horns smiled, laughed, and for some bizarre reason kept answering every question asked of them with “Okily-dokily”.
At the same time Hell itself ran into a small problem, namely that it found itself surplus to requirements. Or, more specifically, the residents of hell found themselves looking at the unemployment line. Humans have always been quick learners and frankly they were corrupting each other at a rate far greater than the demons of hades could manage. So it came to pass that a downsizing and marketing revamp occurred, the endless torments of hell replaced with the endless boredom and sheer mind-numbing horror of an endless field of grey ash were every condemned soul was sent to search desperately for someone that wasn't a total jackass to talk to.
The vast majority of its workforce were retired, given a little corner of hell to call their own and do with as they wished. Most found this an improvement as it's no fun trying to corrupt the pre-corrupted. Plus getting asked by the victim where they should leave the money after a particularly brutal torture session and if they can book in advance is depressing for even the toughest of evil spirits. Some were kept on though, special troubleshooters to run the place and provide personalized service in those rare cases where a spirit was caught at the nexus between divinity and damnation or if they were just bored. Of course, as with any job, the most important, interesting and downright fun of these cases were always singled out for special attention by the boss.
****
It should have been a dark and stormy night. There should have been thunder and lightning, a choking fog and the howl of dogs. Unfortunately there had been a slight miscalculation and this weather was delivered to a barbecue in Llaneli, not that this did much to dampen spirits as the locals of the town nestled high in the Welsh mountains had been staring suspiciously at the night sky and wondering where all the wet stuff had gone. No, instead it was a quiet, overcast night with a slight crispness to the air. Not that John Barman was in any mood to appreciate it as he sat staring at the TV, his face masked in shadow and lit by the moving images he watched.
John had, it was fair to say, not been having the best of times. Put it this way, take the most depressed country and western singer of all time, introduce him to John and have John recite the story of the last few months and Mr Country-and-Western would be writing Britney Spears songs for the rest of his life after realizing it could all be so much worse. John was, at heart, a good guy. Kind, courteous, polite, generous, gentle, the sort of person parents dream their daughters will bring home.
Unfortunately of course, most daughters aren't interested in anything of the sort and as a result John was once again staring at the TV instead of being out partying on a Saturday night. A bottle of vodka sat on the table in front of him, but it hadn't yet been touched and in all likelihood wouldn't be as he kept it there more for effect than anything else. Sighing he shifted about on the sofa and, as it so often does, fate decided to lend a hand as the remote slipped under his leg and, as he shifted his weight on to it, it flicked to an oldie movie station. Some may find this constant interference of Fate an odd thing, but when you're a cosmic being with a lifetime measured in an infinite number of human lives all those annoying hangups that go with the human form forced upon you by those who believe in you last many times longer. In other words, Fate is only about two ice ages into a certain feminine problem that mortal man fears for one week a month so it's no surprise she's so interested in running other people's lives.
“Rub this lamp and I shall grant you three wishes” bellowed a badly acted Genie on the TV screen, not even the black and white picture enough to hide the lack of costume and make up budget.
“Huh.” muttered John, fumbling for the remote “if it were only that easy. That's the problem with these stories, no risk. Heck for three wishes you should have to sell you soul...”
At the instant he muttered the last word two things happened. The first was his questing hand wrapped around the remote and flicked, almost of its own accord, back to the news station he'd been watching. This however wasn't really important in the ineffable plan as the second thing was a pair of long, strong, beautifully manicured hands slipping over his shoulders and down his chest.
“Really? Well that does sound like an interesting deal...” The voice was impossibly alluring, deep, dark, dangerous yet at the same time unbelievably erotic as he jerked upright, scrambling out of his seat and spinning around to confront the owner of those hands. In retrospect he might have done better to stay where he was as one look at the figure slinking its way round the end of the sofa was enough to send his mind into loops.
She was, not to put too fine a point on it, gorgeous. At least six foot tall, a mane of red hair spilling down her back, pale skin and a face that could start wars. Her body was verging on the unbelievable, perfect in every detail as it rose and fell, covered only in a sheer black latex catsuit cut low at the neck that seemed to move like a liquid over her skin. She moved with a grace and control he'd never imagined could exist, her every motion reminding him of a panther stalking its prey. Yet despite all this it was her eyes that held him captive, her emerald gaze echoing eternity into his soul.
There are times in every mans life when the only words suitable for an occasion are not found in any dictionary but contain a lot of the letter G. This was one of them.
