Short Story

I wrote a story. Read it.

Unless you have a weak stomach. Weak stomachs are not permitted past this point.

A Second Chance

John had never been a morning person. He despised getting up early almost as much as he hated opera music. A well-built repertoire of excuses was prepared for the countless times he arrived late to work after getting some extra shuteye. But today was different. At the crack of dawn, John woke without hesitation.

He got out of bed, fed his cat, Muffins, and poured himself a tall glass of orange juice. Sitting down at his kitchen table, he took a long, refreshing drink. His blue wall clock became visible from the bottom of the glass as he drank. It read 6:24. No, that couldn't be right. The glass must be obscuring his vision. After finishing off the juice John set the glass down. The clock now read 6:25.

"Must be out of batteries," he said. Why was it still ticking then?

"Must be broken." That was it. His clock was broken. Back into his bedroom, he checked the digital clock on his nightstand. The red, blinking letters on the LCD screen read 6:26. Something was going on.

"A power outage!" he said. Yes, that explained it. But did power outages affect clocks that ran on batteries? John realized they didn't. He opened the blinds of his bedroom window and peered outside. The golden rays of the sun were barely peeking over the distant horizon.

"Huh," he said. "That's odd. I actually got up early!"


It was at that moment that a large battleaxe crashed through the ceiling and into John's head, killing him instantly.


The next day John woke to a blinding light. The light seemed strangely comforting to him. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the intense brightness. He was lying down on what appeared to be a fluffy bed of clouds. Carefully, he got to his feet and looked around. This was most definitely not his bedroom.

"Did I get drunk last night?" John wondered out loud. He was fairly certain he hadn't, but didn't have the faintest idea how he had arrived in this strange place. Wherever he was, though, it was beautiful. Almost what he imagined heaven might be like. But this wasn't heaven, because he wasn't dead. Was he?

Then it all came back to him. Standing by his bedroom window, watching the rising sun, a large noise had erupted above his head. He had looked up just in time to see the large silver blade of a battleaxe slice into his skull. Then everything went dark.

Standing here on a cloud, John realized the sad truth. He was no longer alive. Never again would he experience the simple pleasures only enjoyed by those still living. He took it badly.

John became a rather violent. He was not a violent person by nature, but having your head bisected by a medieval weapon does tend to have a negative effect on your personality. Nothing in heaven was really good for throwing around, so he had to make due with kicking masses of cloud into the air and screaming profanities at the top of his lungs.

Soon he grew bored of this, and sat down. He continued swearing, but not nearly as loudly. Apparently your voice could get tired in heaven as well. It wasn't long until he gave up.

"Thank God you've stopped. You were getting quite annoying!" John stood up with a start and spun around. Facing him was a white haired man, with a long scraggly beard and a receding hairline.

"Let's get you checked in!" The man said excitedly. John gawked. There was no way he could know for sure who this was, but from what he'd heard about heaven he had a pretty good guess.

"Are you Saint Peter?" John asked once he had collected himself.

"Lord no, he retired years ago!" the man said with a grin. "My name is Stephenatonstracona. You can call me Steve."

"Okay, Steve," John said, "What am I doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious son?" Steve answered. "You died! And you most likely led a life that wasn't entirely overwhelmed with sin, because otherwise you would probably be having a similar conversation somewhere quite a deal warmer."

"I kind of figured I was in dead," John responded, " I mean what with the battleaxe slicing my head and everything. But I guess I just didn't want to believe it." Steve reached out and put a wrinkled hand on John's shoulder.

"You may find it hard to accept now, but as soon as you enter the gates of heaven, your opinion will change. I guarantee it. Now we just have a wee bit of paperwork to fill out and you'll be on your way to eternal paradise!"

"No," John stated simply.

"I'm sorry?" Steve asked.

"No. Eternal paradise sounds great and everything, it really does, but I'm not ready to be dead." Steve looked troubled to hear this.

"You're kidding. Eternal paradise is just moments away and you are talking about returning to the land of the living."

"Well, yeah. I'm not really done with life yet." And he wasn't. John had never thought much about death, but he knew he was not ready for it. His life was a rather boring one, and he wanted a chance to make something of himself before he just gave up on it.

Steve stood silently for several minutes. He had dealt with this type of case before, but it was truly one in a million. Someone who wanted to continue their life on Earth for a bit longer. Steve never liked people like this, but he had to give them a choice.

"There is one way that you can return," Steve said. "But it is not something that I would recommend. The consequences are far too great."

"Shoot," John said. Steve sighed.

"We will return you to the life you had before. Steve said. "If you can survive for 24 hours, then we will allow you to continue living until the day you meet a natural demise."

"What's the catch?" John asked.

"If you fail to survive one day," Steve said, "you will not be returning here." John looked confused.

"Where would I be going?" Steve frowned and pointed down. John's eyes widened.

"There?" John asked. Steve nodded.

"There."

"Well it can't be that hard," John said with a bit more confidence than he actually felt. "I mean, I survived the first 23 years of my life without dying. One more day probably won't be that hard to get through." Steve shook his head.

"I'm afraid it won't be that simple. Once the big guy downstairs finds out that he has a chance at getting another soul, he's going to start pulling all of the strings he has to get you killed. And he's got his fair share of strings." John wasn't feeling nearly as sure of himself as he had a few minutes ago. But he also knew that this was probably the one choice he had to continue living. He couldn't pass this opportunity by, no matter what the risks were.

