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Chapter 2: Hell Arrives

Writer's picture: CJ PhoenixCJ Phoenix


Chapter 2


It was mid-spring, so where was the chill coming from? Perhaps a severe thunderstorm was brewing, it was nearly pitch black outside. Janet wiped her hands free of the potato slick from peeling the bundle, using the apron her mother gifted to her at her bridal shower. Before sliding over to the bay window in the living room and squinting in bewilderment. 

Thunderstorms were nothing new in the Midwest but these clouds looked wrong. They resembled a blanket of oil, but were not glossy. Quite reminded her of wet asphalt in the winter, when the road disappears on the highway. Then there was the cold, she knew the air cooled before a storm but it felt too cold. As if winter was coming early. 


Janet Clark, lived alone, at only twenty, and in her era, it was an accomplishment. She had chosen not to marry her fiancé when she discovered he had been cheating on her for nearly a year up to the wedding day. Her decision to remain single had made her the town pariah. A woman of her age, unmarried, working, and living alone was unacceptable. 


To the townsfolk, she was the perfect target for their judgemental comments. Janet was curvy but petite, with long chestnut hair, which she kept in an updo; classy but functional. She was modest, preferring the midday skirt and blouse to the bisque styles of her peers. God had intended for her to remain untouched until marriage, therefore, she would cover herself. Her strong Catholic upbringing did not help her popularity in town. 


This fact seemed ironic to her because of the constant conservative nature of the time. Her upbringing made her more staunch than her neighbors. Janet would never understand why her faith made her more of a target, aside from the fact she was surrounded by Baptists.


As she continued to watch the sky, she noticed the clouds spreading unnaturally quickly toward the horizon. Janet moved from the window, heading to the mantel above the fireplace. There, lay a small oak box with a mother-of-pearl rose inlay on top. The skeleton key for it, long forgotten. She lifted the lid, fishing her silver and blue marble rosary from it before wrapping it around her left hand. 


Janet was not a paranoid woman but she could not shake the feeling something evil had come to town. Janet stepped out onto her front porch, negating the pot of boiling water on the stove. 


She was not the only one with horrified curiosity. A few of her neighbors had stepped out to gawk at the ever-changing sky. Why was no one calling the police or the National Guard? This was anything but normal. The church warned about the devils and demons who would one day come, she had a feeling that was today. Though she tried, she could never convince them. If Pastor Johnson says demons exist, then they must, she thought. 

Janet felt she had to do something to protect these poor innocent souls. So, she dropped to her knees, brought her rosary to her lips with both hands, closed her eyes, and began the prayer of Saint Michael. 


As she pleaded for the protection of celestial warriors, the old Baptists to her left chuckled and mocked her. 


“Janet, it is only a storm. You cannot pray it away.” He chuckled.


“Honestly, you should pray for a husband.” His wife laughed. 


Together they giggled to themselves. She ignored them, continuing to pray. The couple giggled to themselves but Janet ignored them. While she was engaged in her intercession, the clouds above hit ground, spreading like a black mist. Once it made land, it spread fiercely through the town as a black fog. 


Though she could not see it through the darkness of her closed lids, she felt it, cold, moist, and pungent. The air reeked of something a mix of sulfur and rotten meat. 

Janet continued praying in desperation, believing God would send angels to protect her. She was too deep in her devotion to notice the four figures moving through the town. But she felt them as a knot in her belly. Then she heard it, the sound of screams, snapping bones, and ripping flesh. There was the distinctive squelch sound of viscera being manipulated and the sickening wet wound of flesh hitting the pavement. 


Janet never moved, making no attempt to cover her ears as her stomach turned. The smoke detector in her house screamed as the neglected dinner began to burn. She could not hear it over the screams.


A growl uttered nearby as a roar of some great predator echoed through the town. Janet felt something warm, sticky, and wet hit her face. She needed not to open her eyes to know it was blood. Probably the Baptists next door. 