“Oh relax John”. She said perching on one arm of the sofa, her eyes never leaving his. “Anyone would think you'd seen a ghost.”
“I, uhhh, I think you've got too much skin for a ghost.” John replied, still trying not to drown in his own drool.
“Hmm? Oh, you like the look?” She asked, standing and doing a slow turn, hands out to her sides. “I must admit I wasn't too sure about this body but it seems to work nicely.”
“Body?” John repeated, now throughly confused.
“Oh for hells sake...” She muttered, “I thought you were one of the bright ones, goes to show you should never underestimate the human race's capacity for stupidity. Okay John honey, sit down here...” she patted one end of the sofa and waited until he sat down, his body seemingly moving on autopilot. “... and I'll tell you everything you need to know.”
“Now the first thing...“ she started, sliding into his lap, her back against the arm of the sofa, long legs stretched out along its length. “.. and by far the most important, hey this is pretty comfortable!” She squirmed in his lap, and felt John rise to the occasion. “Anyway, as I was saying, the most important thing is who I am. Satan's the name, you may have heard of me.” John went to reply but was suddenly distracted as a hand slipped around his shoulder and strong fingertips started teasingly stroking his earlobe.
“As for the image.. well, you gotta keep up with the times and frankly you humans seemed to find the whole hooves and horns thing a bit... passe if you know what I mean. Though as you can feel... I kept the tail.” She finished with a wicked grin as she shifted slightly to move the curve of her ass off his thigh and for one moment that he felt sure would stop his heart, onto his growing... attention.
“Now I now what you're thinking, why keep the name right? Well, frankly, I tried a few others on for size, Margret, Martha, Britney, but they're all taken when it comes to evil and, hey, some things are easier to change than others. Now what else... oh yes, why I'm here. I swear there are days when I think I should have gone blond.” For an instant her fiery red mane seemed to ripple, flipping from red to blond and back again so quickly John almost missed it. “You see honey, I've had my eye on you for some time now, and I gotta tell you... that Tom Jones number in the shower is just not doing it for me stud.”
John gapped, he'd never told anyone about that, and for damn good reason, so the only way this seemingly insane, but gorgeous, woman could have known about it was, well, he wasn't sure what “was” was, but he damn sure knew “was” wasn't anything he'd believe any normal person could do.
“Now, I couldn't help overhearing that little comment you made and I thought that sounded like a truly spectacular idea so I came to make you a deal. Three wishes to do whatever you please, in exchange for the little detail of your soul spending eternity with me... in hell.”
“WHAT!” John yelled, jumping off the sofa, and sending the supreme being of ultimate evil sprawling onto a heap on the floor in the process. “You're insane! Let's assume for a moment you are who you say you are, why in Gods name would I do such a stupid thing!”
“Okay, first of all, please don't use the G word, okay?”
“Why not, does it hurt you? Does it feel like a dagger in your heart every time you hear it? God, God, God, God, God, God, GOD!”
“No, it's just terribly predictable that's all.“
“Oh.”
“Besides, last time I talked to her, she was taking a few centuries off, muttered something about going old testament on about half the US for screwing up the message in favor of.. now what was it... ah, in favor of 'a literal interpretation from a bunch of self-righteous arseholes that are themselves working of an interpretation of the original text and focusing on specifics rather than a general message of peace and forgiveness as the path to salvation'.”
“God said that? Wait, how do YOU know what God said?”
“Oh come on John, you know how it is, poker nights, couple of beers, you get to talking...”
“Wait wait wait, you and God play poker together? You're lying.”
“Lying? Bitch owes me twelve bucks for dealing off the bottom.”
“Huh?”
“Oh forget it, some things you're obviously not ready for yet. Now where was I? Oh yes, second of all, you didn't listen properly, I said you'd be spending eternity with me and be honest...” She slid around to face him, pulling up onto her hands and knees, her hair framing that perfect face as she crawled towards him. “That doesn't sound like such a horrible thing, does it?”
“Well... uh....” John struggled to form words as she started to pull herself up his thighs, her face turned up to his, her eyes staring at his once more. “But.... uh, I mean, you'd be torturing me, right?”
“Some of the time, yes. I won't lie to you John, I enjoy inflicting pain as much as the next woman, but I promise you the times in between will make the pain worth while.”
