You’re Going to Hell

Sheriff Myles Mander looks up at the midnight sky.

The stars, which twinkled with hope and brevity, have vanished.

The moon now dominates the night.

A blood-red moon.

“…And so it begins…,” Myles says.

He slowly maneuvers his rattling Renault down the main road, wishing the county had given him the silent electric patrol car he’d requested.

Myles stops the Renault in front of Gehenna Cemetery.

He takes a bag of salt from the trunk and pours some in a line in front of the fence.

A gust of wind makes him pull his collar up. Summoning his courage, Myles enters the graveyard.

His knees quake when an owl in a nearby oak hoots, seemingly asking, “Who?”

“…Me, that’s who. Now that Hecate is gone, it’s all on me.”

Myles reaches the ruins of St. Benedict’s Church. All that remains of the once modest structure are its walls, defaced with messages such as “Welcome to Hell” and “If you’re going through Hell, keep going.”

Toy figurines of devils, ghosts, and monsters surround the center of the floor, covering the spot where Soren Slaughter's remains are buried.

Myles starts to pour salt on the floor.

The wind whips through the barren structure, whistling like a carefree criminal.

A voice invades his consciousness.

“…Mine …This town is mine…”

A hand forces its way through the floor but is foiled from going any further by the salt.

Myles drops the bag of salt, running for the cemetery gate, knowing Soren Slaughter’s spirit is getting stronger.

                                               ***

Airey Took, the Director of the Extraordinary Bureau of Investigation (E.B.I.) in Eastern Pennsylvania, shakes his fat forefinger at Agent Lisa Close, admonishing her for not taking the briefing seriously.

The E.B.I. is a clandestine government agency that has captured, interviewed, and detained hundreds of aliens, supernatural entities, and other dangerous creatures. Fifty-eight-year-old Airy has served as the organization’s director for eighteen tumultuous years and has an ulcer, a pot belly, and a receding hairline to show for it. Forty-three-year-old Hunter Henry is one of his top agents, tall and bespectacled, with the look of a bank teller and the deductive powers of a sleuth. His partner, thirty-three-year-old Lisa Close, has the squat, powerful physique of a sumo wrestler. While equally adept at her job as Hunter, she has an acerbic sense of humor and enjoys unleashing it on others.

“What’s the name of this burg again?” Lisa inquires.

“Hell.”

“I just like hearing you say Hell and watching your face turn red,” Lisa jests. “You mean to tell me they can’t handle one itsy-bitsy ghost?”

“Soren Slaughter dabbled in the occult. Look, Byte Buffet can’t have hundreds of workers running from a violent ghost,” Airey replies. “Byte Buffet is willing to invest millions in a town that currently has more dead residents than living ones. They’re going to be the largest AI and cloud computing company in Pennsylvania.”

“Just what we need, more data collection and less privacy,” Hunter complains.

“I know two agents who could be replaced by machines if they don’t take this assignment.”

“So, what makes the local Casper so tough?” Lisa asks.

“He appears every six years in November. A local woman, Hecate Sage, let’s call her a dabbler in the dark arts…”

“A witch,” Lisa whispers to Hunter.

“Whether through incantations or spells, Hecate kept Soren Slaughter’s ghost at bay.”

Hunter shrugs. “So, get her to salt the ghost’s resting place.”

“She’s dead. Old age. The local Sheriff tried to keep Slaughter in check but doesn’t have the power to stop him. Stopping Soren Slaughter falls on us.”

“Oh well,” Lisa says, “my Dad always said I was going to hell.”

                                               ***

“This joint could fit on a postage stamp,” Lisa observes as she surveys the center of town. “The roads to Hell are indistinguishable from driveways. And there’s what, six buildings here? And none are open for business. And where’s Barney Fife?”

Hunter points down the road toward an approaching green Renault. The car pulls up behind their sparkling black SUV.

Lisa looks at the side of the Renault, chuckling. The word “police” has been stenciled on the car’s door.

Dressed in dusty coveralls and a crumpled police hat, the boyish-looking Sheriff shakes hands with the agents.

“Sorry I’m late. One of my horses just had a foal.”

Lisa looks at him curiously. “You’re the Sheriff and a rancher?”

