To Groom A Grim: Arrival

Randall waited patiently, arms crossed. He contemplated his situation as he stared out across the solid black water. He had taken his own life. Though he tried to recall why, he couldn’t. He knew that he had killed himself. Of that, he was certain. It was the why that proved to be elusive. The memory had been lost to him. With a deep sigh, he let his eyes wander to ease his troubled mind.

He was standing on the banks of the River Acheron, awaiting the vessel that would carry him to the gates of Hell. Waves of black water lapped the shore rhythmically. Randall stared across the water, attempting to view the other side. The water stretched endlessly, until it was finally consumed by the darkness. Air bubbles rose to the surface, disturbing the calm appearance. Randall saw movement beneath the water’s surface, but couldn’t make out what it was. A thin mist hovered over the water.

The sky above was black, empty. Bolts of lightning flashed across the sky, casting eerie shadows across the barren land. The hard ground beneath his feet was composed of stone and dirt. Earthworms writhed along the ground, trying to avoid the various insects that prowled for a meal. Randall watched with fascination as a scorpion fed on a beetle. Sparse patches of dead weeds could be seen sporadically across the landscape, evidence of their futile attempts to thrive where they had no place.

“How’s it going?” He felt a tap on his shoulder.

Randall turned. He came face to face with a quaint little man, in his mid-thirties. He was short, a good foot shorter than himself. He was a portly man, poorly dressed in clothes that clung snugly to his skin. His bald head was adorned with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that rested on his stubbly, chubby cheeks.

“I’m Carl,” he said, extending his hand.

“I’m Randall,” he replied, taking the offered hand. “I’m standing on the shores of this river waiting to be ferried to Hell. I’d have to say that things aren’t going too well.”

Carl stared at him with a blank expression. “Yeah, I guess you have a point. So, what are you in for?”

Pulling the sleeves of his shirt up, Randall raised his wrist for Carl to see.

“Suicide, huh? I was a hacker. I was playing around and caused a major accident.”

He had no inclination to know, but he could see that Carl wanted him to ask what happened. “What accident?” he asked reluctantly.

A smile lit Carl’s face. “I was at Starbucks, hacking the traffic lights on the street. It was amusing, until I spilled my coffee.”

Randall wanted nothing more than for Carl to quit talking. He didn’t think it was wise to make enemies, though. Gritting his teeth, he tried to be polite.

“Spilled your coffee?” he asked.

“I knocked my cup into my lap. While I was distracted by the burns, I forgot to change the lights. I heard almost ten cars crash. Then, one of the drivers, trying to avoid the pileup, drove into the shop. That brings me to this wonderful place.”

Randall was disgusted. The pleasure that Carl felt at the chance to relive his tale was sickening. The way he smiled, his distant expression as he reminisced, the way his entire face lit up; all made Randall want to smash Carl’s face into the stone underfoot.

He knew he shouldn’t expect any better. This was Hell, after all. Carl’s crimes would probably pale in comparison to the horror stories that most of Hell’s denizens could share. That didn’t mean that he had to enjoy it, though. He wasn’t like the others. He took no pleasure in the pain and suffering of his fellow man.

Randall stared at Carl blankly. His mind wandered. Faintly, he could hear Carl sharing some of his other dastardly deeds. He heard something about bankrupting an entire family. He could feel his temper rising.

“Shut up,” Randall demanded. He turned to face the front of the line.

Carl grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. “Don’t turn your back on me,” he said angrily. Randall could see the fury that had been dormant within him. His body trembled uncontrollably.

“You think you’re better than me?” he continued. “Better than all of us?” He raised his arm towards the ever-growing line that stretched out behind the pair. “You’re here just like the rest of us. You’re no different than anyone here.”

“You’re wrong there,” Randall replied through clenched jaws. “I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m nothing like you. I’ve never hurt anyone.”

Carl stepped closer. He was only inches away, staring up at Randall. “You think so?” He grabbed Randall’s wrist, and held it up. “You think this didn’t cause any pain?”

Carl had a point, and Randall knew it. There was still one major difference in his mind.

“I take no pleasure in what I did,” he said, “or the pain that it brought to the ones I loved. I’ll keep that feeling with me in Hell, an eternity of suffering of remorse.”

Randall stared down his nose at Carl for a moment. Finally, he turned back around. “Don’t speak to me again,” he ordered.