"Are you sure…"

"Yes," said John, "I'm sure." Steve frowned. This type of thing never ended well. But he knew he had no choice.

"Alrighty then," said Steve. "Good luck!"

Steve's face slowly began to fade. Everything seemed to be fading, the clouds, the beautiful bright light. John knew he was going away. He hoped he had made the right decision.

"One more thing!" said Steve, "If you notice a plane carrying a cargo of artifacts for a museum exhibit, make sure to steer clear if they start throwing stuff off in order to gain altitude!" His voice seemed faint and distant.

"Is that what killed me?" asked John.

"The hell if I know!" said Steve. "Just a guess!" He then disappeared completely. Everything went dark.


The next morning John awoke to find himself back in his bed, the blankets kicked off like they always were when he got up in the morning. Yesterday was still fresh in his memory, but the events that had occurred seemed like ones that had happened long ago. Of course, none of that mattered now. All he had to do was get through today and he could go on with his life. He got out of bed and stretched. When he opened his eyes, he was met with an unpleasant sight. On the floor at the foot of his bed the white carpet had been stained red with blood. The ancient battleaxe extended from the floor at a 45 degree angle, its blade stuck deep into the floorboards beneath the carpet.

"So that's where I died," John said. He would have to get that cleaned up soon. But not today. Today it was probably a good idea to stay away from sharp objects, especially the one that had caused his death.

Not wanting to risk cooking over an open flame, John decided to have a safer breakfast. He settled on toast and cold cereal. John pulled a package of white bread out of the cupboard, and slipped two pieces into his toaster. Carefully he pressed the button and the stepped away.

Next he made his cereal, which he wasn't too worried about killing him. As he ate the Lucky Charms, he thought about all of the things that could end his life today. The refrigerator might fall over on him and crush his body into a bloody pulp as he tried to put the milk away. As he went to the bathroom he might slip on a puddle of water and break his neck on the side of the bathtub. And he always had the chance of getting sliced by another battleaxe. Or samurai sword. Or handgun.

"Don't be stupid," he told himself. "You wouldn't get sliced in half by a falling handgun. You'd only die if it shot you."

BLAM!!!

John nearly fell out of his chair. "Oh my God!" he said. "I'm shot! I'm shot!" He turned around to see who had pulled the trigger.

The toast sat done in the toaster.

"Oh," he said. "It was the toaster. I'm not shot. My toast just popped up." John was getting paranoid. If he was mistaking a toaster going off for a gunshot, he was really getting too wound up.

"Okay," he told himself. "Calm down. It's all good." He stood and leaned over to get his slightly burnt toast. The toaster blew up in his face.

John was thrown backwards with a tremendous force. He smashed into the wall and hurt his back. But the pain meant that the toaster hadn't "toasted him."

"Toasted me? I'm almost dying and I'm making up cheesy jokes in my head? I'm in trouble." He smelt something burning and realized in must he his hair. He picked up the closest object he could find, which happened to be his cat, Muffins, and used it to put out the fire. Muffins hissed and scratched his eye. John yelped and dropped the cat.

"This is not good," he said. John decided the only way he was going to survive the day was for him to get away from home. Far away. Maybe the "big guy downstairs" would lose track of him if he left home.

"Muffins, I'm going to have to leave for awhile," John said. "Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone." Muffins hissed at him again. John sighed. "I'm sorry I used you to put out my hair fire," he said. But I really have to go. Without bothering to clean himself up, John walked out of his front door.

Once outside, John stood on his small porch and surveyed his neighborhood. There were plenty of places to hide. Unfortunately, there were also plenty of ways to die. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

"Duck!" someone yelled. John didn't see anything coming, but on a day like today he figured it was good advice to follow. Unfortunately, he had misunderstood the warning. A large duck flew at him and hit him square in the chest. John fell backwards on his already sore back. The duck ran up to his face, where it began clawing right where Muffins had scratched him.

"No way!" John yelled. "No freaking way!" He grabbed the duck and threw it off of his face. "Where the hell did that come from?" He stood up slowly, not because he was being cautious but because the pain in his back kept him from standing too quickly. He was just in time to see a large truck turning around the corner, with various farm animals packed into the trailer attached to the back.

"Not cool!" John said. "Definitely not cool!" John looked around making sure nothing else was flying at him. Then, remembering the battleaxe, he looked up towards the sky as well. After he was sure the coast was clear, he slowly began limping away from his house and into the street.

"This is going to be a long day," he said, wondering what time it was. He looked at the sun and saw that it was almost strait up in the sky.

"Noon." John said. "At least I slept in today." His thought was interrupted by a strange sound behind him. "What the…" Something cracked John in the back of his head and knocked him forward onto his face. He tasted asphalt.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry buddy!" said a panicked voice behind him. John grimaced as he pushed himself up. There were droplets of blood on the road in front of him. He soon discovered where they had come from. His nose had been bent sideways so that the bridge was poking out of the skin.

"Here, let me help you up!" The man who had spoken helped bring him to his feet. John's blurred vision cleared to see who it was that had injured him. The man, probably in his mid-thirties, wore a construction outfit and a yellow helmet.

"I was just coming out of the sewer, and I guess I hit you in the head with a manhole cover. I'm so sorry, that's never happened to me before."

"Me neither," said John. "But I'm starting to get used to this type of thing." He had only been up for about half an hour and already he had experienced three near death experiences. It was not going to be easy to make it through the day. And at this rate, soon he would be too injured to move. His thought was interrupted by an angry shout.

