Somehow, it wasn’t quite what he had expected…
The gates loomed ominously in the distance, half a mile or more from where he was currently standing. Or rather, shuffling. The path was narrow, eighteen inches at best, and progress was painfully slow. Rocks and pebbles littered the way, and the dark, viscous water of the river on either side lapped at the path, threatening to cover it at any moment.
The river seemed to breathe rather than flow; the body of water moving slowly, silently as one, and then receding. Slowly his bare feet continued to shuffle forwards, bringing him ever closer to his destination. The air was dry and heavy, working his lungs harder with each breath, and despite the water lapping at the path, the earth under his feat was warm; feet already scratched and blistered.
At present the light was holding; light enough to see where he was going, too dark to see how far he had come. Probably just as well. His foot caught a stone and sent it scuttling across the path into the water; no ripples, no splash, the river simply swallowed it without a thought.
The gates in the distance were still visible, though the light was fading now. Eyes fixed on the ground ahead he kept walking, the deafening sound of silence surrounding him, pulling him closer to the darkness ahead. A few hundred feet to go, and something cracked underfoot, a stone maybe, or something else. He quickened his pace slightly, raising his head to look at the gates once more. Though dark he could make out two imposing towers of blackened stone, one either side of the gates, each adorned with a statue of some animal or other, too far to make out clearly. Still his feet were dragging him forwards, lungs tightening and lips dry.
The gates were closed, that much was clear, and they too were black.
Iron, he assumed.
About twenty feet left and he stopped, stood stock still, eyes rising slowly upwards, over the bars of the gates to the statues on the gateposts. Vultures. Each as a big as a man, intricately carved from stone.
The fading light that had led him here had now all but disappeared. He flexed his blistered toes slowly, eyes dropping to his bare, dusty feet, nails cracked and jagged. Suddenly two flashes of light cut through the darkness from above, the statues were ablaze, jets of fire coming from their beaks, illuminating the gates below. Shadows danced across the arid earth before him and subconsciously he took a step backwards. The gates were visible now, not iron, but rather bones. Hundreds of charred bones lashed together, forming a lattice of death before him.
He swallowed hard, throat dry and tongue swollen in his mouth. He watched, mesmerised by the flickering flame as the gates began to part, the one to his left swinging inwards soundlessly, a gap of a couple of feet beckoning. The air became thicker still, the acrid smell of sulphur sucked into his lungs through his nostrils. Five or six strides and he would be through. He hesitated for a second, left foot suspended in mid air before it fell to the ground in slow motion, kicking up a cloud of dust and shaking the earth. Four more steps and he reached out a hand to push the gate open further, but he was stopped in his tracks by a cough from behind him.
“You sure about this?”
He dug a blistered heel into the ground and spun round, the owner of the voice raised an eyebrow in greeting.
“Do I have a choice?” he asked, adjusting his eyes to the gloom, staring at the stranger. Two arms, two legs, but the rest was wrong, inside out. The muscles, sinews, tendons and veins all visible, no skin to hide them, every single movement making the whole body ripple with energy.
“No, no choice.”
“Who are you” he asked, though really he meant what are you?
“I’m you in many respects. And I’m everyone you have ever wronged. And right now, I’m your guide.” A smile sent a wave rolling across the skinless face, cascading over the jaw line down the neck and shoulders, stopped only by the regular pulse of a black heart, pumping slowly in full view.
“My guide?” Half a step backwards again, hot air lapping at his ankles.
“Yes, so are you ready?”
“No choice you said” slowly reaching a hand out, feeling for the gate.
“Indeed”
The guide stepped forwards, reaching into a leather pouch that hung around its waist. “Before you go, take this”. Five small groups of bones, connected by pearly white tendons, separated by soft purple muscle, slick with blood, reached into the pouch.
He took a step forwards, intrigued. The naked hand proffered a small black box, which he accepted carefully, blood coating his fingers. The box opened to his touch; cigarettes.
He took one out, nipped it between his cracked lips. The same hand offered a light, and he sucked hard on the filter, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Quickly he took the cigarette between his fingers, half turning to the gate. With his left hand he opened it a little further, then turned his head,
“Thanks. But why?”
A smile, or a smirk, then a hand in the small of the back; pushing, pressing, guiding. One foot crossed the threshold, hot air rising past his knees.
“Because” a sharp push, second foot through, landing on nothing but air, “everyone smokes in hell.”
And then he fell, in silence.
Just what he had expected.