“And the local lawyer too. You wear a lot of hats in a town of twenty-five people.”

“So where are they?”

“Hiding.”

“We’ve been told a lot of far-fetched things about this place, and we have the most implausible job on the planet,” Hunter says. “What’s real and what’s a myth?”

“This place wasn’t always known as Hell. When six German families settled it in 1857, it was called Himmel, or Heaven. It was renamed Hell in the 1930s after Soren Slaughter stained the landscape with his hatred.”

“Why does Slaughter’s ghost appear every six years?” Lisa asks.

“A cruel joke of his. One of his victims was a six-year-old boy named Noah Goodman.”

“And what made your necromancer turn his back on God in the first place?” Hunter inquires.

“Soren Slaughter was a poor man who prayed to God and got nothing. He prayed to the devil and got 2,800 acres and a pretty wife.”

“So how did Slaughter make Hell so hellish?” Lisa quips.

“The rift between Soren Slaughter and Asher Goodman during the Great Depression…”

                                               ***

Soren Slaughter halts his custom-made 1932 Ford Victorian in front of St. Benedict’s Church. Reverend Creely Tate and Asher Goodman stand on the steps of the small building, chatting, trying to ignore Soren as he pulls his wife, Erin, out of the car.

“I swear I don't understand you anymore, Soren, or your fascination with the occult.”

Soren gives Erin a hateful look. With his tall, slender build, trimmed mustache, swarthy features, dark hair, and coal-black eyes, the taciturn, thirty-year-old strawberry grower projects a commanding presence. By contrast, his striking, light-haired, twenty-four-year-old spouse is known for her pleasant personality.

“You’re beautiful, Erin, but the inside of your head is filled with your stupid strawberries. If you haven’t noticed, the country has fallen into an economic bottomless pit, and I refuse to be dragged down with it. As for my so-called fascination, it’s not a whim; it’s a calling. Your religion is about subjugation, sacrifice, and poverty. Mine promises me wealth and power.”

“You were once a good man. Where’s the man who let the Sages, Asher, and his son farm on our land for free? Please, give your heart and soul to that man, not to the godless miscreant I’ve seen slaughtering goats in Satan’s name.”

Soren draws his hand back, ready to strike Erin.

Reverend Tate interrupts. “Well, as I live and breathe… Soren Slaughter, the acknowledged non-believer, outside of my church. Are you coming in? Are you ready to be redeemed?”

Soren’s loud laugh mocks the Reverend’s invitation.

Reverend Tate proudly states, “My lord holds the sword of righteousness.”

“But mine doesn’t hesitate to use it to smite his enemies.”

Reverend Tate’s expression mirrors shock and revulsion. Soren’s car kicks up a cloud of dust as it speeds off.

“I know he’s your husband, Erin, but I won’t let evil fester in our community. Soren’s day of reckoning is coming.”

                                               ***

That afternoon, Soren is picking strawberries in the greenhouse, when he sees Asher’s truck pull up to the house. The pair share a laugh as Asher, dressed in his Sunday best with his blonde hair neatly combed, opens the passenger door for Erin and bows like a gentleman.

Soren knows the church service ended two hours earlier.

“You must come for supper one night, Asher, and please, bring Noah.”

 “He was feeling queasy this morning, so I let him sleep. He’ll be happy to hear you were thinking about him.”

“He’s such a nice boy. He takes after his father.”

Asher grins shyly. “Perhaps I should host dinner. Thanks to your husband, I have a surplus of goat meat and strawberries.”

The color drains from Erin’s face.

Soren clears his throat. “That’s because I hate strawberries, Goodman, and goats are a means to an end for my master and me. Thank you for bringing Erin home. In the future, remember she’s my wife, not yours.”

After Asher’s departure, Erin says icily, “That was incredibly rude.”

“So is cuckolding another man’s property.”

“Property? I’m your wife!”

“Then act like it. I forbid you to see that man again. And I may have to rethink his farming on my land for free.”

“Your land? You’ve forgotten how you became so rich and powerful. You married me, and in doing so, you became the son my father never had as well as an heir to our strawberry business. You need to remember that this land, and every dollar you drain from it, actually belongs to me.”