“Worth while? How can an eternity suffering in hell's torments possibly be wortOOOOOOHHHHHHHH” While to the casual reader this may seem like a strange way to finish a sentence it can easily be explained by the supreme manifestation of evil proving that when you ARE the supreme manifestation of evil you have a degree of control over every part of your body that would make a neurosurgeon jealous. Or at least it would if a neurosurgeon used their lips, tongue and teeth in their day job. For the sake of decency a brief pause shall be recorded here, feel free to fill it in whatever way you see fit. Humming your favorite song might be a good idea. Or if you've got a vivid imagination, a cold shower. Whatever works for ya.
“You were saying?” Satan grinned from her kneeling position about five minutes later.
“Ummm, you know, maybe I was being a bit hasty before...”
“I thought you'd see things my way. So is it a deal? Your soul in exchange for three wishes?”
“Well..... yes, yes I accept.” John said and just for a moment something passed across his face that, had she caught it, may have given her pause for thought. Unfortunately for her (but fortunately for the continuation of this narrative) she was a little too caught up in her own glee to notice much of anything else.
“So.... what will it be John?” She asked, voice like liquid silk, adding fuel to his fantasies. “You can have anything, anything at all that your heart desires.” She paused, sliding up to John and guiding him down until he was sitting on the couch, her hands on his shoulders, body pressed against him, her lips touching his ear.
“Money?” She purred against his flesh, her fingers tap dancing on the nape of his neck. “Power? Though I suppose they're much the same thing these days.” A laugh, an almost girlish giggle escaped those ruby lips and sent shivers coursing through Johns' body. “Or how about love?”
She slipped her weight forward, pinning him in place. “Remember, you can have anything, anyone you want, in any place or way you desire. That's gotta be at least a little tempting...”
***************
It is said by some that, come the end of all things, the gates of heaven shall be burnt down and earth shall be remade in the image of hell. There are those that say this has already happened and no-one's actually noticed yet.
When asked what hell would look like most replies inevitably include rivers of fire, brimstone and usually a chain and whip theme running throughout. This though is not true as rivers of fire put far too great a load on the air-conditioning and brimstone is just far too disgusting a smell to actually live around. Oh it's fine for the tourist pictures but most residents of hell prefer something in alpine fresh.
The chains and whips however are a fairly standard feature along with skulls and ornate carvings of badly-defined yet somehow definitely eldrich items. This isn't strictly speaking necessary, they just like the look. You may find it helps to picture the average 16 year old goth bedroom at this point.
When asked what hell would sound like the answer almost always involves a background of screams, whimpers and general begging for mercy to rival the audience at any Celine Dion concert. This too is not entirely accurate, as it is well established that Hell has the best musicians and therefore has a backing track to make any rock DJ sick with envy, though the ticket price is astronomical.
Of course hanging over all this is the big question to end all questions, what does the devil look like? And again, there's a pretty standard answer, hooves, horns, trident, cape, the whole nine yards. Indeed for centuries that was in fact exactly how the big D was. However a few years back he ran into a slight snag, namely that everyone that saw those goat feet and bull horns smiled, laughed, and for some bizarre reason kept answering every question asked of them with “Okily-dokily”.
At the same time Hell itself ran into a small problem, namely that it found itself surplus to requirements. Or, more specifically, the residents of hell found themselves looking at the unemployment line. Humans have always been quick learners and frankly they were corrupting each other at a rate far greater than the demons of hades could manage. So it came to pass that a downsizing and marketing revamp occurred, the endless torments of hell replaced with the endless boredom and sheer mind-numbing horror of an endless field of grey ash were every condemned soul was sent to search desperately for someone that wasn't a total jackass to talk to.
The vast majority of its workforce were retired, given a little corner of hell to call their own and do with as they wished. Most found this an improvement as it's no fun trying to corrupt the pre-corrupted. Plus getting asked by the victim where they should leave the money after a particularly brutal torture session and if they can book in advance is depressing for even the toughest of evil spirits. Some were kept on though, special troubleshooters to run the place and provide personalized service in those rare cases where a spirit was caught at the nexus between divinity and damnation or if they were just bored. Of course, as with any job, the most important, interesting and downright fun of these cases were always singled out for special attention by the boss.
****
It should have been a dark and stormy night. There should have been thunder and lightning, a choking fog and the howl of dogs. Unfortunately there had been a slight miscalculation and this weather was delivered to a barbecue in Llaneli, not that this did much to dampen spirits as the locals of the town nestled high in the Welsh mountains had been staring suspiciously at the night sky and wondering where all the wet stuff had gone. No, instead it was a quiet, overcast night with a slight crispness to the air. Not that John Barman was in any mood to appreciate it as he sat staring at the TV, his face masked in shadow and lit by the moving images he watched.
