Letters From Hell

'Dear H,

Fire and ice coinciding simultaneously. An area whiter than the pale horse, and colder than it’s tiny ice ridden heart. Tremendous tongues of flame, licking every inch of ground. The two should not be able to coexist.

Constant screams, roaring fire, cracking ice and endless sobs are the only sounds.

Hell is inside your head and everywhere you go, every inch of molten rock you touch has been tainted. Hell is the rock solid belly of the beast in which you are trapped, condemned to live in the acidic bubble of vomit for all eternity.

If you find a way out, let me know. I will die a thousand deaths happy knowing that at least one soul escaped.

From

A Lost Soul.’

The first letter arrived about a month after my eighteenth birthday. Every week a new letter would appear on my door mat. Each one tortured and creepy. Some would describe hell, others would display guilt and remorse, others would go into great detail about the sins of their lives. I hated those the most. After a third and fourth arrived I tried having the post blocked but it didn’t seem to work. 

Eventually, my mum explained that the letters were preparation for my future career. I was to take over from my father as a judge of the dead. I would die at the grand age of sixty-six and start working in the family business. Until then I was free to lead a normal life. Preferably one where I created an heir to the position.

Envelope number one hundred and twenty two dropped onto the mat. Brown and charred, just like the others. The only sounds were the soft pat of the paper hitting the ground and the distant clang of the metal gate shutting behind the postman. I’d grown to hate him and the oversized red satchel flung over his shoulder. There was no sense in taking it out on him though, he was just the messenger.

Picking up the new addition to my continually growing pile I turned it over in my hands. This one was warmer, more charred than the others. Inside I knew I’d find another voice. Another persona caught between the ink and the page. Tearing at the already dog eared flap I pulled the tatty piece of paper out from within and began to read.

‘ H, ‘He is coming, be ready.’ -Dad ’’

I gasped and sat heavily on the bottom step. Frozen to the spot I didn’t move until my mum appeared and shook me gently. Looking up at her I blinked and handed her the letter.

“No. No, it’s too early! I don’t understand!” she cried.

“Me neither.” I muttered.

*****

It was a bleary Saturday afternoon when he turned up. Dressed in black from head to foot, leaning against the door frame when I answered the bell. A trilby balanced on his slick black hair and a cigarette hung from his crooked smile.

“You’re early.” I said defiantly. Despite the note I had not expected the boss himself to come calling. Thankfully my shock was out weighed by my anger.

“True.” he replied glancing sideways at me.

“Why are you here?” I snapped.

“You know why.” he replied coolly.

“But, why now?” I pleaded, annoyed at myself for letting the desperation in my voice show.

“Don’t worry, it’s temporary,” he said, “I think.” he added under his breath but I caught the whisper.

“What’s going on?” My mother’s voice rang out from behind me, I turned. Greeted by her pale, tortured face I reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“My regards Mrs M.” The Lord of the Underworld said tipping his hat. Sticky black tendrils of charm extended from his ugly mouth.

“Apologies for the untimely arrival but we’ve had to bring the schedule forward.” he said.

In response she merely raised and eyebrow.

“We’ve had to break from tradition.” he added looking back to me. “Instead of taking over from your father, you’ll be working with him. All three of you are needed.”

“All three?” I questioned.

“Yes. There are three judges of the dead. Do you honestly think I’d entrust that job to just one soul!” He laughed out loud, throwing his head back.

“It’ll be fun, you’ll make new friends.” he winked. “Now come on, I haven’t got all day.” he demanded checking his watch and glancing over his shoulder to the horizon.

With a sly smile he held out a hand towards me, I regarded the fleshy protrusion and turned to my mother. A kind, loving look cast over her face and she smiled. We both knew there was no arguing. Resisting the urge to cling onto her and never let go I squeezed gently and released her shoulder, raising my other hand to meet the Devils’.

“What’s so important that you came personally?” My mother intervened. There was a pause in which he regarded her carefully. Something stirred beneath his eyes and I was certain it was displeasure but with the words he spoke came only menace.

“The apocalypse.” 

The glint passed over his eyes and he licked his teeth. I witnessed the horror in my mother’s eyes, the breath leave her body and I lunged. I couldn’t, wouldn’t, leave her alone to face the end of the world. But the Devil was cunning and my hand was already in his when the words passed his deceiving lips. In the blink of an eye my mother, my home, my life and my world were ripped away.

'Letter From Hell' copyright of Lucy Holland, 29.01.2016

Allison Crane- And he returned.