He could hear Carl muttering threats beneath his breath. They were both going to Hell. What could Carl possibly do that would be worse than what lay in wait?

He cast his eyes to the water once more. He noticed that the mist over the water had begun to part. A shadow began to form behind the mist. It was Charon, the boatman who ferried lost souls across the river to the gates of Hell. He had heard many stories involving the things that he was now witnessing. As he recalled, none of them had been pleasant.

His imagination conjured up countless horrors to fill in the details on the approaching boat. If the stories were true, it would be a punt boat that arrived. The silhouette was much too large for a boat that size, though. In his mind’s eye, Randall envisioned a giant slave ship. The wood was rotting, leaving leaks slowly filling the boat. The boatman was a terrifying demon, or perhaps a robed skeleton. Randall’s mouth dropped as the boat finally emerged from the cover of the mist.

The images in his mind were nothing in comparison to what the vessel actually looked like. The decrepit, rotting ship was far from the magnificent vessel that came to a stop at the end of the dock. The demon he expected to be at the helm was nonexistent as well.

Randall stared in awe at the yacht that he was soon to be boarding. At fifty feet in length, and having three decks, it was massive. The boat itself was a pristine white. It was a brighter shade of the color than Randall had ever seen. It seemed to almost glow, casting a soft white light into the opaque water. The rails along the sides were highly polished silver.

Extending the gangplank, Charon walked towards the dock. He was a ravishing man, wearing what looked to Randall to be a custom tailored black suit. His skin was a golden bronze. His short, black hair was almost completely hidden by the fedora that he wore. He smiled as he reached for the velvet rope that sectioned off the rest of the dock. His pearly white teeth reflected what little light there was. As he smiled, his eyes began to glow red.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. He did not raise his voice, yet it boomed overhead for all to hear. “For those of you who may not know, I am Charon, the boatman. I will be transporting you across the river.”

With a slip of his thumb, Charon unhooked the rope. As he did so, he continued his speech. “We do not have much time together. Respect my boat. Respect my crew. Respect me. Do these three things and your passage into Hell will be easier. Fail to do any of these; your pain will be endless. Do we understand each other?”

“Who does this guy think he is?” Carl muttered to himself.

“Shut up,” Randall instructed. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

The line began to move forward as Charon ushered the passengers on board. Randall walked the cordoned off path of the line. He couldn’t help but think of an amusement park; waiting patiently for hours in line just for that quick ride. Or perhaps a bank, he thought.

Randall reached the gangplank. He was stopped as he stepped onto it. He looked down at Charon’s hand on his arm.

“Randall Hodges,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He knew exactly who Randall was. “One of my men will bring you topside. You and I have some things to discuss.”

The thought sent a chill down Randall’s spine. Nervous, he walked up the gangplank. As he stepped onto the boat, the one waiting for him came into view. It was not a man at all.

A small demon stood to the side of the boarding passengers. It stood no more than three feet tall. The hide that was visible was a deep orange color. The majority of the beast’s body was covered with a white tuxedo. Two stubby horns protruded from its forehead. It waited patiently, hands behind its back. Randall stifled a chuckle as scenes from Pleasure Island flashed in his memory.

Upon seeing Randall, the demon gave a polite nod. It extended its hand, waiting for Randall to take it. Not wanting to upset Charon, he took the demon’s hand and allowed it to lead him up the stairs.

“Where the hell is he going?” Carl demanded.

“Carl Morgan,” Charon said, not turning to look at him. “That is not your concern. Join the others.”

Carl’s temper began to flare. “No,” he said indignantly. “I don’t give a damn who you are.”

Charon turned his head and smiled. Once again, his eyes burned red. “This is your warning. Do as you are told. Show respect and you shall receive it in turn.”

“Warning?” Carl laughed. “I’m going to Hell. What can you possibly do? And I really don’t give a damn if you respect me.”

Charon let out a long, shrill whistle. A demon, short like the other, came down the gangplank. When it reached Charon, it waited patiently for its orders, hands behind its back.

When he caught sight of the miniscule demon, Carl burst into uncontrollable laughter. “Is this what happens when an Oompla Loompa goes to Hell?” he choked out between gasps of air.

Charon inhaled deeply. The glow of his eyes became more intense as he got angrier. He looked down at the demon. “An example must be set. Fetch me my punt pole please.” Another high-pitched whistle pierced the air, followed by another small demon.