"Get away from him!" the voice yelled. John turned his head, which he instantly regretted because of an intense stream of pain it sent down his spine. On the other side of the road a young woman was facing him.

"Are you talking to me?" John asked her. She responded by pulling a large gun out of the back of her pants and aiming it at his head.

"Move or die," she said calmly. Normally, John would have had some sort of objection to this behavior. But he had enough sense to remove himself from a situation that could easily end with his brains scattered across the sidewalk. So he stepped back.

It was a good move. Without warning, the construction worker let out a scream. Smoke began to rise from his arms had from the top of his head. John could smell something burning. Then, the man burst into flames. His screams grew louder as the flames began to consume him. John moved toward him to help in some way, not thinking about the danger of putting out such immense flames with his bare hands.

John didn't reach him in time. As the fire disintegrated his flesh, the man took a step backwards. Unfortunately, he had been standing directly in front of an open manhole. Without anything to support his weight, the man lost his balance and toppled backwards. The last thing John heard was the hiss of the flaming man hitting the water at the bottom.

At first John was too shocked to move. Then he remembered the armed women standing just a short ways away. He was still in danger. He fled from the manhole where the construction worker had met his startling end, and looked for someplace to hide.

The woman had other ideas. "Stop running or I'll shoot!" she yelled at him. John begrudgingly complied with her demands.

"What do you want with me?" he asked her. "Any other day I'd be fine with your death threats, but right now they're really pissing me off."

"I want you to come with me," she told him.

"Go with you? Why?"

"I'll explain later, but right now you need to get your ass over here."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because I saved your life!" John didn't quite agree with that comment. Some weird things were happening today, but he was still pretty sure that pointing your gun at someone's head and forcing them to follow your bizarre commands was not equivalent to saving their life.

"You didn't save my life," John said. "I have no reason to trust you. So please, tell me, why should I follow you?"

"You don't have to follow me."

"I don't?"

"I could just shoot you instead." John gave the woman a blank stare.

"Fine," he said. "But I'm only going with you because of the threatening to kill me thing. Not because I trust you."

"But you should trust me," she told him. "I'm the one that saved you from getting burnt alive by that construction worker."

"What?"

"If you had been standing closer, after his spontaneous combustion you would have been burnt alive along with him."

"So you're telling me that you knew he was going to spon- whatever you said?"

"Spontaneously combust. Yes, I did."

"And forcing me to step back was just getting me out of harm's way?"

"Yes." John wasn't convinced. Besides, if she wanted to save him, why was she threatening to kill him? However, he was surprised to find that he did feel a bit safer when he was around this woman. It was weird.

Her eyes were a bright, piercing blue, and they seemed to light up as if they were on fire. Long, dark brown hair fell down her shoulders. But her most distinguishing characteristic was a small tattoo of a butterfly above her left eyebrow.

"Where did you get that?" John asked her, pointing at the tattoo.

"This is not the time to be asking questions," she told him. "If you've decided you can trust me, we've got to move. Now."

"Just one thing," John said. "What's your name?"

"Alex," she answered. "Now shut up and start moving John." He did. And as he followed her, he couldn't remember telling her his name.


"This way," Alex said. They had been walking for nearly an hour. Surprisingly, with the exception of a near miss involving an ice cream truck, John hadn't even been close to getting killed. He knew that he felt safe around Alex, but could she really be protecting him? She said she had known about the construction worker's death before it happened, but it seemed just a bit far-fetched. Then again, he had just been resurrected and thrown into a day long death match with the devil, so maybe it wasn't so hard to believe.

Alex stopped them, however, at a place that did not seem safe. Actually, John knew for a fact that it wasn't safe. Across from them was a towering mansion, long abandoned. Its white paint was cracked all the way up its three stories of broken windows and collapsed baloneys. The front lawn was a mess of tall grass, toppled statues and birdbaths. Spider webs covered the iron fence, and John was sure there would be plenty more inside the house.

This was not the first time John had seen this house, although it was the first time he had seen it in person. Every couple of months, there would be a story on the news about some teenagers that had wondered into the old mansion, only to be found dead days later. John had never really paid attention to the news stories, but now that he was face to face with the mansion, he realized it was not a place he wanted to enter. Especially not today.

"What are you waiting for?" Alex asked him.

"Sorry," John said. "But I can't go in there."

"Yes you can. You have to. You won't like what will happen if you don't."

"I'm pretty sure I won't like what will happen if I do. See, I have this situation. It's kind of hard to explain, and you wouldn't believe me if I told you." Alex rolled her eyes.

"You've been brought back to life and have to survive one day or the devil gets your soul." John was stupefied.

"Uh, yeah. That's… yeah, you pretty much summed it up. How do you…?"

"I told you, save your questions for later. Let's go!"

"I still don't think it's a good idea."

"But I'm the one with the gun." With that, Alex kicked open the iron gate of the fence surrounding the mansion. She looked much braver than John felt. As he followed her, he thought he could hear voices coming from the mansion. He convinced himself it was just the wind, even though it wasn't windy.

Most of the stairs leading up to the porch were broken, so they had to climb directly onto the porch. The screaming noises were louder now, but John kept them out of his head.

"What's in here anyway?" John asked.

"You don't want to know." Alex said. She walked into the open doorway. The door had been missing for some years, and nobody had ever bothered to fix it. John followed her into a large foyer. A majestic spiral staircase led up from the floor. Although John was sure this house was only three stories, the staircase seemed to be much taller. He couldn't even make out where it ended.

