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Flames, a bright, terrifying blue, danced from her fingertips. Wind swirled dangerously around her body and thunder boomed from the overcast sky.Â
âWhy have you come here?â The girl demanded, her voice as loud as the thunder and twice as dangerous. âExplain yourself.â
But the hunter couldnât speak. He was powerless to move, to do anything but stand in the girlâs presence, eyes as wide as saucers and unblinking. Why had he come here, again? He couldnât remember. A little voice in the back of his head alerted him to run, get out of there, save yourself! But his limbs wouldnât cooperate. They were firmly locked up, and a wave of dread washed over the man as acceptance slowly set in: he was going to die tonight. He would not make it home to his wife, who had just given birth to a baby boy only months earlier.Â
A tear trailed down the manâs cheek and he gasped in pain. Would begging with the witch help? Would she take mercy on his soul and allow him to escape this wretched place with his life? He doubted it, but decided to ask anyway.
âPlease,â he croaked, his voice as broken as the shards of glass that circled the witchâs head like a jagged halo, âspare me, dear lady. Iâve a wife and a baby boyââ
âI care not of your personal affairs,â hissed the witch fiercely and loudly, so venomous that the man stumbled back in response. âYou were warned to never come here.â
âI know this, butââ
âYou. Were. Warned.â The witch held up one bone pale finger, the tip of it almost glowing as she spoke.
âI ... .please,â The hunter begged, clasping his calloused, dirt stained hands together, throwing himself at her mercy. âIâll do anything.â
But his pleas were for naught, for the flame haired woman simply tilted her head back and cackled manically,
@flashfictionfridayofficialâ prompt 153: Welcome To Hell. 885 words
Chapter 1 | AO3
He woke up with a start.
Something was wrong, very wrong, and not for the first time he reached for the gun under his pillow. Reassured by its weight in his hand Scott crept out of bed and headed to check on Renate.
After more than two years spent tearing itself apart Bereznik had at last come to some kind of peace, but Scott was more on edge than ever. Some of the more zealous types were looking for soldiers like him andâŚthere were rumours that reached even this remote farm.
He had to make sure Renate was safe.
Sheâd found him wandering, dying even, and without any hesitation had taken him in and nursed him back to health. Now he was repaying her kindness as she succumbed day after day to whatever ailment it was she had â he was no Virgil or Grandma but he knew how to care for someone.
It was unseasonably hot.
Hot enough that he was sweating in just his t-shirt and short sleep pants. As the thought occurred to him the room spun, and he tightened his grip on his gun. Reaching Renateâs room, he slowly opened the door.
There was a crash, and Scott span on the spot. There was someone in the room with Renate, standing over her bed, and he raised the gun and fired. Head shot, he couldnât afford to take chances.
The eerie silence washed over him and he made his way over to the bed. The body had fallen onto it, face down, and he carefully, gently, turned it over. Scott gasped and dropped to his knees.
Heâd killed her. Killed Renate.
Scott ran.
Out the door, down the stairs and then out of the house.
Only, the outside wasnât what it should be.
It should have been an alpine meadow. Instead it was a hellscape. Literally. He was standing on an overhang, underneath him was a river of lava flowing into a lake. There were people on it, in it, around it. All Scott could hear was the hiss of lava and the screams of people, faint but persistent.
âCome in, Son.â
He spun on the spot. Next to him stood a faceless man. He gestured to one of two seats overlooking the hang. They werenât there before.
âHave a seat.â
The voice was strangely compelling and before he could blink he was sitting.
âDonât mind the screams, donât mind the heat.â
Yeah, he was hot, hotter than heâd ever been. Hotter thanâŚyeah. Hot.
âWe havenât had the chance to meet bit Iâve heard about you on TV.â
Scott squirmed. When he had escaped that POW camp the local news had been full of alerts, trying to find him, labelling him a dangerous criminal. Heâd killed seven people getting out.
âI can't help but notice, you look somewhat surprised. Did ya think son, after what you've done, the Lord would let you slide?â
Oh. That was the only coherent thought he could form.
âWelcome to Hell, your new home. You did the crime now you'll do the time. Right where you belong. Welcome to Hell, end of the line. Your final sin, got you in. And now your soul is mineâ
Heâd killed Renate, the only good thing that had happened to him in the last two and a half years. Scott buried his face in his hands, but it was too hot for tears.
The man beside him put a hand on his shoulder and slightly jostled him.
âScott?â
He turned to the man. His face had turned into the commander of that camp, and Scott tried to get up, to run, but the hand on his shoulder was firm, gripping him. He looked away in panic.
âScott?â
The voice had changed and he looked back. The face was now his fatherâs, and Scott couldnât stifle the sob. Heâd done the crime. Heâd killed people.
His dad would be so disappointed in him.
âScott?â
The squeeze on his shoulder was more painful, the voice more insistent.
âScott!â
He shot up, awake. He was drenched in sweat and the hand still resting on his shoulder moved to cup his cheek.
Renate was smiling at him.
âIt was just a nightmare, Scott. Just a nightmare.â
Scott swallowed, covering her hand with one of his own and leaning into the touch.
âItâs not for me.â
She sighed. Renate had been afraid that heâd have a bad one tonight after sheâd encouraged him to think about going home.
âIâll make us some coffee.â
He took his time washing down and putting some clean clothes on, the smell of coffee and some of those bread buns Renate always had ready to bake wafting up and enticing him downstairs.
Dawn had just broken and birdsong filled the air. Scott had just taken his first mouthful of coffee when there was a light tap at the door.
They sat there looking at each other, but before either could move the door was opened and footsteps sounded. Too light to be police.
The kitchen door opened and a man stood in the doorway. Someone that Scott had not seen for many years. He sat frozen, mouth open and hand on Renateâs hand.
âYou have been a very hard man to find.â
âKyrano?â
âItâs time to come home, Master Scott.â
*Based on the song Welcome to Hell by Trace Adkins