“Take Mr. Morgan to the bow of the ship, please,” he asked the demon. He shot Carl a look of contempt. “I suggest that you follow him.”

Carl did as he was told. Charon’s rage grew when he saw Carl slap away the hand of the demon that had been offered.

“Don’t touch me, you little freak,” Carl spat.

“I want everyone on deck,” Charon bellowed. This time he was raising his voice. The words thundered overhead. “Now.”

Carl stood at the bow of the ship, trying his best not to show the fear that he felt. Charon circled him repeatedly, taking in all the details that he could.

“I understand,” Charon started,” that many of you think that you were tough on Earth. Living terrible lives is what got you sent here and, most of the time, being tough goes with the criminal lifestyle.” He stopped in front of Carl. Looking him straight in the eye, Charon continued. “I’m here to show you that that means nothing here.”

Charon took several steps away from Carl, never breaking eye contact. Without speaking, he held out his hand. The demon was at his side almost immediately, holding a twelve foot wooden pole.

“When the world was still young,” Charon continued, “my boat was much smaller. It was a simple punt boat. I used this pole to steer. It no longer serves that function. I found another for it long ago.”

Charon returned to pacing in front of Carl, seamlessly twirling the pole in his hands. “I gave you three simple rules to follow,” he told Carl. “Just three. You didn’t even make it onto the boat before your acts of defiance. I cannot let this slide. Welcome to Hell.”

Charon swung the pole through the air. It whipped around, creating a whistling sound. Before Carl could react, the pole struck his lower back, sending him sprawling to the deck. Charon continued to beat Carl mercilessly while all the passengers looked on in fear.

Randall stood on the top deck with his demon escort, watching. He thought it would pain him to see such a thing happen. It didn’t. After the deeds that Carl had bragged about, Randall hoped that he got much worse. He smiled as his and Carl’s eyes met for the briefest of moments before he was struck again.

Satisfied that his point had been proven, Charon handed his pole back to the demon, who scurried off with it.

“Whew,” he said, smiling. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to do that.” He knelt down beside Carl. “You gave me quite a workout. I’m out of shape. Do you think that you can behave now?”

Carl lay motionless, broken and bloodied, but awake. Randall would later learn that losing consciousness was not a luxury that was afforded in Hell. No matter what someone’s personal punishment may be, Lucifer had it arranged so that a moment would never be missed.

“Screw you,” Carl said, spitting blood across the wooden deck.

Charon leaned in closer. His mouth was almost touching Carl’s ear. “You do not want to do this,” he advised. “What comes next is worse. I’ll ask once more. Will you behave?”

Carl fought to stand up. Every inch of his body ached. Several bones had broken during the punishment. Once on his feet, he looked at Charon defiantly. Rearing his head back, he spat a wad of blood into Charon’s face.

Charon wiped the blood away. “Ok then,” he said, nodding his head. Grabbing Carl by the shoulder, he flung him overboard.

Randall watched as Carl splashed into the water, relieved. Carl screamed in agony as he sunk. Once below the water, Carl ceased moving. He sat motionless, frozen under the surface for all of eternity. As Randall watched, Carl blinked, letting him know that he was completely aware of his surroundings.

“I take no personal pleasure in what just happened,” Charon said to all those on deck. “But order will be kept. Learn from this. Everyone below deck. Now. We’re behind schedule.”

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” Charon said to Randall as he finished climbing the stairs. “We can go now,” he said to the demon that had been accompanying Randall.

The demon scurried off. Moments later, the powerful engines roared to life. Pulling away from the dock, their journey was underway. Randall gave Carl one last look as the boat floated past him. He would remain here for eternity. Randall felt no pity.

Charon leaned his back against the boat’s railing, and stared at Randall. “So you’re the guy?”

“Excuse me?” Randall was confused.

“You’re the reaper in training, right? Or will be, at least?”

“I guess I am.” Up until this moment, Randall had thought that his conversation had just been a dream, nothing more than his mind’s final thoughts from the last few synapses firing as he passed away. Apparently, he had been wrong.

“The reason I had you brought here instead of below with everyone else is that I’m curious. In all the years I’ve been doing this, I’ve never seen him take an interest in anyone the way he has with you. I just wanted to know why.” Charon looked at Randall, waiting for a response.

“Honestly,” Randall began. He shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea. We had a conversation before I was sent down here. I liked him. Grim seemed like a nice enough guy. Maybe he just took a liking to me the same as I did to him.”