"Get ready to climb," Alex said. "Follow my directions exactly. Not to do so would end badly." The wooden floor groaned as she led him to the base of the staircase. Then they began to ascend the stairs to the unknown.

It was not an easy climb. Before long it became obvious that there was no way a staircase of this size could have possibly fit inside the mansion. John probably would have put more thought into the matter if he wasn't preoccupied with the screaming noises that continued to grow as they got higher and higher.

Alex stopped suddenly. "Duck!" she said.

"I've been told to do that before today and…"

"Get down!" Alex grabbed his shoulders and forced him into a squatting position. She let go of his shoulders just quickly enough to avoid a circular saw that whizzed spinning over John's head. John could feel the wind of it whizzing by and was almost positive it had cut off some of his hair.

"How did you know that was going to happen?" John asked Alex accusingly. "Actually, how did it happen? That saw came out of nowhere!"

"I said I'd tell you later. Right now we don't have time," Alex said. "Now get up and let's keep moving!"

"No!" John exclaimed. He turned around and sat on a particularly steep stair. "I'm getting tired of blindly following whatever you tell me to do. Either I get some answers or I'm not moving."

"Look," Alex said, pulling out her gun, "what about this choice? Move or die."

"No," said John. "I'm not stupid. You wouldn't shoot me. You're trying to save me. I don't know why, or how, but you're protecting me. So if you really want to keep protecting me, you'll let me know what's going on." John turned his neck around so he could stare Alex in the eye. She looked angry, yet understanding.

"We really don't have time," she told him.

"Then speak quickly," he told her. She closed her eyes and sighed, exasperated.

"Alright," she said. "You're supposed to die toady. Again. My job is to protect you."

"By threatening to kill me?"

"You wouldn't have survived if I hadn't!" she said.

"But I already figured that out. Who are you, and how do you know what's about to happen before it happens?"

"How I know what may happen is not something I can tell you. I just do. Which is why I was assigned to assist you."

"Assigned to assist me? By who?" Alex glanced upwards.

"By the big guy upstairs," she said.

"Wait, don't tell me your some kind of angel or something."

"No," Alex responded, holding up her gun, "angels don't pack heat."

"So you're human?"

"Yep."

"Then how did you wind up in the divine missions business?"

"Call it atonement for my sins. Now have you gotten enough answers to satisfy you?"

"Not really."

"Well I'm afraid that we've already wasted too much time. We may already be too late."

"Too late for what? Where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe, where you'll be protected from the death traps the devil is forming."

"Death traps?"

"Yeah. That circular saw, for example. You were right; it did come out of nowhere. The devil is breaking the laws of time and space in order to get at you. And before long he's going to get desperate. I can only protect you from so much." John gulped. This was a lot to take in. Had he known he would have to go through all this just to continue his life, he never would have made that deal. Unfortunatly, it was impossible to go back on his decision now.

"Well, you've gotten your damn answers." Alex said. "Now could we please keep moving? Whether you get decapitated or impaled or something much worse, your blood will be on my hands. And that is not something I'm looking forward to."

"Right," said John. He got to his feet and grabbed hold of the banister. "Let's go."

"Not quite yet," said Alex. She put a hand in front of Alex to keep him from moving ahead of her. A huge bolt of lightning exploded without warning onto the stair directly above them. John's mouth fell open.

"Now let's go," said Alex.


Hours passed, and they continued to climb. Despite the length of time that it had taken to get this far, there was still no end in sight to the continuously winding staircase. Alex never seemed to tire, but John was absolutely exhausted. The only thing that kept him moving was the thought of spending an eternity in hell.

As if the climb wasn't enough, every few minutes Alex would stop and give John quick instructions on how to avoid the latest death trap. In the past hour alone, John had avoided being crushed by a 16 ton weight, eaten by a vicious jaguar, shot with a poisoned dart, and having all of his blood drained out by leeches. He had escaped a vat of acid being poured on his skin, a railroad spike being shoved through his esophagus, and being drawn and quartered. It was no surprise it wore him out.

"How much longer?" he asked.

"Stop asking that. You sound like a seven year old child."

"Well if you would give me an answer I could stop asking."

"If I could tell you, I would. Now shut up. You need to save your breath."

"If I needed to save my breath I…"

"Stop!" Alex ordered. "Spread your arms and legs. Quickly!" John didn't question he command. He promptly spread his legs and lifted his arms. Almost immediately several missiles materialized in the air in front of him. They shot out in every direction, missing him my only a couple of inches. Many of the missiles would have hit him had Alex not put him in this strategic position.

"I'm getting less warning," Alex said after the last missile had flown off. "You're really going to have to be on your guard. John let his arms drop back to his sides.

"I don't know if I'm going to be able to last much longer," he said.

"Don't say that!" Alex told him. "We're almost there."

"Just a few minutes ago you said you had no idea how far away we were."

"Well maybe I just didn't want to get your hopes up," Alex said. "Now just don't give up on me. I'm going to get you there!" All of the sudden her eyes grew wide in horror. "John, it's..."

Before she could finish her statement John heard a deafening cracking sound. He looked around, and saw that the staircase was falling apart. Chunks of wood were falling off the banisters, and the stairs themselves were cracking and splitting. Alex grabbed John's writs and pulled him away from a falling anvil.

"What's going on?" John shouted over the noise.