John had, it was fair to say, not been having the best of times. Put it this way, take the most depressed country and western singer of all time, introduce him to John and have John recite the story of the last few months and Mr Country-and-Western would be writing Britney Spears songs for the rest of his life after realizing it could all be so much worse. John was, at heart, a good guy. Kind, courteous, polite, generous, gentle, the sort of person parents dream their daughters will bring home.
Unfortunately of course, most daughters aren't interested in anything of the sort and as a result John was once again staring at the TV instead of being out partying on a Saturday night. A bottle of vodka sat on the table in front of him, but it hadn't yet been touched and in all likelihood wouldn't be as he kept it there more for effect than anything else. Sighing he shifted about on the sofa and, as it so often does, fate decided to lend a hand as the remote slipped under his leg and, as he shifted his weight on to it, it flicked to an oldie movie station. Some may find this constant interference of Fate an odd thing, but when you're a cosmic being with a lifetime measured in an infinite number of human lives all those annoying hangups that go with the human form forced upon you by those who believe in you last many times longer. In other words, Fate is only about two ice ages into a certain feminine problem that mortal man fears for one week a month so it's no surprise she's so interested in running other people's lives.
“Rub this lamp and I shall grant you three wishes” bellowed a badly acted Genie on the TV screen, not even the black and white picture enough to hide the lack of costume and make up budget.
“Huh.” muttered John, fumbling for the remote “if it were only that easy. That's the problem with these stories, no risk. Heck for three wishes you should have to sell you soul...”
At the instant he muttered the last word two things happened. The first was his questing hand wrapped around the remote and flicked, almost of its own accord, back to the news station he'd been watching. This however wasn't really important in the ineffable plan as the second thing was a pair of long, strong, beautifully manicured hands slipping over his shoulders and down his chest.
“Really? Well that does sound like an interesting deal...” The voice was impossibly alluring, deep, dark, dangerous yet at the same time unbelievably erotic as he jerked upright, scrambling out of his seat and spinning around to confront the owner of those hands. In retrospect he might have done better to stay where he was as one look at the figure slinking its way round the end of the sofa was enough to send his mind into loops.
She was, not to put too fine a point on it, gorgeous. At least six foot tall, a mane of red hair spilling down her back, pale skin and a face that could start wars. Her body was verging on the unbelievable, perfect in every detail as it rose and fell, covered only in a sheer black latex catsuit cut low at the neck that seemed to move like a liquid over her skin. She moved with a grace and control he'd never imagined could exist, her every motion reminding him of a panther stalking its prey. Yet despite all this it was her eyes that held him captive, her emerald gaze echoing eternity into his soul.
There are times in every mans life when the only words suitable for an occasion are not found in any dictionary but contain a lot of the letter G. This was one of them.
“Oh relax John”. She said perching on one arm of the sofa, her eyes never leaving his. “Anyone would think you'd seen a ghost.”
“I, uhhh, I think you've got too much skin for a ghost.” John replied, still trying not to drown in his own drool.
“Hmm? Oh, you like the look?” She asked, standing and doing a slow turn, hands out to her sides. “I must admit I wasn't too sure about this body but it seems to work nicely.”
“Body?” John repeated, now throughly confused.
“Oh for hells sake...” She muttered, “I thought you were one of the bright ones, goes to show you should never underestimate the human race's capacity for stupidity. Okay John honey, sit down here...” she patted one end of the sofa and waited until he sat down, his body seemingly moving on autopilot. “... and I'll tell you everything you need to know.”
“Now the first thing...“ she started, sliding into his lap, her back against the arm of the sofa, long legs stretched out along its length. “.. and by far the most important, hey this is pretty comfortable!” She squirmed in his lap, and felt John rise to the occasion. “Anyway, as I was saying, the most important thing is who I am. Satan's the name, you may have heard of me.” John went to reply but was suddenly distracted as a hand slipped around his shoulder and strong fingertips started teasingly stroking his earlobe.
“As for the image.. well, you gotta keep up with the times and frankly you humans seemed to find the whole hooves and horns thing a bit... passe if you know what I mean. Though as you can feel... I kept the tail.” She finished with a wicked grin as she shifted slightly to move the curve of her ass off his thigh and for one moment that he felt sure would stop his heart, onto his growing... attention.