And he returned.

Day three of the vow of silence and even the boss was starting to worry. Watching her every move she had forced him to look away, with actions rather than words. The assignment had gone cold, no leads, no way out of her temporary prison, and her arm taking an age to heal, she was going stir crazy. Standing by the barred window she watched through a gap in the outer covering as those who said they were friends, but held her captive, left in a blacked out vehicle. There was no time like the present, she would make her move. 

Rushing to the door she listened carefully, just in case it was a rouse, part of their plan to ensnare her further, or trick her into speech. Everything seemed quiet on the other side, taking her chance she slipped through the small gap created and tip toed across to the top of a grand staircase, at the bottom of which lay temporary freedom. If only she could make it down unheard, and unseen. There was no telling how many more operatives were in the establishment, nor if there were any other prisoners, but she would have to make a clean getaway and do her research on the facility before she returned to free the others.

Taking each step at a time she managed to avoid any creaking boards and found herself in a long corridor with multiple exits. At first it wasn’t clear which was the exit, and so she stood in silence contemplating which route to take when there was a loud bang behind one of the doors, the one directly opposite her frozen form.

Again the bang echoed through the empty building, suddenly she wondered if it were another prisoner in need of assistance. Fighting the urge to just turn and run in the opposite direction she edged toward the door from which the noise was originating and found it had a peep hole. Curiosity took over and she propelled her body onto it’s tip-toes glancing through the tiny window. On the other side a man stood with his back to the door, perhaps chained, it was hard to tell with such a limited view. Feeling she recognised his stance she hesitated, something stirred at the base of her spine, but her hands were moving of their own accord, before she knew it the handle was turned and there was a rush of air as the separate spaces became one. Standing behind the giant man she gasped, unable to hide her surprise. Turning slowly his eyes found her and his mouth expanded to the sides in a sickly grin.

“Hello Allison,” he sung, she starred in disbelief, “How’s the arm?”

Arms hanging limp, her mouth ajar, she starred into the beady blues eyes regarding her and there was only word on her tongue. Only one word that made it’s way out of the depths of her empty lungs.

“Dad?”

Allison Crane (And he returned-issue seven), copyright of Lucy Holland, 26.01.2016

Rain

Rainfall. 
The sound is soothing to me. Especially late at night or early morning. When my immediate world is sound asleep and I am alone with nature. Alone with the sky. Something about the rain forces people to stay indoors. There's something beautiful about that, like the star of the show Rain clears the streets ready for it's performance. Then it sings the beautiful gutter song. The pipeline melody, the puddle beat. Dripping, tapping, falling, cascading and running. Rain is athletic, strong and yet hollow, fragile.
Rainfall paves the way for cleanliness, new beginnings, growth and life. Rain washes away evil, dirt, stench, rot but also creates it, builds on the old. Rain is the soul of the earth. Souls never mean harm, but sometimes they create trouble. Like a monsoon after a drought. A shower after sunshine. Sprinkles after a BBQ. Replenishing, terrifying. Harsh, kind. Generous, stingy. Rain doesn't judge, it simply gets on with the job.
Rain, rain go away. Come back another day. A day when it's too hot to think. When gum melts on the floor, when ice cream runs down children's fingers. Leave us on the days we have to walk to work because the car broke down. Leave us when the valley is already flooding.
It is rain with whom I share my secrets, it is rain who washes away my nightly sins. Rain who soothes me, rain who scolds me. Rain won't let me sleep. But, I do not blame rain for what I have done. Rain kept me awake, kept me company. I cannot change who I am, Rain cannot change itself. That would be asking too much of God. He's so busy with everything else. Rain and I just get on with it, we are harmonious.

Rain, copyright of Lucy Holland 25.01.2016

Us

There is only me and her, and she is me.

It’s all we’ve ever claimed to be.

She and I are one in the same,

Except we are different every now and again.

In the shadows of the mind we share,

All our secrets are laid bare.

There’s not much room, it’s getting cramped

Just when we felt the urge to dance

Suffocating- pressed together

Clouds are brewing. Stormy weather.

We don’t get along, her and I.

I’m not sure why we even try.

I want her out but when she’s gone

Will I be able to soldier on?

What if she’s thinking the same as me?

I can’t afford to wait and see.

Perhaps it’s better we share a brain,

That way we’re both safe, sheltered from pain.

Despite our differences we are both strong,

And we’ve endured for ever so long

Shunned, feared and wholly rejected,

The reaction is not quite what we expected.

