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sending-the-message · 8 years ago

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I sold my soul for a used dishwasher, and would like it back. [Part Three] by PeteTheSeed

Part Two

It’s been difficult to write this third and final part of my tale. Honestly, no matter how I try to write it, nothing truly conveys what I’ve come to experience. I’ll do my best. We left off with Gary and I finding ourselves in Hell, which in itself is a rather precarious predicament. The search for my soul had been a rather tenuous one, and as we left ventured out from that warehouse and into the unknown, I felt a strange sense that everything was going to be okay.

I lost Gary on the first day. We traversed across the landscape of Hell, which is far less ‘pedestrian-friendly’ than you might think. Mountains scoured the horizon, broken apart by deep ravines that disappear into darkness. The sky was ablaze, and the lightning that rained down from its inferno left fissures large enough to swallow you whole. Winds strong enough to strip flesh from bone came and went, and carried with them the howls of those too unfortunate to get caught in its midst. If I’d came here on vacation, I’d give it two out of five stars.

We crawled and stumbled across the cliff face overlooking a vast expanse of land that stretched farther than the eye could see. Wilted forests and bodies of grey water littered the expanse, with figures and shapes darting around wildly. Predators and prey. Whilst we crawled across the jagged and crumbling rocks, lightning struck between us, which sent Gary tumbling down into the chaos. He cupped his genitals the entire fall as he rolled and collided with stone.

So, that was kind of lame. I managed to reach the end of the cliff face, only to find myself staring outwards at another stretch of horrors and obscenities. I was getting the impression that there wasn’t a great deal of aesthetic variance in Hell. I silently wished Gary the best of luck, and continued onwards.

I didn’t really have a plan in mind; Hell, as far as I knew, could be infinite in size, and the likelihood of just stumbling upon my soul could be less likely than two grains of rice adrift at sea bumping into each other. The only thing that was fuelling my soulless being was a pure sense of annoyance at the entire ordeal; I had faced a great deal of inconvenience thus far and didn’t want to admit that I’d wasted the better part of a week.

I eventually found myself a quaint little cavern overlooking what I’m pretty sure was an ocean of faeces, which I decided to use as a temporary retreat from the dreary horrors of Hell. I folded my jacket into a pillow, and sat down to enjoy some quality me time, where I could recoup and gather myself. I’d get some rest until morning, maybe lead a one-man search party for Gary, and plan my next course of action. I was relatively certain that, by the end of the next day, I’d be well on my way home and able to put the entire thing being me.

I was in Hell for over six months.

Less than an hour after settling down in my Hell-scape abode, I found myself being woken with a spear inches from my face. Well, I remember thinking, this is interesting. The man who held the spear was nothing but skin pulled tightly over thin bones, his eyes sunken deep into the skull and his lips well receded, revealing his broken and blackened teeth. Coating his skin was a mixture of bodily mutilations and tribal paint, that I sensed were largely a fashion choice. Behind him stood others, similarly styled and equally deranged. Never having been a ’fight my way out’ kind of lad, I pretty much surrendered on the spot.

Before I could protest the necessity of it all, I found myself bound by my wrists and dragged from my dwelling, poked and prodded with sticks and stones along the way. Outside of the cave stood what I can only describe as a roaming Hellish gypsy brigade; strange, horse-like creatures pulled along obscene carts built from bone and skin. Behind each lay a trail of poor souls bound the same as I, connected in a train and pulled behind each of the carts. My captures had innumerable friends, all of which marched and chanted and yelled crazily, taunting their prisoners as they went. I was attached to the back of one trail, and the gypsy brigade moved onwards with me in tow.

I don’t know how long we marched for; Hell had no day or night cycle, no change in season and certainly no calendars. I marked the passing of time as best as I could. The only real judge I had was the growth of my hair and beard; I’d long since accepted that it would take me at least three months to grow out what could be potentially described as a semi-successful beard, and whilst I was pulled along across Hell I went from clean-shaven to Santa Claus. We would march day in and day out, resting only for a few sparing hours for whatever rest we could get before being dragged along again. We were fed filth coated bowls of a gruel-like substance that I’m pretty sure the horse-creatures excreted; I’ve never been a picky-eater, but it took a few days before I even dared dip into the putrid mixture.