Soren grits his teeth. “…I hate strawberries… And I hate you and every mealy-mouthed Bible thumper in this town. Someday, you’ll all answer to me.”

                                               ***

The following morning, Soren drives out to the Sage’s cabin. The Sages are healers who, while they do not subscribe to any traditional religion, have sworn to protect the townspeople’s religious freedom.

Hillary Sage stares into Soren’s coal-black stare, shrinking behind her husband.

“I’ve been too lenient and too generous with you. From now on, you’ll pay me $10 per acre per month for the use of this land.”

“But the price of land per acre is only $1.25!” Bill exclaims.

“Pay or vacate. Maybe that socialist Franklin Roosevelt can find you a job.”

Bill’s weary stare narrows. “That’s Satan speaking, not you, Soren. A few years ago, you gave us grain when our crops failed. You helped send our boy Jason to college. Satan’s power has enticed you, and you’ve let it consume you. Please, let Hillary touch you and cure you of the disease of greed.”

“You have until this afternoon to give me my money.”

                                               ***

Soren drives to Asher’s farm. He bursts through the door of Asher’s modest cabin, his anger surging as he sees Erin casually sipping tea at Asher’s table. Erin looks admiringly into Asher’s friendly light-blue eyes.

“I told you never to see this man again.”

“And I told you I’m the boss here. As a matter of fact, Asher and I were discussing whether you should get anything in the divorce, maybe a container of strawberries.”

“Divorce? You commit adultery and dare speak of divorce?”

“You came here to work for my father as a farmhand with just the clothes on your back. That’s what you’ll leave with.”

The pair laugh at Soren as he storms out of the house.

Soren spots Noah kicking a ball in the nearby field and heads toward him.

“Would you like to take a ride into town with me, Noah? I’ll buy you a few peppermint sticks for your company.”

“Did my father say it was all right for me to leave the farm?”

“Of course. Why would I go against your father’s wishes?”

                                               ***

Searching his property, Asher calls out for Noah.

Erin points at the horizon.

“Looks like there’s a fire in the woods near the Sage’s cabin.”

The pair ride out to the Sage’s farm, where they find Hillary sitting on the ground, watching her cabin burn.

Asher puts a comforting arm around her. “Don’t worry, Hillary. We’ll build you and Bill a new, better home.”

“In the meantime, you can stay with me,” Erin adds. “I have plenty of room now.”

Sobbing, Hillary points to a nearby woodpile. Asher goes to investigate.

Bill Sage lies face down. The back of his head has been split open by an axe.

“I went out into the woods to get some roots… This is Soren’s work.”

                                               ***

Soren is quickly incarcerated when Hillary accuses him of killing Bill.

The townspeople help Asher search for Noah, to no avail.

A week after Bill Sage’s murder and Noah’s disappearance, Hillary waits for Asher and Erin outside St Benedict’s Church after the Sunday service.

“You shouldn’t be here, Hillary,” Reverend Tate points out. “You promised you’d never poison my God’s house with your beliefs.”

“This isn’t about religion. It’s about justice. Soren killed my Bill…And you know he’s also killed an innocent child.”

Addressing the members of the congregation, Hillary shouts, “Soren and his master intend to kill us all and rob us of our land! What do you intend to do about it?”

                                               ***

That night, Soren is forcefully pulled from his jail cell and beaten by a crowd of people wearing masks resembling strawberries. His assailants leave him a bloody pulp in the street.

The crowd watches Soren stagger to his feet. They’re caught off guard when he runs down the street toward the church.

He confronts Reverend Tate, who is lighting candles for the midnight mass.

“Ready to see whose God is stronger?” Soren taunts.

The crowd arrives in time to see Soren throw Reverend Tate’s body into the street.

Soren laughs at them. “I vow that I’ll make this town a home for my master and me!”

A shot rings out. Soren clutches his chest, retreating inside the church.

The crowd charges toward the door, repulsed by a wall of flames.

Soren’s laughter echoes through the streets.

The once bright white moon turns red as St. Benedict’s Church burns.

                                                           ***

“They buried Soren’s body in the floor of the church ruins,” Myles says. “The consecrated ground and Hillary’s spells kept Soren’s evil spirit imprisoned.”

