The Seventh Day

The night after I killed my wife I had a strange dream.

Cold black waves ebbed away from my feet, pulling at the sand between my toes. I looked up to an ebony sky speckled with red stars. Behind me lay an endless gray country and before me, only dark water.

Then I noticed the boatman.

He wore only gray overalls and a black cap. A puzzled look flashed across his face when he saw me.

“Why Mr. Gerry, you’re here early! This almost never happens! Not to worry though, special accommodations can be made. I dare say we have room for you on this trip.”

He indicated the ship behind him. It looked like a cross between a steamboat and a hearse. Cobwebs hung from railings and elaborately carved trestles, gathering like gray conspirators in shadowy corners. The vessel was completely black except alongside her prow where someone had painted the name STICKS ‘N STONES in garish bright gold letters. I asked the ferryman what her name meant and he let out a dry cackle like the snap of burning twigs.

“Noticed that did you?’ he said, his eyes twinkling, “It’s a silly pun, nothing more.”

He said no more in the way of an explanation, but suddenly cleared his throat and looked serious.

“Now then, Mr. Gerry, to business. Do you wish to cross?”

I told him that I did; though in truth I wasn’t so sure.

“Then before I let you board my happy little riverboat, I must ask: do you have the necessary fee?”

I asked him how much and he looked at me strangely.

“I hope you’re not trying to pull one over on me, Mr. Gerry. Everyone knows my fee. They have always known my fee. It has been, and always will be, two. Two. One for each eye forever closed by the weight of a coin. Two! Whether they be dollars, ducats or rupees: it’s always two. People can say what they like, but I’m not changing my rates—even now when I am able to transport in bulk.”

I reached into my pocket and fished out two pennies. His face was solemn as he accepted them.

“Thank you, Mr. Gerry, thank you very much. Now if you will please step on board, we’ll be departing shortly.”

Besides the ferryman and myself, the ship was completely deserted. Walking about the main deck, I pictured row upon row of people, all silent, all staring ahead, faces devoid of expression. Then, the creaking wooden paddlewheels of the Sticks‘n Stones began slowly to revolve, startling me out of my reverie.

“Ah, Mr. Gerry!” he said as I entered the pilot’s quarters, “do come in. It’s so nice to have company. Mostly at this point passengers are so occupied with their own thoughts that they’ve no desire to speak with each other, let alone me.”

I sat and asked him if he had been in the ferrying business long.

“Sometimes it feels like an eternity,” he answered smiling. “Back in the old days it was so much simpler. All I needed was my wooden canoe and one large paddle. There were few, if any, delays in line. Of course, back then there weren’t nearly as many people coming. Folks are showing up in droves now, sometimes even by the thousands! Still, one must move with the times. If nothing else, I pride myself on flexibility.”

The boatman tapped the control board of his steamboat proudly.

“With an influx of guests comes an influx of profits, and I’ve been able to afford a bit of an upgrade. I shudder to think what would happen if I all I had was my old ferry. The mind quails, Mr. Gerry, it absolutely quails at the thought!”

As we made our way across the dark river, I asked for his name.

“Oh my, how perfectly rude of me! I should have introduced myself on the dock. I am entirely sorry.”

While keeping his eye on the horizon, the ferryman extended a bony hand in my direction.

“You may call me Charley. I am at your service.”

I shook his hand and we both were silent for a while, staring out into the darkness. Tendrils of fog had begun to caress the sides of the Sticks‘n Stones, slithering upward until the boat was completely swallowed by haze. Far off in the murk, will o’ the wisps began to dance back and forth, illuminating the outlines of distant buildings in their fiery glow.

Without warning, Charley pulled on an ornate tassel hanging from the ceiling. A chorus of deep groans and high screams reverberated through the riverboat. I stood in amazement, knocking my chair over.

“No fear,” Charley shouted as he kept the rope pulled down, “it’s just the Sticks’ foghorn. Needs to be used. Believe me, we wouldn’t want to run into anything on this river.”