Charon nodded thoughtfully. “Not exactly a satisfying answer, but if you don’t know then you don’t know.”

“I have some questions if you don’t mind,” Randall said.

Charon bowed his head slightly. He held his hand out. Randall took it as a sign that he could ask what he wished.

“That guy Carl, he had done some horrible things from what he told me. I’m sure he had a fate worse than just sitting in water for eternity waiting on him. Why did you let him get off so easily?”

“What you saw before we pulled away was him sitting in water. That’s not the worst of what will happen. Have you ever been in water that’s well below freezing? It’s so cold that it causes immense pain in the entire body. That’s just the beginning. There are unmentionable things that reside within this river. Things more horrible than your horror author mind could dream of conjuring swim these waters. They will chew on Mr. Morgan until there is nothing but remaining. Afterwards, his flesh will grow back, and the process starts over. This will continue until the end of days.”

Randall’s eyes grew wide at the thought of such a fate. “I stand corrected. I have one more question. We’re going to Hell, but you have everyone on a yacht. This doesn’t exactly seem like punishment to me.”

“It’s a yacht, yes,” Charon replied. “The luxuries are not given to the passengers. Their punishment has begun below deck. Consider yourself fortunate that I requested your presence.”

Seeing the confusion on Randall’s face, Charon continued. “I never leave this boat. Neither does my crew. The yacht is for us. The numbers of those arriving in Hell is increasing exponentially. I required a larger boat. For the morale of my men, as well as myself, I decided to get this. If you’d like I can bring you below deck to show you what the passenger’s trip is really like.”

“I think I’ll have to respectfully decline. I’m not much for torture. I’d rather not see it if I don’t have to.”

“Very well,” Charon replied. “It’s just as well.” He pointed across the water. “We’ve almost arrived anyway.”

Randall cast his stare towards the shore. “This place is beautiful,” he said in disbelief.

Before him was not the Hell that he had expected. The shores of the land were covered with lush, green grass that covered the rolling hillside. The crests of these hills were spotted with small cottages. The area around the small civilization was filled with light. As they drew closer, Randall noticed that the air had taken on a clean quality. This air felt more pure than any he had ever breathed while he lived.

“This is Limbo,” Charon began to explain. “Those that reside here do not deserve to suffer. Having never known God, they are denied paradise. All those who lived before Christ, unbaptized babies, and all non-Christian believers are here, provided that they lived virtuous lives.”

The yacht slowly pulled up to the dock. At the end of the dock, a road began. It twisted around Limbo, and led up a mountain. Atop the mountain, an enormous palace sat, bathed in the light from Limbo. Walls closed in the road, preventing those who did not belong in Limbo from gaining entry.

“King Minos knows of your arrival,” Charon said. “He is waiting. This is farewell. Our time has come to an end. I must tend to the passengers now.”

Randall extended his hand. “It was nice meeting you. Good talk.”

“I think I see what he sees in you now,” Charon replied, taking the offered hand in a firm handshake. “We will meet again. Of this, I am certain.” He pointed towards the mountain. “Just follow the road. Minos will direct you from there.”

With that, Charon turned and walked down the stairs. Randall smiled. He was beginning to like it here. Sure, it was Hell, but so far, people seemed nice enough. Very professional. He wasn’t sure what Grim had said about him, but he was grateful for it. Had he not, Randall was certain that he would be experiencing this all differently.

Randall headed towards the gangplank, ready to start his journey. He stopped when he crossed paths with the demon that had escorted him upstairs. They were all almost identical, but he was almost positive that he was correct in his assumption. The demon looked up at him with its black eyes.

Randall smiled at it. He extended his hand. The demon looked at his hand, confused. Seeing this, Randall took the demon’s hand in his own and shook it lightly. ”You never spoke,” he said to the demon, “but it was good meeting you just the same.”

The demon bowed slightly, and then continued on its way. Randall smiled, and then left the boat. As he walked down the pier, he could hear the cries of the remaining passengers on the boat. Poor souls.

Randall glanced down at the dark water. His eyes widened at the sight. Dozens of bodies were frozen under the icy water. As best Randall could figure, they had been trying to escape their fate, only to succumb to another that was just as bad.

He took in a deep breath of clean air. It smelled of flowers and grass. As he ventured down the path, he stole glances through the various gates in the wall of the inhabitants of Limbo. They wandered the hillsides, mingling with one another. If Heaven wasn’t an option, Limbo didn’t seem like a bad alternative.