She knew Hell, demons, and evil had come to town. The only safety was prayer. Nothing would deter her, save for the heavy footfalls on her steps. Janet opened her eyes but never paused in her incantation. She could barely see the man before her. 


A vague image of a dark suit of a far-gone era, dirty blonde hair combed back, nearly six feet tall with strong shoulders and large hands. His eyes were mostly shrouded by fog but she could swear they were red. When he spoke, his voice was tenor smooth but roughened by age.

Whatever demon this was, she would stare him down. Janet prayed louder. 


“Ssh…” He said, putting his finger to his lips.


Janet felt her throat hitch and suddenly she could not speak. She pawed at her throat, rosary beads clinking together. 


“I know, it's a mean trick. It's not even my trick, it’s my masters. He let me use it today.” He grinned.


She looked at him, horror, and fear in her eyes. Janet fell back away, wanting to get into the house away from this evil.


“No no no,” He said before he was on top of her. 


He pinned her effortlessly to the hardwood beneath. One hand holding her wrists while the other tried to pry the rosary from her fist. 


“What’s this?” He said as he pulled them free. 


Janet wanted to scream but she had no voice. All around her she could hear violence, mayhem, and the grotesque ambience of mutilation. 


“Ah, the rosary,” He said holding them up, a glimmer in his eyes. “Allow me to show you a better use for these beads. Let’s explore the ways God really loves you.” 


Though she tried to fight, his grip was like iron, and his weight concrete. He grabbed her by her hair, rosary dangling loosely from his hand. 


“Come on, the boys are gonna love you.” He chuckled, nearly tossing her from the porch. 


She tripped over a rut in the sidewalk, hands and knees slapping hard on the pavement. Her face nearly collided with the entrails discarded at the end of the walk. Janet pushed herself up, crawling back away from the entrails. 


“Oops.” He laughed. 


She felt the bile rising before she could stop it. Then she turned and vomited in the grass, clear stomach acid mixing with the half-inch blood puddle. She spat, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Looking up, she finally saw the carnage, blood flowing in the gutter on either side of the street. Human appendages, entrails, and flesh were scattered everywhere. Janet wished she could scream, she knew she had to run or she too would die. God was not in Maryvale. 


She scrambled to her bare feet and pushed herself forward. The demon behind her did not give chase. 


He let out a wolf whistle, more for show than anything. Janet glanced behind her before she ran into something heavy and fell. Standing over her were two more figures bathed in red light. One was wearing a maroon outfit from the Edwardian era. The other dawning a dark suit of her own time. 


Edwardian mystery man had a ponytail pulled back with a long black overcoat, darkened by splashes of blood. He was darker skinned, light Carmel, perhaps Hispanic. A clean-shaven face with pale thin lips. The smirk he wore made her skin crawl. 

His partner had short brown hair, choppy, messy, parted to the left, and slick with the oils of hair unwashed. Upon his square jaw a poorly groomed goatee, unusual for a man of her era to keep such a look. He had folded the sleeves of his button-down shirt and jacket to his elbow. So, his forearms and white blouse were covered in streaks of deep red and flecks of human organs. 


Janet panted, both in fear and disgust. Just over their shoulder, she could see two officers impaled on one of the corner street lamps, blood spurting onto the light before dripping to the sidewalk. It oozed and ran down the length of the light post. 


“Boys, I have a gift for you!” Came a voice behind her.


“Yeah,” said the blonde before chewing on his index finger, “what’s this?”


He asked, gesturing toward her. The demon who found her walked up to the pair. 


“A devout Catholic,” He said, placing the rosary in the blondes hand. 


“And a virgin too.” The blonde replied.


“I offered to show her how to use these beads.” The first demon said.


The blonde smirked, looking at her while rolling the beads between his fingers.


“Yeah, I can think of a few things,” He replied, “take her to the factory.”


It was the last thing any of them said before she lost memory of space and time. Janet never remembered being guided to the factory. She came to, naked, and locked in a concrete cell with a metal door. As if she willingly walked to this place on her own. Janet knew for certain now that she was in Hell.

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