"We're too late!" Alex yelled. "He's tired of playing with you. The devil is out to get you once and for all!"

"How can you be sure?" John asked.

"Because…" Alex pushed John down on the staircase as a burst of flame shot out of the banister he had been leaning against a moment before. "It happened to me!"

"What?" John asked.

"It happened to me!" Alex said. "I made the same deal you did, and…" she grabbed John's shirt and flipped him to the other side of the staircase just as the blade of a large guillotine fell and imbedded itself where John had been sitting. "And I lost!" Alex finished. "Ever since then I've been trying…" she grabbed a large chunk of wood that had fallen off the banister and swung it over John's head. Within a second a school of piranhas that had appeared out of nowhere had there teeth imbedded in the wood. She chucked it over the edge of the staircase.

"I've been trying to get to heaven. I talked with Steve, and he said that I would be allowed to go to heaven, but only if…" she turned around and kicked a midget holding a chainsaw in the crotch. "Only if I could save someone from suffering my fate."

"I had no idea." John said. He looked at Alex. She may not have looked tired before, but she certainly did now. "Are you okay?"

"Are you kidding?" she asked as she grabbed the chainsaw and threw it at an oncoming anaconda. "This is nothing!" However, the collapsing staircase seemed to have finally reached the amount of stress it could take. A large crack appeared several feet above them. Alex turned her head toward the fissure.

"Get up!" she yelled. "Run!" Together, they raced towards the top of the staircase. "Wait, break right!" Alex said. John did as he was told and avoided a flying pitchfork. Above them, the crack grew wider. John could feel the staircase starting to fall.

"Faster!" Alex yelled. She was quite a ways ahead of John, partly because it had not been necessary for her to avoid a pitchfork, but also because she was a fast runner. "Jump!" she screamed down at him. He did, and avoided falling through several stairs that had vanished into thin air.

By this time, Alex had made it to the section of the staircase above the widening gap. From there she encouraged John to hurry up. It wouldn't be long before the bottom half of the staircase fell away. "You're almost there John!" she said.

Before he could make it, the stairway made an excruciatingly loud groan. The entire staircase below the crack began to collapse. John ran up the remainder of the stairs as they fell and jumped. The spiral staircase fell, and as he flew through the air, John looked down to see the miles of staircase they had climbed falling down, down, down, into the foyer of the mansion that was barely visible from this height. If he fell from here, he would die before he hit the ground.

John continued to fly upwards towards the edge of the top half of the staircase. Alex was leaning over on her stomach, her arm stretched out over the edge reaching for him. He reached out for her, just a few inches away. Almost there now…

Then he started to fall. No, he couldn't be falling, he had been so close.

But he was falling. There was no denying it. He hadn't made it.

He stared down at the floor so far below him, and wondered how bad hell could really be. It's hell, you retard he told himself most likely it's pretty damn bad.

Even though it seemed like his death was inevitable, he didn't want to believe that he had failed. Why had he made that impossible deal? What was the matter with him anyway? Then, he saw something unexpected. A chain appeared in the air next to him. John could hardly believe it. Was this divine intervention, or was he just incredibly lucky?

He grabbed onto the chain, and felt a pain in his shoulders as they broke his fall. Then, hand over hand, he began to climb. It led all the way up to the top half of the staircase, but he didn't know what it was attached to. At the moment, it was not something he was worried about. He was tired and in pain, and the newfound power he found to pull himself up the chain was pure adrenaline.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he pulled himself over the top of the staircase, and to a sight that could mean nothing but bad news.

Alex was lying unconscious on the staircase. Her leg was twisted and bloody, and she didn't appear to be breathing. Could she be dead? Well, yes, of course she was dead, she was dead already. But could she die again? How did this death thing really work?

All of these questions flashed through John's mind in a matter of seconds. He didn't have time to ponder the answers, however, because it was then that he discovered where the chain had come from. Or, rather, what it was attached to.

The other end of the chain was wrapped around the neck of a creature the likes of which John had never seen. It was about fourteen feet tall, and appeared to be a bizarre cross between a monkey and a tiger. It stood on two legs and had two large, muscular arms. Its face was contorted into a grimace, and several rows of jagged teeth jutted out from its mouth. Blood colored stripes ran from the top of its head all the way down its back to the tip of its tail. And in its right hand, it held a large club. John suspected this is what had been used to knock Alex out.

John realized that the chain that had appeared next to him hadn't been divine intervention, and it most certainly hadn't been good luck. Now instead of falling to his death, he was going to be beaten to death by a gargantuan monster. John knew that he didn't stand a chance without a weapon, so he quickly scampered to where Alex lay. But before he could grab her gun, the beast raised its arm and swung its club toward him. He rolled out of the way just before he was flattened.

"Holy shit!" he said. The beast swung at him again, and once again he narrowly escaped the club. The beast growled and bared its teeth. It then did something John was not prepared for. It snapped at him with its enormous jaws. John fell back, and the yellow, jagged teeth missed him by inches. But in falling back he lost his balance, and toppled backwards. He hit his head on a stair, and it sent a jolt of pain through his entire body. The beast pulled its lips back. John could have sworn it was grinning at him.

He wasn't giving up, though. After all of the times today he had escaped death, he sure as hell was not going to let himself die now.

John stood up and made another dash for Alex's gun. The beast was quick for it's size. Once again it swung its club at him. But this time John was ready. He grabbed Alex's gun and fired it directly into the beast's shoulder. It howled and dropped the club. John took this opportunity to climb higher up the spiral staircase. He was going to have to have and advantage if he wanted to survive this encounter.