I won’t go into too much detail about my time captured in Hell; truthfully, every day brought a new nightmare, each one grimmer, each one more horrifying than the last. We were led through ceaseless valleys that held grand pits of the damned who writhed in their own misery. We trekked through deep caverns that burrowed into the earth, where spider-like creatures the size of mammoths roamed in numbers unknown. When we reached an ocean, boats were assembled and we sailed through storms across oceans of shit and blood and bile, baring witness to indescribable beasts whose lengths could span cities as they erupted upwards from the waters depths, bringing with them a bellowing cry that could deafen ears. We miserably trudged through swamps of long dead trees with bubbling pools of acid that exploded outwards and coated more than one of us, whom immediately writhed down into a puddle of their own being. If I had a soul, I’d have probably been pretty depressed.

When my ankles could take no more, I crawled. When I could crawl no more, I was pulled until the skin peeled from my back. After a lifetime, we reached our destination.

We were pulled into a grand encampment, a city of skin-forged tents and raging bonfires. Spikes adorned with severed heads were littered like street lights, discarded bones laying like trash. Tribal savages roamed and sung and chanted and danced in every direction. It wasn’t really my kind of scene.

Various other caravans were unloading their own hordes of captives, all lined up and chained like dogs. Forced to my knees, I was made to join them.

We were left there to rot. Occasionally, a savage would approach and inspect one of us; arms lifted and groped, legs tapped and stretched, mouths pulled open and examined. Sometimes they were then ignored, other times they were untied and taken away, not to return. I imagine they went to a happier, cheerier place. Maybe Morocco.

We slept on the floor. We pissed and shit on the floor. Scraps were flung at us, often just out of reach. Dignity was in sparse supply in those moments. As time passed, those who I had been brought in with dwindled one by one; some perished, others were taken. One chewed through his chain, reducing his teeth to broken, shattered stubs. He tried to run, and was ridden down and set alight.

Others came and were chained, but I remained. If they were selling us, my captors would need to offer a pretty substantial discount if they wanted to be rid of my sorry soulless ass, it seemed. I retreated inwards, spending my days staring into space as caravan after caravan rolled into the camp, selling their wares and trading in suffering.

“Psst… Hey! Dude!”

I snapped out of a daze at the words; it was the first language I’d heard since arriving that I understood. I turned my head as best as I could to look behind me, and saw another poor captured man trying to get my attention. He wore tattered, torn overalls and the remains of a black beanie.

“Oh, hey Dave.”

“Hey! It’s you! Remember me? I opened the portal and got us here? Fun times, right? Crazy times. So, how you been?” Dave had seen better days. Ragged, ginger curls hung down from his beanie, matted like a dog. His face was battered and bruised, and he looked as though he hadn’t eaten in a week. Oh, and he had one eye now. Or did he only have one eye already? I couldn’t remember.

“Oh, I’m not bad, myself. Did some sightseeing, worked on my calves, got a bit of a tan. Oh, and I’m pretty sure I’m a slave now, which is something.”

“You got your soul back though, right? Man, look at this place. Craaayzeee stuff, amiright?”

I realised that I didn’t like Dave very much.

“Nope, still soulless. I guess that’s kind of been a blessing, really. Puts things into perspective.”

“Really? The demon I sold it too is, like, right over there.” He pointed off towards a caravan, where a being that was more blob than man sat surrounded by various jars of peculiar glowing liquids. He had small, ill-fitting glasses and four arms, each of which was scratching a different orifice that coated his form. The caravan was coated in ornate, ancient jars, that each radiated a small flicker of light. Each one had a name, and each one seemed to be vibrating furiously, causing a rattle to the cart. “Yeah, that’s the guy. I found him not long after we wound up here, figured he’d help a dude out considering our pre-existing business relationship. The dude sold me for some sheets.”

“Huh. Well, that’s neat. Kind of annoying, what with the whole slave thing that I’ve currently got going for me.” I awkwardly manoeuvred myself into a sitting position, and stared at the caravan. It’s difficult to explain, but now that it had been pointed out to me, I could sort of feel a presence coming from the jars. One jar, in particular; it sat at the bottom of the cart, slightly damaged and it appeared to be leaking, surrounded by a few other equally damaged wares. My soul was in the discount, remainder bin.