They are not ready for us, conjoined and double.

They see torment, broken, crazy and trouble.

Us, copyright of Lucy Holland 24.01.2016

Poetry...

...a small collection for you.

Ip-Dip

Ip-dip sky blue,

Broke your neck too.

Climbed up too high,

Bitch, you can’t fly.

Unless...

Having an imaginary friend is sweet,

Unless…he steals from people in the street.

No-one can see him so you take the heat!

Having an imaginary friend is one big game,

Unless…he grafitti’s the school using your name.

There’s no doubt that you’ll take the blame.

Having an imaginary friend is all good,

Unless…your Dad’s shed is made completely from wood,

Now there’s only ash and black marks where it stood.

Having an imaginary friend is the best,

Unless…he pretends he’s from the wild west.

I guess you’ll always have that scar on your chest.

Having an imaginary friend is ace,

Unless…he turns out to be a nutcase.

Maybe it’s time you gave him some space.

Having an imaginary friend can give you cold sweats,

Especially…if his name is Damien and he killed all your pets.

At least your mum will save tonnes at the vets!

Having an imaginary friend was the bomb,

Until…you realised your deep connection.

When you saw his mad face in your reflection.

Meaning of Life?

Read a book, tell a tale. Sail away in your dreams. 

Plug in and let go, come apart at the seams.

Pretend you’re someone else. Dress up, play the part.

Take a toke, or two, and imagine you’re smart.

In the end you might even trick yourself to believe,

That you’re not really here, that you’ve managed to leave.

But if you awake and crash back down to Earth.

Remember we’re only here for rebirth.

To rise and expand, to fight and to fall,

To start from the top, repeating it all.

We won’t be remembered in cycles to come.

We’re here to do a job that will never be done.

The Unknown

Where the Moon collides with Earth

Is where you’ll witness my rebirth.

Beneath the black of an empty sky,

I’ll arrive, I’ll grow, I’ll thrive, I’ll fly.

Too soon, I’ll be gone. Forever lost.

In a lick of flame and a touch of frost.

Do not be eager to follow my lead.

A morbid yearn, a twisted need.

Mask

One man tells lies to his under age lover

Claiming he’s faithful, but slept with her mother.

Another takes from those he calls friends

None of them realise they’re a means to an end.

A young woman plots and forces the tears

So her story sounds straight to her media peers.

The boy who sits at the back during class

Is hiding a knife in his graffitied rucksack.

No-one suspects them, they look just like us

But they’re hiding secrets they refuse to discuss.

Ip-Dip, Unless..., Meaning of Life?, The Unknown and Mask are all copyright works of Lucy Holland. 24.01.2016

A Tale of Two Beasts

Poison. It filled her dirty veins, coursing through her body like wildfire. Wherever it touched it burned and silently promised everlasting damage, and yet she was addicted. The pain was essential to the kick. She wanted to hurt, to bleed, to succumb to the blackness. Voices called out to her from the shadows, enticing, intoxicating. Curiosity provoked her to investigate, not temptation, that came later.

Flinging herself onto the bed her eyes rolled back in her head and she let out an empty gasp. It echoed in the space around her and she imagined she could see it’s cloud-like form floating away from her, as though a tiny part of her soul had broken away from itself. A cruel smile crept into the corners of her mouth. ‘Be free little me’, she thought in amusement. Heat flushed her skin, though there was an ice beneath, she assumed it must be her heart, if there was even one left. Frozen over if not dripping with thick black tar.

Ignoring the sting of the cold she tried to relax the muscles involuntarily tensing across her body, and she thought back to the first time. A night similar to the one she found herself in, dark, mysterious and full of adventure. But the first time had been shrouded in doubt, and uncertainty as well. A feeling she unexpectedly missed. Danger tiptoed across her stomach, digging it’s curved claws into her abdomen and threatening to never let go, she giggled. 

Curiosity had gotten her to the choice, temptation had swayed the choice, looking down she knew there was no other choice. Ignoring the call would have only made it worse. The call would have returned disguised as something entirely different, but essentially the same. To ignore the call was to pass up an opportunity, to reject an option. To be open minded was to try everything, and though the road she walked was littered with warning signs, distant echo’s encouraging her to take a different path, despite the cuff around her ankle, there was chain. The end of which she could not see, had no knowledge of it’s true length, but every step she took ate away at links, soon there would be no chain left, and the tug would awaken the beast at the other end. At one time the beast had been something else, though she struggled to remember what exactly, the poison was to thank for her hazy mind. The road behind was clouded and dark, the way ahead promised light, colour, excitement and hope.