The beast growled and got down on all fours. It crouched and prepared to pounce, its mouth open wide. John fired again, right down the beast's throat. It began to choke, blood spurting from its neck. It got back on two legs and grabbed its neck. John lifted the gun and prepared for his final shot, the one that would send the beast toppling over the edge of the staircase. He pulled the trigger.

The gun didn't fire. He tried again, but all that he could hear was the dull click of an empty chamber.

"Uh oh," he said. The beast let go of its throat. Although the injury had appeared to hurt it badly, it would take a lot more than that to take the beast down. It bent over and picked up its club, ready to attack again.

Unable to think of anything else, he did the one thing he hated about action films. He threw the gun. It seemed that in every action film he had ever watched, when a person ran out of bullets, they would throw the gun. But now he could see why they did it. Throwing the gun was a last chance, an act of utter desperation. If this didn't work, he knew he was done for.

Fortunately, the gun hit exactly where it was supposed to, in the center of the beast's skull. The beast appeared to be dazed, but remained standing. At first, John feared that the gun had not served its intended purpose. But then, the beast's eyes rolled into the back of its head. It slowly began to stumble backwards, and then it fell. Since the bottom half of the staircase was no more, the beast, after falling backwards, continued rolling off the edge of the staircase. Then, it fell, it's arms flaying every which way. The chain followed behind it.

As soon as the beast was taken care of, John rushed over to Alex. He lifted her head up and supported it on his knee as he crouched down beside her.

"Wake up!" he said. "Wake up, damn it! I don't want finish this on my own!" But John soon realized that she was not waking up. After taking care of John for all this time, the beast had taken care of her. He leaned over her body, and felt warm tears running down his nose. And then, for the first time in ten years, John cried.

Death is never an easy thing to deal with. But despite his sorrow over Alex's death, John knew he could not dwell upon it. Alex had been leading him up this staircase for a reason, and he had to continue. He kissed her gently on the forehead, and said goodbye.

Standing up, John realized that the screams that had bothered him earlier were still present, louder than ever. Without the distraction of fighting for his life, the voices became almost deafening. He covered his ears, but it didn't make any difference. He would have to try to push the noise out of his head and continue on.

John's determination was strong enough to keep him moving. On any other day he would have given up long ago. It was helpful that his energy was entirely focused on continuing forward, as there was a noticeable lack of death traps appearing to destroy him.

"Maybe I won," John said. "Maybe that monster was the devil's last shot at killing me." But in his heart he knew it wasn't true. It may have just been the augmenting volume of the screaming, but John was unable to shake the feeling of impending doom.

After climbing for what seemed like an eternity, but was in reality an infinitely shorter amount of time, John checked his watch. 11:30, half an hour away from safety. John sighed, but it was more exhaustion than relief. Knowing how close he was, his legs gave out, bringing him to a kneel. There was no sense continuing to move towards an unknown danger when he could just wait it out.

What had Alex been leading him to anyway? She had made it clear she was bringing him somewhere safe, but John wasn't so sure. He seemed to have survived all right, and it was almost over.

Alex's protection had prevented his death on several occasions; there was no getting around that. But was there a reason she led him up this mysterious staircase other than bringing him somewhere free from harm?

Before much thought could be put into the matter, the environment began to change. It was so sudden and unexpected John at first didn't know it was happening. But the staircase was indeed changing, morphing like a ripple in a pond. He had never seen anything like it. For a while the staircase simply seemed to be deforming, but soon it was obvious it was morphing into something much different.

The banister became a line of burning flames. The stairs transformed into a large, open chamber, complete with pillars of fire and lakes of boiling water. Soon, the staircase was no more, and all that remained was the vast, hellish chamber. Charred, lifeless bodies were scattered carelessly throughout. John broke out into a sweat as the temperature rapidly increased.

As the transformation was occurring, the screams reached an unbearable intensity. They grew so loud John felt like they were piercing through his skull. He closed his eyes, but it only made them seem louder. Opening his eyes, he discovered the horrible truth.

The bodies strewn throughout the chamber, little more than corpses, were still very conscious. Unable to expire, they were unmoving as they were incinerated. John had an unhappy flashback of the construction worker that had fallen to his death that very morning. It seemed so long ago. But the surreal scene became even more disturbing as John came to the realization that the people in this room were the source of the screaming.

So this was hell.

Why was Alex leading him here? Had she really been lying to him the entire time? John didn't want to believe it, but he could think of no other explanation. All of the times she had saved him, all of the times she had helped him avoid a falling javelin or rampant rhinoceros, it was all a set up. How could he have been so stupid?

At the other end of the chamber, a violent burst of flame drew John's attention. From it, a figure appeared to rise from the ground. Smoke billowed out of the area where the event was taking place, and the figure's dark form became visible. The screams of the tortured bodies grew louder.

The smoke cleared, and John found himself facing a man who appeared to be in his late fifties. The man walked slowly and purposefully towards John. The heads of the burning corpses turned towards him, their eyeless sockets staring at him in horror. Before long, he was right in front of where John stood.

"Welcome to hell," the man said, and cackled. John's eyes widened in horror.

"God, I never get tired of that!" the man said. "Well, congratulations. You made it." It took John a few minutes to gather enough courage to speak.

"Who are you?" The man answered with another deep belly laugh.

"I am Santa,"

"What?"