“Now I now what you're thinking, why keep the name right? Well, frankly, I tried a few others on for size, Margret, Martha, Britney, but they're all taken when it comes to evil and, hey, some things are easier to change than others. Now what else... oh yes, why I'm here. I swear there are days when I think I should have gone blond.” For an instant her fiery red mane seemed to ripple, flipping from red to blond and back again so quickly John almost missed it. “You see honey, I've had my eye on you for some time now, and I gotta tell you... that Tom Jones number in the shower is just not doing it for me stud.”
John gapped, he'd never told anyone about that, and for damn good reason, so the only way this seemingly insane, but gorgeous, woman could have known about it was, well, he wasn't sure what “was” was, but he damn sure knew “was” wasn't anything he'd believe any normal person could do.
“Now, I couldn't help overhearing that little comment you made and I thought that sounded like a truly spectacular idea so I came to make you a deal. Three wishes to do whatever you please, in exchange for the little detail of your soul spending eternity with me... in hell.”
“WHAT!” John yelled, jumping off the sofa, and sending the supreme being of ultimate evil sprawling onto a heap on the floor in the process. “You're insane! Let's assume for a moment you are who you say you are, why in Gods name would I do such a stupid thing!”
“Okay, first of all, please don't use the G word, okay?”
“Why not, does it hurt you? Does it feel like a dagger in your heart every time you hear it? God, God, God, God, God, God, GOD!”
“No, it's just terribly predictable that's all.“
“Oh.”
“Besides, last time I talked to her, she was taking a few centuries off, muttered something about going old testament on about half the US for screwing up the message in favor of.. now what was it... ah, in favor of 'a literal interpretation from a bunch of self-righteous arseholes that are themselves working of an interpretation of the original text and focusing on specifics rather than a general message of peace and forgiveness as the path to salvation'.”
“God said that? Wait, how do YOU know what God said?”
“Oh come on John, you know how it is, poker nights, couple of beers, you get to talking...”
“Wait wait wait, you and God play poker together? You're lying.”
“Lying? Bitch owes me twelve bucks for dealing off the bottom.”
“Huh?”
“Oh forget it, some things you're obviously not ready for yet. Now where was I? Oh yes, second of all, you didn't listen properly, I said you'd be spending eternity with me and be honest...” She slid around to face him, pulling up onto her hands and knees, her hair framing that perfect face as she crawled towards him. “That doesn't sound like such a horrible thing, does it?”
“Well... uh....” John struggled to form words as she started to pull herself up his thighs, her face turned up to his, her eyes staring at his once more. “But.... uh, I mean, you'd be torturing me, right?”
“Some of the time, yes. I won't lie to you John, I enjoy inflicting pain as much as the next woman, but I promise you the times in between will make the pain worth while.”
“Worth while? How can an eternity suffering in hell's torments possibly be wortOOOOOOHHHHHHHH” While to the casual reader this may seem like a strange way to finish a sentence it can easily be explained by the supreme manifestation of evil proving that when you ARE the supreme manifestation of evil you have a degree of control over every part of your body that would make a neurosurgeon jealous. Or at least it would if a neurosurgeon used their lips, tongue and teeth in their day job. For the sake of decency a brief pause shall be recorded here, feel free to fill it in whatever way you see fit. Humming your favorite song might be a good idea. Or if you've got a vivid imagination, a cold shower. Whatever works for ya.
“You were saying?” Satan grinned from her kneeling position about five minutes later.
“Ummm, you know, maybe I was being a bit hasty before...”
“I thought you'd see things my way. So is it a deal? Your soul in exchange for three wishes?”
“Well..... yes, yes I accept.” John said and just for a moment something passed across his face that, had she caught it, may have given her pause for thought. Unfortunately for her (but fortunately for the continuation of this narrative) she was a little too caught up in her own glee to notice much of anything else.
“So.... what will it be John?” She asked, voice like liquid silk, adding fuel to his fantasies. “You can have anything, anything at all that your heart desires.” She paused, sliding up to John and guiding him down until he was sitting on the couch, her hands on his shoulders, body pressed against him, her lips touching his ear.
“Money?” She purred against his flesh, her fingers tap dancing on the nape of his neck. “Power? Though I suppose they're much the same thing these days.” A laugh, an almost girlish giggle escaped those ruby lips and sent shivers coursing through Johns' body. “Or how about love?”
She slipped her weight forward, pinning him in place. “Remember, you can have anything, anyone you want, in any place or way you desire. That's gotta be at least a little tempting...”
...."Oh My God!"... would be a little cliche' after that, eh? 