That’s when Gary showed up again.

“Where the fuck have you been?!” Was pretty much all I said. I sat there, bound and chained and displayed like a piece of damaged fruit, staring at my spectral companion that I hadn’t seen in what felt like the better part of a year.

My hair was wild, my beard and skin coated in all sorts of filth. My jeans had, at best, a week left of decent use in them. My wrists were cut to the bone from my restraints. But I wasn’t the only one who had a change of appearance; Gary wore a hat now. More of a crown, actually; it looked to be made of bones and twigs. His once perpetually disgruntled expression had softened, seeming sunken with a hint of sorrow. His once proud ghastly erection was now but a humble semi. I dared not think what he had endured those past months, but his appearance said it all. Behind him was a small group of the damned. A baker’s dozen, at most. Each one of them wore strange cloaks that covered their forms, their faces expressionless and gaunt. When Gary stopped in front of me, they fell on their knees, and began to chant and bow clumsily. I guess Gary was their leader now, or their God. I don’t even know. Upon seeing me, Gary turned towards them, made a few gestures and removed his crown, placing it on the ground. A few of his flock began to tremble, a few burst into howling tears. One by one, they all departed. Gary looked at me and shrugged, a single ghost tear running down his ghost cheek. It was all ridiculous, honestly.

“Hey.” I said. Gary nodded.

Gary approached, and began fiddling with my restraints. In a few moments he had freed me, and none of my captors seemed to notice. I stood up, dusted myself off and threw up slightly as blood rushed to my feet. I stretched my back and coughed fiercely.

Gary gestured his head towards the soul-covered caravan. I nodded, acknowledging that I’d seen it.

“Well, let’s just take it and get out of here. Come on, Gary.”

“You can’t steal a soul, buddy!” Dave pipped up from behind. “Oh, and could I get a hand over here, too? Hell is overrated.”

I turned back towards the caravan, and then back to Dave. Then to Gary.

“You know what? I’m done. Let’s just say that we tried, we gave it a solid effort. Fuck this. Fuck Hell. Fuckity-fuck being a Hell-slave. Fuck you, Dave. Fuck the dishwasher. Fuck your god-damned boner, Gary. Fuck you and your boner.”

I collapsed, completely finished. Some may say that I was overreacting, but even a soulless husk has its limits. If only I could just rest.

Gary didn’t react. He looked down upon me, sighed, and disappeared into nothingness as though it was the most casual gesture in the world. I was alone again. I wasn’t counting Dave.

“Fuck this. Fuck whatever that is,” I was walking forward now, my blood boiling. I don’t know if it was down to the proximity to my soul, but I was starting to feel raw, unfiltered emotion seeping in to my skin. “Fuck souls. Fuck Hell so god-damned much.”

“Um, dude? A little hel-“ Daves voice faded into the background.

I reached the soul-trader, stood before him defiantly. He looked a bit confused, and a bit offended.

“Give me my soul.”

He blinked. He itched his slime stained scalp. A strange mucus dripped from one of his many orifices. He didn’t seem to mind. He spoke back in a broken tongue, and then turned away.

“Give me my damned soul, don’t be a douche.” I reached forward and grabbed the jar that was calling to me. It was cold to the touch, and felt far lighter than it should have. The blob guy looked at me, his eyes going wide. He pointed with all four arms and all twenty fingers, yelling. The savages around the encampment had begun to take notice. They muttered and whispered between one another, and began to approach and encircle me. I took steps backwards, gripping the jar close to my chest like a child grasps a pillow.

“Look, things might have gotten a little heated, granted. Now, if you just let me walk away with my soul, we can put all of this behind us-“ A spear flew in my direction, missing my skull my mere inches. “Now, that’s completely uncalled for.”

I ran. I don’t know where I planned and running to, but it felt like the best option at the time. I passed Dave as I went, and shot him the kind of look that said, ’sorry about leaving you in Hell. Oh, and fuck you.’ I left the encampment at full sprint, the savages quickly in pursuit. Nothing but open valley stretched around, the sky still burning and raging and my feet aching and my heart pounding. My brow dripped sweat. My fingers trembled. I was not letting go of my soul.