"Satan. I am Satan. Damn, I almost never make that mistake."

"How did I get here?" John demanded. "I never died! I had half an hour left!" The devil smiled. He certainly didn't look like the Prince of Darkness, if fact he resembled a politician John was familiar with. But John could feel the presence of evil building ever since Satan had entered the chamber.

"You arrived here by climbing the staircase to hell," the devil said, grinning. He was close to laughing at another one of his unfunny jokes. "It's like the song, stairway to heaven. Only it's not a song. And this is hell." Satan began a spat of giggling that took quite some time to subdue.

"What are you saying?" John asked. The devil cracked his knuckles.

"It's all very simple. Your friend," (the devil made air quotes as he spoke the word friend) "wasn't truly leading you to a safe place. She was leading you here. To me. And my domain." John felt his heart sink. It couldn't be true. His suspicions about Alex had never included her leading him directly to the place he was trying to avoid. But somehow, he couldn't convince himself that she hadn't.

"Ah, you see now how good of a friend she really was," said the devil, looking extremely pleased with himself. "If by friend, you mean not friend!" At this Satan laughed so hard he fell over on the ground and started rolling around. John could not help but notice the irony of the Ruler of Hell being such a douchebag.

"Why would she do that?" John asked. "What reason could she possibly have for bringing me here?" The devil wiped the tears from his eyes and stood up.

"She wanted to bring you here," the devil chuckled, "To kill me!" He contorted his face into a weird expression, trying to avoid another fit of laughter, and snorted loudly. "Dead people don't stand a chance against me. As you can see." The devil motioned to the screaming bodies that lined the fiery chamber. "So she had no choice but to choose somebody living. And what better choice than someone who knew he was likely to end up in hell anyway?" John was dumbfounded. Could it really be true?

"If only she had told you beforehand, you might have been a little more prepared! But unfortunately, she didn't, and you're not looking so hot." The devil made a motion with his hand. "Get it? Because you're in hell. Of course you're looking hot!" Several more minutes were wasted as Satan cracked himself up once again.

John used this time to think things over. Had Alex really planned all along to use his vulnerable situation to her advantage so that he might murder the devil? It was not a very realistic assumption, but then again nothing that had happened today was especially realistic.

If Alex had manipulated him, John realized it must have been her only choice. He never would have agreed to this if she had told him. Alex was a determined person, and she was willing to put someone in incredible danger in order to save millions from eternal damnation. With this he made a decision. He would have to kill the devil.

Satan was recovering from his latest snicker. John quickly began looking around, searching for a weapon. The closest thing he could find were the remains of an incredibly unfortunate person sitting at his feet. A thighbone would have to do for a weapon. The skeleton gave out an awful cry as John ripped the thighbone away from it.

Without thinking, John swung the thighbone and smashed it over the devil's head.

Satan's smile wavered, and then turned into a frown.

"You aren't a very fun person, are you John?" he asked. "You're just being a sourpuss." Then, quickly and efficiently, the devil began a process of metamorphosis that was both fascinating and disgusting. His skin began to crack and yellow slime began to creep out of it. Jagged bones began poking out of his back at odd angles, and two large spiraled horns formed on top of his head. Meanwhile, his entire body expanded like an odd shaped balloon. Sharp fangs protruded from his mouth, and the bones sticking out of his back formed into a row of spikes. The yellow slime that had escaped his skin earlier appeared to be burning his flesh, and his skin was being burned to a dark red color. His feet exploded and left two large hooves. With the transformation complete, the devil now appeared as John had always imagined him. It was not a pleasant sight.

"I hope my appearance doesn't deceive you," Satan said "I haven't lost my sense of humor. Shall I demonstrate how funny I can be?" The devil raised a muscular arm and a battleaxe appeared a foot above John's head. John darted to the side before it could slice him in two.

"Well that's no fun!" Satan said, sounding quite disappointed. "Think of how funny it would have been for you to die exactly the same way you died the first time!" He slapped his knee and let out a howl of laughter. John did not find the joke very amusing.

"Shall we try something else? Maybe pin the tail on the donkey?" Hissing and spitting, a large cobra appeared in the devils hand. He closed his eyes and began to swing the snake around. John narrowly avoided getting pinned by the vicious reptile. Not giving up, the devil once again swung the cobra in John's direction, and he was forced to duck to avoid certain death.

"Well, you certainly are a clever donkey," the devil laughed, tossing the cobra aside. "Let's do something else. Do you like tattoos?" Instantly John found himself strapped into a chair. The devil leaned over him, a large needle in his hand. "What about a butterfly?" Despite the devil's uncontrollable laughter that followed his statement, his hand remained steady as he tattooed the butterfly directly over John's left eyebrow.

"This tattoo is special, John." The devil said. "It gives you insight into other's feelings, you might say." With this the devil dropped the needle and lost control entirely. He could not contain himself. But John didn't notice the laugher. He only noticed the pain.

It was as if he were feeling the pain of every person in this chamber, simultaneously. A pain so strong words could not describe it. And John realized that it was the pain of everyone in this room. All of their sorrows, all of their lost hopes, not to mention their physical agony, were being transmitted to John by means of the tattoo. He screamed, just as all the others were screaming, but it did no good.

"You see?" said the devil, having gotten his sense back. "I said insight into other's feelings, which doesn't sound like it has any particularly harmful implications, when in reality, I was referring to the most intense hurt imaginable!" The devil smiled, proud of himself as if he had just done the most clever thing in the world.