The first time, the beginning, she would remember above all others. The rush, the tingle, the skip in her heart that promised ill educated decisions were afoot. After only one taste she knew her body was a slave to the toxin. Immediately addictive, even to look upon it was enough to make the eyes grow wide and the lips part in wonder. And, oh, how she had wondered, and pondered, and thought of nothing else until she could no longer sleep for her mind was in a constant relay of imaginings. All of them more sweet than the previous. 

The icy sting penetrated her core once more and she jerked forward, sitting straight and releasing a breath that felt as though it had never belonged in her lungs to begin with. A horrid little thing, burning her throat, but it was just shock, and soon the feeling bled out into such ecstasy she dreamt of death. Dying would feel similar, a pain, so quick, and sharp, and ultimately forgotten. Once the pain was over there was only freedom, escape from the restraints. Perhaps a heaven, whatever lay ahead, she knew it would feel the same as her poison. Her sin.

Of course there were still doubts now, but the addiction had taken hold, the answer to any unwelcome seed of thought was that she’d already made her choice, once is enough, and where’s the logic in discontinuing something once it’s started, she may as well see it through.

Alongside the doubt, pushing and shoving it’s way into her corrupt little mind was the greed. Dancing around her lips, her aching body, it engulfed her, trapped like a slave to the feeling. No matter how much she tasted she would always want more, of that she was sure. It was all she thought about from waking to the short moments before she fell into a dream filled sleep that played out all of her fantasies, but never lasted long enough to quench her thirst. For sleep was a collection of precious minutes she was free of responsibility and fear, and conscience. Without sleep she was a machine, without reprise she was tortured. Either way she was tortured, with or without her drug.

Loneliness played a large part in her discovery of such an addiction. Loneliness provoked boredom, boredom created curiosity and that curiosity entertained chaos. After peeking beneath the curtain there was no turning back, there was no way to un-see, nor forget. The only way was forward, through the relentless dark, through and through until one either found a way out or gave up and resolved to resonate within the shadows. Those shadows had been her home, they were her home, but being as she was, self assured in her decisions and distracted by the wonders within the dark, she failed to notice the oncoming light. Like a silent train, deadly and fast, the light was swift approaching, but the light was dim and she had turned so many times during her fumble in the gloom that her back was to the blinking spot. It was judgement.

Sitting bolt upright the cold sharp dig within her chest took hold as the light blinded her, waking her from her ecstasy filled dreams, almost shocking her sober. The hairs on her skin stood to attention and those tiny bits of her soul rasping free of her dying lungs stopped, remaining inside her and reminding her they were still a part of her, that no matter what she had given away there was pieces of her soul still left, stirring under the radiant glow. She loathed the remaining fragments, those that caused her to hold onto feelings that would have been easier forgotten than embraced.

“How could you?”

The words echoed in her mind, bouncing off the stark inner walls. So many answers could be provided, so many fit, but none of them were the right answer, for she believed there wasn’t one. None that would be understood by any, other than her, she, herself, one who found themselves in the exact same scenario. Perhaps no-one was capable of understanding, for no one person could possible endure the exact same string of fate, with the exact same responses and emotions included. But it were beyond understanding. Her situation called for empathy, forgiveness, perhaps more, perhaps less. Probably less.

“Betrayal.”

Any words before or after were missed. In her frozen shock her senses had clammed up, but some things got through. The blinding light casting shapes on shadows, the smell of sweat, and alcohol and home, the sound of raised voices, breathlessness, the feel of all warmth evaporating from the room, from her body and the taste of nothing on her tongue, a dry, barren emptiness begging for moisture.

Betrayal, the word stuck like glue. Tacking itself to her skin, searing and accusing. Of course it was betrayal, she had always known, but hearing it aloud, and from one who would know made it all the more real. The longer she looked into the light, the more the shadows shrank, and the more she realised where she was, with whom. The light cast rays on that which she had been toying with in the shadows.

Two. Two choices, two paths, two beasts. A monumental decision. How could she trust the light after so long in the dark? Would her addiction give her the same kick after this, would her surrounding demons allow it to consume her? Would she rule, could she conquer and win? Should she return to a beast she knew well, but had strayed from and forgotten? 

Perhaps it was never her choice to make...

A Tale of Two Beasts, copyright of Lucy Holland. 24.01.2016