“What happened to Asher and Erin?”  Lisa asks.

“They never found Noah. But his ball was in Soren’s closet. They moved to Boston, opened several fruit markets, and made a fortune. They were happy, though they never had children, and lived into their eighties. They died a week apart, with Lisa first. Asher’s last words were about her and Noah.”

***

Heading back to their hotel in neighboring St. Peters Village, the agents encounter a man driving a Ford Model B pickup truck.

“Wow, a classic from the 1930s,” Hunter notes.

The man, dressed in a black suit, flags them down.

The pair approach the pickup.

“Can we help you?” Lisa asks, adding as she jabs Hunter with her elbow, “Goodness knows I’d like to.”

The man’s light-blue eyes are rimmed with tears.

“My son… I’m looking for my son… Have you seen him?”

“What does he look like?” Hunter asks.

“He favors me… Light hair, blue eyes.”

“Ah, a mini-me,” Lisa responds.

The man gives her a well-meaning but forced smile.

“I’m sorry. We haven’t seen him,” Hunter replies.

“I have to find him. He means the world to us.”

“Lost children seem to be a pastime here,” Hunter says, as they watch the man depart.

“I never thought it possible for a person to be both handsome and so sad at the same time,” Lisa replies.

                                               ***

Hunter looks at the blood-red full moon.

He takes a bag of salt out of the trunk. “If he’s anything like the ghosts we’ve encountered in the past, he’ll have to appear in human form to confront us. When he does, stun him with your laser.”

“Stun? I’m setting it to kill. We’re going to find out if you can kill somebody who’s already dead,” Lisa replies as they enter the cemetery.

“Remember, Plan A is to capture Soren. Plan B is to entomb him.”

“I’m still all for napalming the place.”

Hunter pours salt on the church floor.

“Stop pulling on my coat,” he says to Lisa.

Lisa replies nervously, “It’s not me. I’m over here.”

Hunter looks up and sees that Lisa is standing across from him.

He turns around to see Soren’s translucent figure floating behind him.

Soren knocks Hunter down and wraps his hands around Hunter’s neck, choking him.

Lisa fires her laser at Soren, but its beam passes through him. Rushing to Hunter’s side, she jumps onto Soren’s back, relieved it’s solid enough for her to punch at Soren’s ribs.

Soren effortlessly knocks her aside.

Lisa charges at Soren, but this time he hits her so hard with his arm that she is thrown against the wall and knocked unconscious.

Hunter feels himself slipping into unconsciousness as Soren tightens his grip around his throat.

The blonde-haired man flashes into Hunter’s line of sight. He’s holding a torch.

Soren releases Hunter, facing the man.

“Hearing Noah scream was music to my ears.”

“Your song is over,” the man replies, hurling the torch at Soren.

Soren’s opaque form ignites, quickly turning into a blaze that consumes him.

Screaming, he dissolves into ash.

Hunter runs to Lisa and shakes her awake.

“…Jeez… Let me sleep, will you?”

She points at the blonde-haired man.

“Hey, it’s the cutie.”

The man smiles at them and fades from view.

Hunter helps Lisa to her feet, muttering, “…I should have known…Fire’s what killed him the first time…”

Lisa sniffs the air. “You smell that?”

“Yeah. Strawberries.”

                                               ***

Hunter, Lisa, and Myles watch as the church is demolished.

“People have already started leaving jars of strawberry jam on the site… So, it was a close one.”

“Yeah, if it weren’t for that blue-eyed cutie, Soren’s spirit would have killed us both,” Lisa says. “We saw him earlier in an old Ford pickup. Do you know who he is? I’d like to thank him.”

“I think I do. Hold on a sec,” Myles says, retreating to his Renault.

He returns with a worn-out book titled “A History of Hell.”

He opens the book to page nine and shows the pair a blurry photograph.

“That’s him. That’s the man who saved us,” Hunter says.

“That’s Asher Goodman. He died over forty years ago.”

“Guess he made one more trip home to look for his son,” Lisa says sadly.

Hunter smiles. “Something tells me that Asher, Lisa, and Noah are together again.”