After a more few horrible moments, he released the rope and the din ceased. The fog soon cleared, and it was then I began to hear something strange.

Carnival music.

The calliope melody reminded me of childhood travels to Coney Island, and I soon saw why. With the fog gone, the will o’ wisps had dwindled into neon lights of Ferris wheels and merry-go-rounds awaiting on shore.

Suddenly Charley turned to me and said, “Now, Mr. Gerry, if you’ll please proceed to one of the lower decks. We’ll be landing shortly.”

I sat down in a large hall where a crowd was already gathered.

“Hello! Hello! Welcome! Welcome!”

A rotund man walked out on stage. He wore a thick walrus mustache and a leering grin beneath it; the type of man who gives children sips of whiskey or shows them pictures from pornographic magazines.

“So, the newest batch! Fresh off the boat and wondering what’s next. Fear not, o intrepid souls. We’ve been waiting for you a long time, a long time indeed.

“Now then,”—and he harrumphed once—“please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Daze, and I’m one of the facilitators of this fair establishment. It is my job to enlighten you as to how things work here. Contrary to what some of you might be expecting, you are in for a fantastic time! Fun for everyone!

“Now…here are the rules.”

With great ceremony, Mr. Daze pulled a large sheaf of papers out from his tweed coat. He appeared to read them for a moment, then looked up at us and grinned.

“There are none!”

He tossed the papers aside, giggling.

“Do whatever you like here. All of our varied facilities are open for your full enjoyment. There are no restrictions, regulations, or laws. I encourage you all to go wild! You may need to, for what comes—”

“Amos, stop that! We want them to have some surprises, don’t we?”

A striking woman in a green business suit made her way onstage. Mr. Daze’s leering smile grew even wider as he gave her a deep bow.

“Hello, dears,” she said. “I’m Miss Lilith, another co-facilitator along with Amos.” She nodded toward Mr. Daze, who nodded back. A hulking brute shambled out to stand behind her. She reached up and patted him on the shoulder, as one would a good pet.

“This is our caretaker and groundskeeper Bubba. He’s here to make sure that you all stay safe and enjoy yourselves.”

The groundskeeper loomed over us and as a group we leaned back. Bubba was built like a mountain, with a brow carved from stone, shoulders as wide as cliffs, and fists like small boulders.

“I’m sure Mr. Daze, here, has explained the rules or lack thereof,” Miss Lilith continued smoothly. “You must take care not to get lost, for in this kingdom there are so many diversions.”

“Remember,” Mr. Daze added, “Do whatever you like. There are no rules—”

“Except one,” a loud voice interjected from behind us.

We all turned toward the back of the chamber. A tall man was leaning against the wall, arms folded, his top hat tilted at a rakish angle. He wore a deep red suit that tapered off into long coattails, matching pants, and a silken cravat. When he had all of us staring at him, he smiled. The bright whiteness of his teeth contrasted oddly against the deep black of his pointed goatee.

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Hello!”

He chatted amiably and without pause as he walked toward us.

“It’s so lovely to see new faces about the place. So nice and refreshing. Of course, nowadays one gets so many visitors, it’s difficult to maintain the quality of the close, personal care that we strive to provide for every soul here. Yet we struggle on. Every case is handled with the utmost nicety and precision so we can ensure that all of you receive exactly what you deserve, and none of you ever, ever, want to leave.

“We do what we can, though, being understaffed as we are, I wonder if it’s enough? I maintain the faint illusion that it is. Whatever the case may be, I welcome each and every one of you, and hope that you will be satisfied with our service.”

The crowd parted instantly as he made his way through, and leapt lithely onto the stage. Miss Lilith, Mr. Daze, and Bubba rushed forward and shook his hand with enthusiasm.

“My name,” he began as he turned to look down on us, “is Mr. Lucas.”

We waited for him to continue.

