BY DR. AGONSON
The sounds of cracking whips and moans—and laughter, harsh, devilish laughter—filled my ears. Helpless cries, pleas for mercy, and still the laughter undergirding it all. I say I heard, for I could not see. They had blinded me with a cloth, thrown a black sack over my head, shackled me, arms and legs; I was carried through that darkness knowing it only by my ears.
Then we stopped. The laughter, I could still hear it, but it was distant now, and I was placed in a chair. I heard the clanking of chains, keys turning, locking and unlocking, felt cold, new chains wrapped about me, the chains I had worn pulled away—then the hands ceased, their work complete. I heard the sound of their retreating steps. A door slammed—the laughter was muffled, but still just barely audible—and the hood was pulled from over my head.
Light stabbed my eyes. I wondered what horrors awaited me. Then, as my vision cleared, I saw the table, set with fine dinnerware, laid with fruits and cheeses and bread. Opposite me, at the far end of the table, a decrepit figure in rich clothes stood tall—thin and sallow like a skeleton, his long, white hair like thin cobwebs hanging from his scalp, his eyes, sunken, empty, dark.
“Have a seat.” His voice was hushed, like a whisper. His withered hand reached out and plucked a single grape. Trembling, his pale, boney fingers brought the morsel to his mouth. The dry lips parted, and the grape disappeared. It seemed to take a minute or more for him to chew. After a while, he swallowed and sat down.
He pressed the tips of his fingers together and frowned at me.
“You murdered three of my soldiers,” he whispered.
My soldiers! the words repeated in my mind. I suddenly knew who I was talking to.
He continued, softly. “Impressive. How did you do it?”
“Just lucky,” I said and impulsively tried to reach for a piece of bread. The manacle cut into my wrist, and I stared down at my chains.
The old creature sighed.
“I could have you tortured for the next ten years,” he said, “drive you mad, bind your soul to your corpse and let you loose as a ghoul.” He laughed, a quiet chuckle, but it was the same kind of laugh I had heard on my way in. “But that wouldn’t replace the three soldiers I lost.” He smiled at me, and I saw the long incisors shine in the candlelight. “You show promise,” he said, rising. “After you killed them, why did you behead them?” He was coming around the table now.
“I didn’t want you to promote them. I figure people hold a grudge when you kill them.”
“Quite right,” he said. He was at my side now. “I may have done just that, you know. Raised them up and sent them after you.” His cold hand came under my chin and lifted my face up to his. “But without their heads, what use would it be?” He stared into my eyes with an almost bemused grin. “Now tell me, did you enjoy it? Killing them, sawing off their heads?” I tried to look away, but he peered down at me, his eyes guessing my secret. His smile widened, and he nodded. “You show promise.”
There was a goblet at hand, and he pushed it toward me.
“You’re right,” he said. “You are very lucky.”
He coiled a single, boney finger under the chains binding my right arm. With a simple flick, they shattered, snapping like twine.
“Have a drink,” he breathed.
I could still hear the laughter from beyond the door, muted but there, and I still remembered the echoes of torture which had fed that terrible mirth. My hand reached for the goblet, but stopped. I gazed at the desiccated creature and felt a horrible revulsion.
“Go to Hell,” I spat. It felt corny to say, but it just burst out of me.
“Don’t you know,” he said, grabbing my arm and pinning it to the armrest, “we’re already there?”
He squeezed, and the bones in my arm began to crack. I let out a cry, and his free hand snatched up the goblet and poured the viscous contents into my mouth. Before I could spit it out, his hand came up and forced my jaw closed.
Try as I might, the gooey substance began trickling down my throat, burning like fire, but still, there was something even worse than that. The really terrible thing was that it tasted good, like candy. Even as I tried not to swallow, I knew I wanted to.
“Welcome to Hell,” he whispered.
Tale Told 