I fell, hard. I slipped down a small ravine, landing flat on my back. The jar flew off in an unknown direction. I felt warm liquid trickle down my leg. I’ll say it was blood, but it was probably urine.

The Hell savages were on me in no time. They circled like sharks, weapons outstretched. One of them carried a flaming torch. Another carried a barbed whip. I sensed my plan had failed miserably.

I spat out dirt. The jar was a few feet away from me. I began to crawl towards it, as the lash of the whip came cracking down on my back. I screamed, spittle’s of blood dusting the ground. I reached the jar. Another whip; I felt the skin on my back tear open. I raised the jar. Another whip. I felt the barbs crack bone. I brought the jar down to the earth as hard as I could, as I heard the air break as the whip began to bear down again. The jar shattered.

Nothingness.

I was adrift. Somewhere and everywhere. I was nothing and everything and something all at once. I felt no pain or ache, wasn’t tired or hot or cold or stressed or scared. Just complete and pure nothingness. Wherever I was, I felt as though I’d been there before. I could sense nothing, but at the same time everything was heightened and overloading. I have no experience in it, but I imagine it’s what meth felt like.

Then, as though nothing had happened at all, I was back. I felt different, but the same. It was disorientating. I could see nothing but the ground, and slowly the pain that radiated my body returned. I forced myself onto my back, which burned fiercely. I was still in Hell. Great. The savages stood around me now, eyes widened and weapons gripped. A few of them scowled, others looked frightened. I stood up, and waited for the inevitable killing strike. It never came. One by one, they began to turn-tail and run, fleeing back to the encampment. Soon enough, I was stood alone, surrounded by discarded weapons.

Well, that was odd. I guessed it was one of those things you just have to roll with. Exhausted, I scanned the horizon, decided upon a nice-looking hill to walk towards, and set off.

Upon my first step, the ground beneath me crumbled, and I was swallowed by the abyss. I faintly heard Dave’s voice as a whisper in the distance:

”You can’t steal a soul, buddy…”

I could see them beneath me as I fell; thousands of souls, all piled up upon one other, surrounded my nothingness, all reaching upwards towards me. I landed atop the pit, hard. The writhing mess of flesh accepted me, hands outstretching and pulling me inwards. Within moments, I was dragged deep within. I felt the pressure of it all on my chest, the air being forced out of my lungs. I tried to scream, but fingers wrestled into my lips and began to force their way down my throat. With my one free hand, I reached upwards towards the darkness, as I got what I knew would be my last glimpse of anything.

Light exploded overhead. Pillars of brilliantly white fury descended, burning away at the accursed souls who pulled me downwards. A thousand shrieks killed my eardrums, withdrawing. I looked up, blinded, and saw the most beautiful sight that any being has ever bared witness too.

Gary descended slowly, the light radiating from his glorious form. He floated above me, his angelic erection stronger and prouder than ever. He reached out his hand and took mine, and pulled me from perdition.

We rose together, Gary’s hand locked around my wrist as I hung beneath him. We rose and rose until we had left the abyss that I had been called too, until Hell was but a faint glimpse below. We ascended through the infernal sky, and I closed my eyes and embraced every moment of my saviour’s presence.

“Gary… Are you an Angel?” I don’t know whether I actually asked, or whether I merely thought it. Within my mind, a gentle and comforting voice replied. I don’t recall what it said.

The light grew brighter and brighter, until it was everything.

I awoke in my apartment, and that was that.

It turns out I was in Hell for about a day and a half, which is mildly frustrating. I’m pretty sure I have my soul back now, which is cool. I don’t feel as empty any more. I still have the dishwasher, too; I’m not really sure what to do with it. I guess I’ll just sell it for scrap or something. I can dream again, now; I must have slept for the better part of three days after my return. I’m not really sure what to make of my experience; I guess it’ll take some time to piece everything together, and come to terms with what I experienced, if that’s possible. I don’t see the dead anymore, either; the streets are once again only occupied by the living and the homeless. Yeah, that includes Gary, too. That’s okay though, I suppose. I won’t forget what he did, even if I don’t quite understand it. I think he’s still here. Every now and then, I’ll catch a glimpse of something in the corner of my eye, something that looks a hell of a lot like a disembodied penis, and I find comfort in that. He’s my friend.

Kind of a shame about Dave, though.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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