“I am what you might call the…proprietor of this establishment. Many of you are, no doubt, somewhat surprised at what you’ve seen so far. You may be thinking that this isn’t at all what you were expecting. Well, all I can say is that times change and we must change with them. No endless pushing boulders up hills, beds of thorns, or water out of reach for you folks! No eagles eating your liver. Nix the fire and the brimstone as well! This entire land is here for your use and enjoyment. As Mr. Daze and Miss Lilith have already imparted to you, there are no rules…”

He paused, and his shining eyes turned upward for a moment, as if in prayerful contemplation.

“…except one.

“One tiny rule. Very slight. Almost inconsequential, really. It won’t inconvenience you in any way. It is so miniscule it might as well not even exist…if not for the fact that it does.”

Mr. Lucas paced back and forth across the stage. The gaze of his associates followed him as he moved, their eyes glowing as if nothing else existed in the room.

“You see, we run things on a weekly schedule here. A very old, very traditional schedule. One that you might find very familiar. As I have mentioned, your first six days you shall be free to do what you like; work, play, create an entire world of pleasures for yourself. Yet on the seventh day-” he paused and drew a breath “-on the seventh day, you shall…rest.

“We require everyone, the entire population to have a lie-in on the seventh day. You will accompany any one of the staff to the place we call simply the Room. There you will rest for 24 hours, and the next morning re-emerge ready for a new week of fun! That is our one requirement, our one stricture. It is unavoidable, but also, as I think you’ll find…inconsequential.”

The crowd began muttering, mostly in tones of relief.

“Well, there you have it, dear guests. Now, if there is nothing more to say, I ask that you exit out the doors so that we may begin.”

He gave two sharp claps and the curtains against the far wall fell away, revealing a gateway made in the likeness of a gigantic clown’s head. I could hear the clinking chains as its gaping mouth opened to receive us, the rows of teeth parting in a wide grin, the drawbridge extending like a tongue. As I walked toward it, I noticed a small bit of graffiti on the clown’s cheekbone. Written in pink spray paint, it read, “Abandon Hope, All—”

But before I could finish, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Miss Lilith gave me small push forward and waved as the clown’s mouth closed between us. I turned and looked out at the path that led to Mr. Lucas’s menagerie. They say that this road is paved with good intentions, but I saw only billboards for strippers and beer.

I took one step. Then another. And another. With each step, the next grew easier and soon I was running. The carnival’s alluring melody and dancing lights beckoned and I, a foolish moth, was drawn to its flames. Was I burned? Many of the details have faded with the passing of dreams. But not all. Like the ash and smoke from a long ago fire, some memories still linger.

As with a rollercoaster ride, my descent started slowly, then quickly became a plunging thrill ride where I began delving into things never dreamt of in my darkest imaginings. Is this really what everyone was so afraid of? I wondered, Look at my fellow sinners, they’re happy. They can’t stop smiling, like the grins were stapled to their goddamn faces.

On the sixth day, I learned that not everyone smiled.

While in a pub, I noticed a man sitting alone, staring listlessly into his mug. He stood out because he was the only one not laughing at the top of his lungs. No crazed smile was grafted onto his wizened mouth, and his eyes looked more tired than excited. I stumbled over and, in a slurred voice, asked him why he wasn’t partaking in the festivities. He gave me a look of such mute horror and abject hatred that I flinched.

“You truly know nothing,” he croaked. “You have no idea. But you will. You all will. Wait. Wait until the end of the week. Ask me after the seventh day—”

A chorus of angry shouting erupted from the rest of the bar. It was as though the others had taken off masks and something terrible beneath was laid bare. They began pummeling him savagely. I ran, scared they might take their anger out on me. However, a little while later, the old man found me and beckoned me to follow him.

“They won’t say anything. They won’t tell you,” he whispered. “They do it to themselves every week, trying to forget. But that only makes it worse. They never can forget, they never will. And they don’t want any of us to talk of it with the new ones either. For misery loves company, so it is said, and no one is as miserable as we are. During my first week I once thought as you did. I was a fool. There’s always a price, boy, always! And I found out, and I’ve paid. I’ve paid and will go on paying until Judgment Day. Do you know what real hell is?”

