textfiles/politics/liar

ONCE A LIAR . . .
  by Jack R. Voltz


  Scott always thought Hell was hot. But it wasn't. It was 
freezing cold. He brought the subject up with the nearest Red demon, 
who was enjoying a coffee break.

  "Yeah, that's what everyone thinks," said the demon. "Until 
they get here. Actually, it used to be hot, but the Boss discovered 
that too many people were ENJOYING themselves."

  "Heaven forbid," agreed Scott. He remembered the guide's advice 
about placating the demons. They tended to pull your arms out of 
their sockets when you disagreed with them.                       

  "Well, enough chit-chat," said the demon, picking up its whip. 
"Back to work."

  Scott watched as the demon waded through the Pool of Souls, 
whacking and thwacking people to its left and right. Now there's a 
fellow who looks like he enjoys his job, Scott thought. Why 
couldn't I have had a job that I enjoyed topside?

  Scott heard someone weeping. He turned slightly to his right, 
barely able to move his head inside the nail helmet. He winced as a 
nail drove itself a little deeper into his right ear. The weeping 
sound was coming from a man in another pain cubicle, next to 
Scott's. Scott assumed the demons must've brought the man down in 
the night, while he was asleep. If the man hadn't started crying, 
Scott would have never known he was there.

  Scott looked at the man's pain cubicle, remembering the first 
day he was placed in his own. The memory sent chills running down 
his spine. The man was wearing a nail helmet, and was shackled to 
the floor of the cubicle exactly like Scott was. The man was 
slightly bigger than Scott, but his cubicle was bigger too, leaving 
him just enough room to squat on his haunches.

  "How long have you been down?" Scott asked.

  The man moaned pitifully.

  "Just got here, huh? Yeah, I know what you mean brother. I was 
disoriented myself the day I got here."

  The man wept.

  "Buck up, friend. Stiff upper lip, and all that crap. Besides, 
there's nothing you can do about it now."

  Scott was getting a crick in his neck trying to get a good look 
at the man. "What are you in for?"

  The man sobbed.

  "Ah c'mon. I'm bored to death. I need some conversation. 
Look, if it'll help, I'll start first..."

  "I've destroyed the world," the man said suddenly.

  Scott found this amusing. The man didn't look like the sort of 
person who could step on an ant, much less destroy the world. But 
then again, everyone looked innocent in Hell. "C'mon," Scott said. 
"You're pulling my leg."

  "No, really" the man sniffed. "I did. I murdered the alien 
ambassadors. By now their mother ship has completely destroyed the 
Earth."

  "Buddy," Scott said with a wry grin, "if that was true, everyone 
here would've known about it by now. On Doomsday we all get a 
special treat... What's your name, anyway?"

  "Cartlesworth. Melvin Cartlesworth."

  Melvin Cartlesworth? Helluva name for a destroyer of worlds, 
Scott thought. "Well -- Melvin Cartlesworth," he said. "I'm Scott 
Newman. Can't say it's a pleasure meeting you here, 'cause it aint. 
How'd you go about doing it?" he snickered. "Destroying the world, 
I mean."

  "I told you. I killed the alien ambassadors. After I learned 
of their evil plan to steal the Earth's food, I planted a bomb in 
their scout ship. The last I remember, their mother ship was getting 
even by stomping the shit out of New York City."

  Scott lifted his arm to try to massage the crick in his neck, 
but the shackles prevented that, as always. Didn't hurt to try, 
though. "Now I know you're yankin' my chain," he said, grinning in 
pain as the leg cramps began. "The Boss says there are no aliens."

  "Oh, really?" said Melvin bitterly. "Then what were those 
things that I killed?"

  "Probably demons. I'm surprised they let you blow 'em up. 
They're tough hombres, y'know." Scott winced as the cramp in his 
leg doubled then quadrupled in strength. He rubbed his thigh, 
trying the massage the cramp out. "I heard the Boss say one time 
that aliens were his favorite trick on humans. He loves it every 
time humans fall for the old 'lights in the sky' gag."

  "They didn't look like tricks to me," said Melvin. "Look, I 
never used to believe in UFO's or aliens or any of that shit until 
the day their scout ship landed in Central Park. What about that? 
I saw it. I was INSIDE of it. It was real. After I planted the 
bomb, I watched it climb into the sky and then explode! And their 
mother ship...it was HUGE! You can't tell me both of those ships 
were tricks."

  "Sure they were. You just saw some good special effects. All 
the best special effects guys are down here, y'know."

  "Here? You keep saying HERE. Where's HERE?"

  "Don't you know?" Scott's back itched terribly. He struggled 
to scratch himself against the nails embedded in the back wall of 
his cubicle. "Your guide should've told you about all of this." 

  "I don't understand what you're saying. None of this is real. 
This is all just a bad dream..."

  "Don't I wish. This is the real thing, fella. Better get used 
to it." Scott yelped as a demon kicked his cubicle, driving the nail 
he was scratching himself on deep into his back. He started to 
complain, but thought better of it when the demon came into view. 
It was a Blue demon. The worst kind. They didn't take any crap.

