When people think of Hell they think fire and unbearable heat, and sweat dripping down tortured bodies, but that wasn’t his. No, his Hell was icy cold winds that whipped right through him and ravaged to the bone, leaving that deep ache of cold limbs and a numbness in his extremities so complete he’d lost all feeling in them.
Gale force winds raced through the town square, litter tossed and thrown like ships lost at sea. The locals rushed about their business, intent on spending as little time in the bitter, wild weather as possible. In the midst of it all the man lay groaning on one of several park benches, unnoticed by those fortunate enough still to have a home or a job to rush to.
The man had a name once but now it was as distant as the home and comforts he once knew. What use was a name in a life on the fringes of society, a life that bore little difference to that of a stray dog? Indeed, a stray dog may have garnered more attention from the passersby, maybe even gaining their sympathy with those big soulful eyes. The man wasn’t even spared a sideways glance, even after he fell off the bench as his body spasmed and complained under the current hardship of the wintry months.
He was stiff and aching from another night at nature’s mercy, but now the wind had started up again and it was time to move on in search of shelter. Pain coursed through his gut like something had turned to needles working their way through his system. Moments passed before finally it subsided into a dull throb which was at least more manageable. The abdominal pain had been plaguing him for days past now, or had it been weeks? Something was very wrong but he didn’t have the luxury of a visit to the doctor, so he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stagger to his feet and keep moving before the winter claimed him. He knew that internal agony meant he could well be living on borrowed time, but he wasn’t ready to just give up yet, so he forced himself onwards while there was still some fight left in him.
Moving did little to help ease any warmth back into his limbs, the cold never any lesser despite the number of old papers he shoved down his tattered, filthy coat. At least his stomach pain kept the discomfort of hunger at bay. It was so intense that eating was the last thing on his mind.
The wind had built up so much force now it was as if it tried to drive him back to meet his end in the exposed town square. It robbed him of his breath as he struggled against it, renewing and increasing his determination the stronger it assaulted him. This was nature at its most relentless, something most people never truly experienced in the comfort of their four walls, enjoying the warmth and light of a privileged lifestyle, able to keep the cold dark of winter at bay. It was a formidable enemy, and if he didn’t find shelter soon it would claim him as its latest victim.
As he walked that familiar sense of unease crept through his cold body, the first sign of the return of that dread presence. Nature wasn’t his only adversary, for it seemed he was being hunted by something. Every time he believed himself to have lost it the thing returned, and all he could do was to keep moving and pray he could stay one step ahead.
Sure enough he caught sight of a tall, dark figure, roughly humanoid but it set off his senses in a way no man ever could. He quickened his pace but that only aggravated the fire in his belly, and between that and the wind he was making much slower progress than his instincts screamed at him for, while that thing drew ever closer.
The pain was quickly becoming unbearable, so much so that running was out of the question. He couldn’t even keep a fast walk up for long, and his only hope seemed to lie in finding some place to hide from both his enemies, some hole to cower in like a rat before a snake, where he could wait for the pain to ease and continue to flee. Twice he fell to his knees and was forced to scramble along the pavement on all fours before he was able to stumble upright once more. He did his best to lose his pursuer, crossing busy roads in the hope the traffic could put some distance between them, and weaving through the network of streets he knew so well, using every little alleyway and snicket he’d discovered. Yet every time he risked a backwards glance there was the shadowy figure, stalking towards him with a seemingly mindless predatory intent as if it was some powerful force of nature, stronger even than the battering winds that didn’t appear to slow it in the slightest.
He was so numb he almost didn’t feel the thing closing in, but such was the power of its presence and its command over his most primal impulses, even the bitter wind couldn’t completely whip that sense of terror away. The man had no choice but to struggle onwards, the elements continuing to sap him of what little strength he had left. He knew he couldn’t go on for much longer and the need for some form of temporary safe haven grew more urgent.
The backstreets were taking him further and further from the town centre, and it wasn’t long before he found himself on the almost deserted outskirts. A hillside loomed up ahead, an old tunnel running through it which saw little use at present and consequently it was not particularly well lit. The man felt drawn to the tunnel, as uninviting as it was, and despite the fact it offered no shelter from the wind which raged through it even stronger than the gale blowing around it. Still, he felt compelled to enter, convincing himself the gloom might cloak him and allow him to finally lose the thing that continued to hunt him.
He stumbled blindly onwards till his eyes adjusted and were able to detect the shadowy outline of another humanoid figure, this one slumped over in an unnatural position that suggested he was looking at a corpse. He drew closer, feeling there was something inexplicably familiar about this corpse. He went to touch it but before he could roll it over in order to discover its identity, a fresh stab of pain shot through his stomach, causing him to bend over, clutching himself as if that would ease it. Minutes later it passed and his hand came away slick with blood as if he’d cut himself, but how could he have possibly managed that? He was afraid to examine himself for fear of what he might find so he returned his attention to the body, which he now noticed bore a large, deep gash on its abdomen, a loop of intestine poking through. This discovery sent a fresh wave of fear through him and a terrible feeling that he knew the identity of this corpse. Part of him wanted to leave the body and continue in his search for shelter, but he had to be certain. The body rolled over to reveal his worst fears, the dead face staring back at him as if from some horrific mirror.
He fell back with a cry when a skeletal hand gripped his shoulder. There was something about that icy touch that went down to his very being, sending a sensation through him like an electrical jolt which caused a sudden flash of memories, overpowering and uncontrollable, causing him to lose all sense of the present.
Images of the paradise he had lost tormented him, the perfect life he’d once had with the woman he loved in their beautiful home. The images slowly grew darker as if something had begun to rot at the heart of the happy couple, the man now consumed by greed and his own pride, allowing it to rule him. First it had driven away his wife who had once been everything to him, then he’d fallen victim to his gambling addiction that robbed him of what little he had left, losing his material possessions one by one until finally his house was repossessed, and ultimately he’d paid with his life.
Unable to take anymore, to continue to watch helplessly as he was confronted with each mistake he’d made which had led him to this, he struggled to break the surface of his consciousness, returning to the present once more.
“It is time you came with me,” a voice sounded from within the black hooded robes behind him. “You cannot run forever; you are already mine. You must face your judgement and complete the journey to your final destination.”
The Reaper’s words rang true with the evidence plain to see, sprawled out limply before him, but he was not about to give up. He fought to free himself from Death’s grasp, this man who was nothing in life and even less in death. As harsh as his time in purgatory had been, clinging to the hellish remnants of the life he had known in his final weeks, he instinctively knew if Heaven existed, it was not for the likes of him, and the real Hell was sure to be worse even than this. So he fought free and he did the only thing he could; he continued to flee, armed now with the knowledge of the true nature of his pursuer and everything that was at stake. He’d been fearing for his life but the truth was much worse, for whatever the afterlife held, this was forever. And with eternity at stake he would continue to evade Death for as long as he could, and continue to hang on to the Earthly realm and remain as close a part of it as he could ever be now. Even if there was a futility to his plight, he would not rest in peace.
The Reaper watched him go, in no hurry to give chase. The knowledge that no mere mortal could ever hope to cheat him granted a patience greater than any living thing could truly feel. The soul was already his, until he delivered it on to whichever god or devil laid claim to it, and he would fulfil that duty in time. After all, they were immortal and thus were not ruled by the passing of the years in the way mortals were, while the dead were running on borrowed time. The dead would give up eventually, they always did. For now he would turn his attention to easier quarry, confident in the knowledge all these lost souls would find their way back to him eventually. It was as inevitable as the force of death itself.