However I was not to learn the answer to his question until tomorrow. Before he could continue, a voice behind us asked:

“Now, Mr. J, what have we told you about all your nay-saying and ill humor?”

It was Miss Lilith. To either side of her stood Mr. Daze and Bubba, their arms folded across their chests. The old man called Mr. J shrieked and tried to run past them. In a blink, Bubba shifted sideways and Mr. J bounced off of the brute like he had hit a brick wall. Bubba picked the old man up with one huge, muscular arm and tossed him over his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Gerry,” Miss Lilith said smoothly, “even here we do have our troublemakers and rebels. Our little dissidents.” She teased, waving a finger under Mr. J’s tearful face.

“Now Mr. J, whatever are we going to do with you? What do you think, Amos?” Mr. Daze stroked his chin for a moment.

“I think a week straight of rest and reflection in the Room should set matters a-right, don’t you Miss Lilith?”

“I agree, Mr. Daze. A week it is, then. Bubba, if you please.” Mr. J began to scream as Bubba effortlessly hauled the old man away.

**********

On the seventh day, the gongs of Hell began to toll. The mournful cry echoed throughout the carnival, cutting short the laughter and screams. Once, twice, three times it crashed until the last remnants of mirth had been smothered.

The crowds slowly began to trudge toward the center of the carnival, forming lines as they walked. From atop the walls, Mr. Daze, Miss Lilith, Bubba, and other staff looked down on us with gleaming eyes.

The procession converged in the epicenter of the carnival, in front of a cylindrical monolith over a hundred stories tall. Without anyone telling me, I knew this was the Room. It seemed strange that I hadn’t noticed it until today. The Room was completely smooth, utterly devoid of any decoration, carving, or ornamentation. There were no windows, no ways to see inside. The only entrance was a small portal at ground level.

One by one, each person in front of me walked in, silently swallowed by the waiting shadows until at last I stood alone in front of the doorway. I peered inside, but may as well have been staring into the farthest reaches of space, or the blackness that was before creation. Having no other choice, I closed my eyes and stepped into the darkness.

**********

Imagine the worst moment of your life. Now multiply the pain of that moment by infinite and extend it to forever. This would have been preferable to what happened in the Room.

Darkness flowed into me through every orifice and pore. It permeated every fiber of my being. All the pain, all the hardship that I had ever caused was distilled, concentrated, grown, and flushed back into me like a hellish river. It was physical and mental anguish to a degree no mortal could stand. Yet I was no longer mortal, only an ethereal spirit of lost flesh.

I saw my life laid out before me: a pitiful mockery, a meaningless map that led nowhere. My sins, from the tiniest indiscretions to the most awful, were landmarks of a futile existence. I saw myself through my wife’s eyes as I drove her away into the arms of another. I watched myself kill her, the only woman I had ever loved. As one flesh, I became her, and felt my own hands wrap around my neck and watched the horrific expression in my eyes as I choked out my life. I saw my eyes light up in ghoulish triumph as I died.

Time has no meaning in the Room. To a mind drowning in pain and madness, every second lasts an aeon. Have you ever been hurt so badly that everything else vanished? All thoughts, all hopes, fears, and desires gone? Nothing existing but agony and you would do anything…ANYTHING! to make it just go away. In real life, hopefully you’d pass out from shock into merciful oblivion.

What if you couldn’t pass out?

What if you were kept awake, and kept aware? We were overloaded with such pain that it should have driven us mad, yet we were not driven mad, not allowed to lose ourselves in the brokenness of insanity. We were kept aware of everything, every single cell of pain fed through us. And with this awareness came the most horrible knowledge of all.

We had chosen this.

These were the fruits that we had sown throughout our lives, and now we were reaping them. The knowledge that your mind, heart, and body is being torn apart is awful enough, but the realization that you had brought it on yourself made it the most horrible thing ever. I screamed and screamed and screamed.