Randall walked for what felt like an eternity. The path grew steeper as he neared the peak of the mountain. Finally, the gates of the palace came into view. Exhausted and drenched in sweat, he felt a rush of relief. The giant iron gates swung open slowly, inviting him in.

He found himself at a loss for words. The palace towered over him. The entire structure was composed of marble. Gold trim lined the walls and pillars. There was no one around that he could see, human or demon. He pressed on, entering the palace.

Randall stepped into a grand hall. Murals covered the walls, intricately carved into the marble. The vast room was empty, save for the enormous columns that lined either sides of his path. Looking up, he noticed that the room seemed to stretch on and on, with no ceiling in sight. A giant chandelier hung in the center, casting its light across the room.

Room after room, Randall pushed on through the seemingly endless palace. Each room was similar to the first in that it was vacant and bare. He never came across another soul. Thinking that he may have gotten lost, Randall turned around. The room he had just left was no longer there. In its place, another had formed.

In the place of the vacant hall, a throne room now sat before Randall. A figure was seated in the throne on the far side of the room, shrouded in shadow. It could have only been King Minos. Treading carefully so as not to offend him, Randall crossed the room.

“King Minos?” Randall inquired, already knowing the answer. “Charon sent me here. He said that you were expecting me. I’m….”

“I know who you are,” Minos interrupted. His deep voice echoed from the bare walls. “You are to be the new collector of souls.”

Minos rose from his throne. Randall stepped back, shocked at the sight. The minotaur stood twenty feet tall. His giant bull features made Randall cringe. In his right hand, Minos carried a spiked mace that was bigger than he was. His tail whipped through the air behind him.

“You have no reason to fear me,” he said as he crossed the room towards Randall. The clopping sound of his hooves echoed with each step. “Come. We haven’t much time.”

Randall did as Minos bid him. Together they walked behind Minos’ giant throne. They stood on a precipice, overlooking the bowels of Hell. The view was terrifying. The precipice sloped down gradually, forming a giant bowl shape. Buildings that appeared to be prisons from the outside lined the slopes on both sides of Randall, stretching beyond what he could see. Plumes of fire and smoke spewed from below. Liquid magma flowed over the canyons in deadly waterfalls. In moments of silence, Randall could hear the faint cries of the imprisoned souls held below.

“You are a suicide, are you not?” Minos asked.

Randall confirmed that he was.

“The seventh circle is reserved for the violent. Within that circle, you will go to the second ring, the ring for those violent against themselves. It is there that you will atone for your sins.”

“I thought I was going to be training to be a reaper?” Randall asked, confused.

“In time,” Minos answered. “You must first serve your time where I place you. You must atone for your sins before you can continue on your path.”

For the first time since arriving in Hell, Randall began to feel real fear. “How long do I have to stay?”

“That is not for me to decide. Only Lucifer has the power to release you from the circle once you have been placed. I can smell your sins. You lived a fairly decent life. It should not be too long.”

“The reaper has spoken to Lucifer already. His request to train you has been approved. Once Lucifer feels that your punishment has been served, he will grant you an audience. It is then that all will be disclosed to you.”

Minos pulled a horn from where it hung beside his throne. If he had to guess, Randall would’ve said that the horn had once belonged on the head of a colossal demon. Minos blew into the horn. The deep blast that bellowed out shook the room.

From within the pit, a giant winged creature emerged. It screeched as it burst through a wall of flame. The demon had no arms, only wings. With its feet, it gripped an iron cage. The beast landed softly on the precipice.

“This will take you to your circle. From there you will be directed to your cell to begin atonement.”

With a heavy heart, Randall climbed into the cage. He was unsure of what tortures lay ahead of him. He had no way of knowing how long it would last. He would endure, though. He had no choice. He had hope, though. That was more than anyone else in Hell could even dream of. For him, it would end eventually. He would see beyond his cell once more. Someday.

Someday. On Earth, that word was usually accompanied with events that would never come to transpire. Here in Hell, though, it was a lifeline. It would be what he clung to for comfort in the harsh days that lay ahead.

With one final nod towards Minos, Randall grasped the bars of the cage. He felt the downdraft of hot wind as the beast flapped its wings. The cage rose high above the pit of Hell, carrying him towards his prison.