J Brian Clarke - Hell Ain't What It Used To Be

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HELL AIN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE

Get any book for free on: www.Abika.com

HELL AIN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE

By J. Brian Clarke

Get any book for free on: www.Abika.com

HELL AIN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE

Get any book for free on: www.Abika.com

PART 1

The beginning of the beginning.

After I died, I became a social worker.

It began when the Grim Reaper escorted me into an

office with three doors. The door through which we entered

was labeled C.S.W., the second H, the third E. There was an

antique desk with a computer on it, and an elderly woman in

a black dress behind it. After dismissing my anonymously

draped, sour smelling companion, she introduced herself.

"How do you do. You may call me Smith. Not Mrs Smith or

Ms Smith, just Smith."

"Oh really," I said, as I racked my brain in an attempt

to identify the woman. I was sure we had met before. "In

that case, I am Leo Ulster Vraskin. Not Mr Leo Ulster

Vraskin, just plain Leo Ulster Vraskin." I hoped I had not

overdone it.

"Yes Luv," she responded, using the acronym which since

grade school had clung to me like an unwelcome albatross. To

complete the putdown, she changed the subject. "What is the

last thing you remember?"

Somehow I restrained myself. "An operating room, I

think. Lights. People leaning over me."

"Very good. Actually, you were badly injured in an

automobile accident. They did their best, but--" A shrug of

narrow shoulders. "What do you expect? You were drunk at the

time."

I took a deep breath. "Am I really dead?"

A thin-lipped smile. "Oh yes."

"What is this place?"

"What do you think it is?"

"An office," I said.

The smile faded to sour. "That is not an answer."

My irritation notched up a level. "I asked first. What

is this place?"

"An office."

It was then I decided I was in Hell. So I told the lady

to go there.

She chuckled. It was dry, with no mirth.

I looked around for another chair, but there wasn't

one. So instead I looked around the room. The walls, except

where they were covered by the closed drapes behind the

desk, were of rich, unadorned dark wood. Other than a framed

newspaper clipping, there were no plaques or pictures. The

floor was covered with a thick carpet the same restrained

maroon as the drapes. Sparse yet dignified, the place

HELL AIN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE

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reflected its occupant like an outer garment.

Smith said, "You have not lived a good life, you know."

On the slight chance the woman exaggerated when she

informed me of my demise, I decided not to incriminate

myself. "Anything specific in mind?"

She consulted the computer monitor. "According to your

file, you started out as an unpleasant child and never grew

out of it. You cheated your way through school and college.

You got a young woman pregnant, promised to marry her and

then abandoned her. You did not even bother to turn up at

her funeral. You faked a colleague's research data as your

own and got a prestigious award. You swindled your mother

out of most of her savings, and after her stroke abandoned

her in a public institution. Although you were regularly

unfaithful to your wife, you divorced her on trumped-up

evidence of her infidelity and got sole custody of your

daughter Celia--who you raised according to your own twisted

precepts." She looked up. "Have I missed anything?"

"I was a pretty good entrepreneur," I said, determined

to defend myself.

"Referring to Vraskin Drugs, I presume."

"Damn right. Given another year or so, that Gates

fellow would be breathing my dust!"

She was not impressed. "That is more a matter for our

commercial division--who, by the way, did provide

appropriate input. But if you wish to discuss--"

"Don't bother," I interrupted, regretting I had brought

up the subject. "Let's just get this rigmarole over with,

OK?"

"Rigmarole?", she echoed mildly.

"Look, I am quite aware I am headed for an overheated

environment staffed by people with pitchforks and a bad

attitude!"

"Oh dear, you are confused." Smith touched a computer

key and the drapes rolled aside from a large picture window.

Sunlight flooded the office; a golden illumination which

caressed the skin and did not hurt the eyes. "What do you

see?"

For a few seconds I was speechless. I can say I saw

lush green fields, rolling hills, the towers and spires of a

gleaming city in the distance, and it would be true. But

mere words can never describe the overpowering beauty of the

place. It was beyond language.

"Is that Heaven?"

"We prefer the name Elysium." A bony finger indicated

the door labeled E. "The way is through there. But as you

HELL AIN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE

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have pointed out, it is not for you."

I forced my attention to the door then tried not to

look again through the window. It was difficult. "You don't

need to rub it in," I muttered.

She closed the drapes, making me regret I did not take

that second look. "I am glad you appreciate your situation.

What else do you know?"

I jerked my thumb at the second door, the one labeled

H. "Where that leads."

"Oh that." Again the contemptuous chuckle. "The eternal

fire. Is that what you think?"

The woman was toying with me and I did not like it. I

yelled, "I know bloody well what H stands for!" I could have

screamed at the moon for all the effect it had on her.

She said calmly, "Luv, I am afraid you do not know as

much as you think you do. To start with, the letter on that

door is only there because my clients expect it. It can just

as easily be X for extermination for instance, P for

purgatory, and so on. Second, there is no such thing as

infinite punishment for a finite crime. That nonsense was

dreamed up by the medieval clergy to keep the peasants in

line and the tithes coming in. Whatever a person does in a

lifetime, is rewarded or punished on a sliding scale

appropriate to that person's deeds. We call it justice."

"I have heard of it," I admitted warily.

"And evaded it." Smith lowered her glasses to the end

of her nose and regarded me over them. She had the owlish

look of a disapproving school teacher. "Until now, of

course."

"I think--" I took a deep breath. "You are about to

boot me through that door, aren't you?"

"Boot is rather a strong word. But yes, that is where

you are going."

I tried not to think what was on the other side, and

failed miserably. Even the prospect of better things after

my litany of sins was burned out of me, seemed a long, long

way off. Then I thought of possible alternatives to fire--a

rat infested dungeon perhaps, or slavery under sadistic

taskmasters.

"Do I have a choice of punishment?", I asked.

"You do not."

"How long will I have to suffer?"

"It is entirely up to you."

"God," I muttered.

"And Her too, although do not expect too much at the

beginning. Just work hard, do what you are told, and in a

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J Brian Clarke - Hell Ain't What It Used To Be

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