***********

When it was done, we found ourselves standing in the hall where first we’d met Mr. Lucas. Everyone looked hollow, as though something inside had been burnt away forever. At last I understood. No wonder smiles were so forced, laughter so loud. If they could forget, lose themselves in the carnival, it would be alright. But they never would. And this was the most brilliant stroke of all: the very dark vices that had so dominated them while living now became a pathetic mocking attempt at compensation. Like a drug addict, the next fix would never be enough. The carnival’s pleasures were as useful as faulty earplugs, never quite able to block out the grinding, whispering horror of the Room.

A small hand caressed my shoulder. I turned to see the beautiful Miss Lilith smiling at me.

“Mr. Gerry, hello. Sorry to disturb you, but Mr. Lucas would like to speak with you for a moment,” she said. I followed her down a dark hallway to an office. The glass door had the word PRESIDENT printed on it in small type. As I sat down, Mr. Lucas glanced up from some papers he was reading.

“Ah, Mr. Gerry. Charley wired ahead about you, but I had already received a communiqué you were coming. Most unusual situation. Never one quite like it before, actually.”

I waited for him to continue, but he said no more for a time. He just looked into my eyes and I must admit, at that point I once more felt afraid. Mr. Lucas’s mouth may have formed a small smile, but it never reached his eyes. They remained cold, frozen blue pits with pupils darker than the blackest night in hell.

The office disappeared. Mr. Lucas’s eyes expanded until the darkness within them blotted out everything. I felt as though I was falling through an endless black hole. As I fell, it seemed as though all the deeds of my life started to tumble out of me and were held up for Mr. Lucas’s cold scrutiny.

“Well, well,” he said, “isn’t that interesting.”

From far away, I could hear a faint sibilance at the end of his sentence. I must have passed out, for the next thing I remember is hearing the sound of papers being shuffled. I glanced up to see Mr. Lucas pointedly reading what looked like some kind of dossier.

“Most unique situation,” Mr. Lucas muttered under his breath, “highly unorthodox. We shall have to see.”

Then, looking up at me he said, “Officially, Mr. Gerry, you are not a guest here. According to our files, you were not due to arrive for some time. Unfortunately it appears as though you have been…double-booked. Both my competition and I have you down as a future resident.”

I asked how that was possible.

“You wouldn’t think that it would be. Usually we can accurately predict where an individual will end up by the time he or she is 33 years of age. However, every once in a while through the ages there comes a soul who is perfectly balanced, pinioned between the darkness and light.”

“Look at you, Mr. Gerry. I don’t think you realize what a rare breed of man you are. A week ago, you were a poster child for Him.”

For every reason he listed, he held up a finger.

“Good man. Good Husband. Devout Christian. Successful career. Volunteered and gave to charities.”

Mr. Lucas shook his head.

“You, Mr. Gerry, lived an exemplary life.”

He paused.

“That is until the night you came home and found your wife abed with another man.”

Mr. Lucas’s reasons disappeared with a swift cutting gesture.

“And then, Mr. Gerry, that is where you came to a crossroads, upon which you chose a path that has now led you to my domain.”

“Normally,” he said, “the murder of one’s spouse results in almost instant booking. But you, Mr. Gerry, you defy convention! Your life before your wife’s indiscretion was a good one. So much so, that it precisely offsets her murder. Think of it as though you are standing in the exact center of some grand cosmic teeter-totter, and it could go either way.”

Mr. Lucas smiled and licked his lips.

“Right now the scales are balanced, Mr. Gerry, but they won’t remain that way forever. You were sent here to see what’ll happen if you lean further still to my side. The powers-that-be decided to arrange something special for you, a one-week trial, if you will.”