The chair that held John suddenly disappeared, and John dropped to the floor. Surprisingly, he found that he was able to stand. If fact, he felt fantastic and energized. Were it not for the ache of millions of tortured souls flowing through his body, he would have said it was the best he had ever felt.

"You feel strong, don't you?" the devil said as if reading his mind. "That's because the strength of all those people is flowing through you as well." The devil snorted. "But considering they're all rotting corpses, their combined strength could barely bench two-fifty. I, on the other hand, am a bit more in the fifteen ton range."

John didn't know what to say. It was hard to concentrate with the pain throbbing through his entire body. He realized he had seen the same tattoo on Alex. Did that mean she had been suffering through this the entire time she had been helping him? Was getting rid of the devil the only way to end this pain? John felt as if he finally understood her motives for deceiving him.

"Well, all of this laughing has made me tired," said Satan. "I think it's about time for you to die now. Which will lead to you ending up in the exact same place you are now. Only deader." The devil chuckled. "What a shame, that the first living person to challenge me in centuries will be dead so soon. Oh well."

But John wasn't ready to die. With the pain rippling through his body, he ran towards the devil and attacked. His arms flailing, he pummeled the devil's stomach. Satan, although not remotely hurt, was forced to take a step back.

"You have some spunk in you," the devil said. "Too bad it's going to be wasted." A large sword appeared in his hand. Satan swung the sword, with the intention of slicing John in half. John jumped backwards, avoiding the sword but sending himself strait into the pillar of fire.

He could see and smell his flesh being burned, but the pain he was already feeling was so intense he barely noticed. John became aware of another burning body stuck inside this pillar of fire.

"Sorry buddy," he said, picking up the body. He then launched it towards Satan's head. The shot was dead on. Satan was forced to drop the sword as the corpse's charred skull latched onto the top of his head. The prince of darkness let out a scream.

"Go to hell!" he yelled. He succeeded in getting the body off of his head. "Oh wait, you are in hell!" Once again the devil made a joke that he could not help but laugh at.

John meanwhile had picked Satan's sword up off of the ground. It was heavy, and he was barely able to lift it over his head. But it was his only chance at killing Satan. Quickly, he ran towards the devil, wielding the sword like a professional. The devil stopped in the middle of his laugh as the sword sliced off his left arm.

"Holy six six six!" the devil screamed. Blood as black as night poured from the place his arm had been severed. It hissed and gurgled as it hit the floor, as if it was acidic.

Ready to chop of the other arm, John raised the weapon above his head once more. But Satan had other ideas. With incredible agility, he leaped up into the air and flipped over John's head. John didn't have time to react to the unexpected occurrence.

"You little bastard," Satan spat. "Nobody severs my arm and gets away with it!"

With that the devil grabbed John's head and ripped it away from his body. Blood seeped out of the uneven neckline as the body collapsed onto the ground. The devil cackled as he squished John's head in his hand like a rotten grapefruit.

It was not a pleasant experience.


John woke to find that the pain was gone, as well as the screaming. He sat up and remembered every last detail of the evil and God forsaken place that was hell.

Where he was now could be described as the exact opposite. It didn't take long for him to figure it out: he was in heaven.

"Ah, you're awake! Finally!" John turned around to come face to face with Steve. "I must say I thought you were done for!"

"I did too," said John. "Wasn't I killed? In hell? By the devil?"

"Yes, yes, yes, of course you were, and I must say it had me rather nervous. But lucky for us everything worked out better that expected.

"How?" asked John. "I thought I was supposed to end up in hell if I died!"

"But there is no hell to end up in!" said Steve, excitedly. "I have much to explain and little time to explain it, are you interested?"

"Yes, of course," said John. "Let me know what the hell happened."

"Well," said Steve. "Our contract was that you make it one day without dying."

"And?"

"Satan killed you at exactly 12:01am! It was a close one, but you made it just in time!" John smiled.

"So I really made it a day?"

"Barely. But yes. And according to our contract you could continue living until you met you natural demise. Which came about quite a bit sooner than expected. But nevertheless it ended you up in heaven."

"So you're saying getting murdered by the devil is considered a natural demise?"

"Absolutely," said Steve. "But back to the point. The devil wasn't allowed to kill you!"

"What?"

"The devil is forbidden to commit murder with the exception of those who are on, as in your case, 24 hour life probation. Since he killed you just a bit too late, hell was confiscated as part of the contract Satan had agreed on, and all of the people there were brought up here." John felt overwhelmed with all of the information about death and hell and contracts.

"What do you mean hell was confiscated?" John asked.

"Well, Satan was allowed to rule hell as long as he followed a specific set of guidelines. Since he broke one, as according to the contract, he had to abdicate his underworldly throne. We're currently sending out applications for a new prince of darkness, while Satan has been demoted to running the mini-golf course on cloud nine."

John smiled. Despite the fact that he was not continuing to live his life, which had been his goal, he had accomplished something much more important. He had rescued millions of people from, well, a living hell.

"Well, you've been through quite an ordeal," said Steve. "I'm sure you'll find heaven to be quite relaxing."

"One more thing, Steve," John asked. "Have you seen Alex around anywhere? I'd really like to talk with her." Steve smiled.

"Someone's got a crush," he said.

"What?" John said. "No! I just want to talk to her!"

"Don't lie," said Steve. "I can see it in your eyes. Alex and John, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" If Steve wasn't an angel John would have punched him.