  "Shut up, maggots!" said the Blue demon, its yellow eyes 
blazing. "You know the rules!"

  Scott shut up and waited for the demon to go away. When it was 
gone, he continued. "Don't worry, it's gone. They're not all like 
that asshole. The Red Ones are ok, once you get to know 'em, but 
don't mess with those Blue demons. They'll rip you apart just for 
kicks. But the Boss is the worst of 'em all. You can thank your 
lucky stars he's not allowed to touch us -- at least not yet. Not 
until Doomsday. That's the rules."

  "My head hurts," said Melvin.

  "Of course it hurts. You're in Hell, stupid. You'll get used 
to it." Sure, Scott thought. You never get used to the pain in 
Hell. "Didn't your guide explain all this to you?"

  "What guide? What are you talking about?"

  "Your guide. You know, the big fat guy on the elevator?"

  "What elevator?"

  Scott sighed. "The elevator you took to get here." The guide 
must be slipping.

  "I never saw any elevator," Melvin said. "One minute I'm being 
knocked unconcious by an alien laser blast, and the next minute I'm 
here...in a nightmare."

  "Listen, buddy," said Scott, beginning to lose his patience. 
"You'd better face the facts. You're in Hell. Go ahead and say it. 
HELL. You're in H-E-L-L, with a capital H."

  Reality suddenly hit Melvin like a ton of wet manure. "Oh 
Jesus. It's true."

  "Shhhhh!" Scott looked around wildly, searching for Blue demons. 
"Are you nuts? Don't mention that name down here! They all go 
apeshit!"

  Scott shifted towards the rear of the cubicle to stretch his 
legs a little, preferring the pain from the nails in his back to the 
cramps. He drifted off into a light sleep.

                              *  *  *

  When he awoke, two Blue demons were standing in front of 
Melvin's cubicle. The taller one opened the cubicle, unlocked 
Melvin's shackles and pulled the unconscious man out by the neck. 
"C'mon, shithead," it said. "The Boss wants to have a little fun 
with you."

  "Hey!" Scott heard someone shout. "That's against the rules!"  
To his horror, he realized that he had said it. He shut his mouth 
so fast that he bit off the tip of his tongue. Too late. Suddenly, 
a pair of huge, scaly blue hands lifted him out of his cubicle. 
Unfortunately, the demon forgot to unlock the shackles. Scott felt 
his arms and legs rip painfully out of their sockets.

  "What's that, pissant?" said the smaller demon. It lifted Scott 
up like he was a piece of tissue paper. Scott found himself 
face-to-face with the ugliest, meanest, foulest-smelling creature 
he'd ever seen. "You say something, pissant?"

  Scott mumbled something. He turned away from the demon's 
baleful stare. He watched in amazement as new limbs began to grow 
from the bloody stumps where his arms and legs used to be.

  "What's that?" the demon snarled, "Speak up, pissant!"

  Scott mustered up every last bit of courage he possessed and 
stared the demon in the eyes. "That's against the rules, and you 
know it," he said defiantly, tasting the blood in his mouth. "The 
Boss can't touch us until it's time. That's the rules."

  Both demons chuckled, producing a hideous, rattling sound like a 
dog dragging a bag full of dead mens' bones through a gravel pit. 
Scott shivered.

  "Oh really?" said the smaller demon. "Look, T.F., we've got us 
a lawyer here..." This sent both demons into spasms of their 
sinister laughter.

  The smaller demon pointed to Melvin. "See that piece of slime, 
pissant? He made it possible. You can thank your buddy there."

  "What...what do you mean?" Scott stammered.

  Melvin suddenly woke up and caught a glance at the demon holding 
him. "Oh Jesus," he moaned. This earned him the pleasure of having 
his left arm torn from its socket. The socket began to grow a new 
arm almost immediately. The taller demon started beating Melvin 
over the head with the old one.

  "The last of the pissants is dead," said the small demon with 
evil glee. "They're all dead!"

  Scott noticed the temperature beginning to rise to an 
uncomfortable level.

  "You mean...all that stuff..." Scott gasped in pain as the demon 
squeezed him, cracking several ribs. "...that stuff...Melvin told 
me about...aliens... the end of the world...was TRUE?"

  The two demons laughed again. "He must've fell for that line 
the Boss fed him about the aliens," said the tall demon, beginning 
to move, dragging Melvin along with it. "I'll bet he believed the 
line about Hell not being hot, too!"

  "Yeah," said the smaller one, following with Scott securely 
tucked under its arm. "These pissants are suckers for a good 
story."

                              #  #  #

Copyright 1994 Jack R. Voltz
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Jack Voltz resides in Ohio and had essays and articles published in news-
papers, Wheeling Intelligencer, Martins Ferry Times-Leader, and Pittsburgh 
Post-Gazette. He's been interested in writing fiction since junior high 
school. He is an avid reader of all types of fiction. Jack's hobbies 
include computer programming, chess, electronics, and astronomy. He also 
had an article placed in WRITERS' JOURNAL, vol. 14, No. 5.
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