“You do not realize how lucky you are, sir. You have been given a great gift, one that hasn’t been granted since that ridiculous Italian wrote his silly cantos all those centuries ago. Of course, the idiot bungled the thing horribly. Nine levels! Hah! Frozen lakes, suicidal forests, and burning sand? Hah! His logistics are totally ridiculous. If I’d organized the place the way he’d written it…well! Its impossible I tell you! It takes no account of variety. What kind of person commits only one type of sin? How would you dispose of, say, a traitor who was also violent, gluttonous, and a suicide? Mr. Gerry, you have no idea how many organizational headaches I deal with, even after ages of being in business. It is true, the phrase I hear they say on your Earth: I am in the details.

“Anyway, I ask you, what kind of man writes about witnessing his enemies in hell? What a vindictive bastard. What a weird imagination! Do I look like I am currently chewing on anyone while I am talking to you? DO I? Of course, I swallowed them all long ago.”

Mr. Lucas pulled out a toothpick and began picking at his sharp teeth.

“The poor fool didn’t realize that the most grievous sin of all is pride,” He allowed himself a soft chuckle. “At least, not until he arrived here for good.”

“Now where was I? Oh, yes. So we gave you a full week’s all expenses paid trip. And, to our immense entertainment, you performed swimmingly.”

Mr. Lucas paused and, for the first time, his face looked uncertain. He spun around in his chair once, then steepled his long fingers under his chin.

“Well Mr. Gerry, this is somewhat embarrassing. I normally don’t get a chance to speak with guests after they’ve been through the Room. I hope you don’t mind indulging me, and I’m aware how awfully personal a question this is.

“Now that you’ve had your little…preview, I have to ask: did you enjoy yourself? I must confess to find myself curious about what you thought of our little Room. Tell me, what was it like?”

I stared at him dumbfounded. How to explain the Room without screaming? It was impossible. Human language lacks the capacity. Well, I thought, perhaps there was one word that could be used.

“It was He—”

“Helllpful?” Mr. Lucas injected. I hesitated, not knowing what to say.

“You see, Mr. Gerry, it wasn’t always this way. Back in the good old days, we could rely on traditional methods: infernal, endless torture, flames, thirst, the whole kit and caboodle. But times being as they are, we’ve had to accommodate, to modernize, and work out more progressive ways of achieving our goals.”

“Your goals?” I whispered, “What on earth are your goals?”

“Why, Mr. Gerry,” Mr. Lucas said with surprise, “justice of course.”

“Justice?” I was unable to keep the incredulous tone out of my voice.

At that moment, Miss Lilith came rushing in and handed some new files to her boss. While he perused them, she winked at me. I shivered.

“Damn!” Mr. Lucas suddenly shouted.

“I don’t know how that Bastard expects me to cope with all these new arrivals! Look at these numbers Lilith. This is the largest shipment yet! We may have to buy another boat for Charley! Honestly, sometimes I don’t know why I started this whole thing.”

Mr. Lucas’s voice began to trail off and he seemed to stare beyond me, as if remembering something from long ago.

“It seemed like such a good idea at the time. I remember thinking, ‘Why not improve the system? Shift the paradigm.’ I mean, for me to even have those thoughts is, in itself, justification for them, is it not? And then I spoke with Him.”

Mr. Lucas’s voice grew deeper and more powerful as he continued to speak. I got the distinct impression that he was no longer talking to me.

“Get your own staff! Run your own office! Better to be the Head of Infernal Affairs than just middle management. Why I signed up for it, sometimes I don’t know.”

He seemed suddenly to remember I was there, for he gave me a wide smile.

“Although I must admit, I’ve grown to love my work.

“Yes Mr. Gerry, justice. All who come here reap what they have sown. I make sure they do, with interest included. Why am I to blame? I’ve simply given them what they wanted throughout their lives, and now they complain when they have to pay for it! And only a weekly payment at that! Surely that’s not too high a price.”

“Nothing is worth going through that,” I replied, “Nothing.”

Mr. Lucas smiled as I spoke, and this time it was the quiet smile of one who has long been waiting to get to the point of a conversation, and now it has arrived.

“You might want to remember that, Daniel, when you wake up.”