Infernus (9 page)

"Very well, bastard son." Red then addressed the curtain. "Open...now!"

The curtain parted slowly. The son was unable to take in everything he saw.

"Oh, Father, what is this?" the son screamed/whispered through his quivering mouth.

There was a portly man in the middle of the red-lit room. A great silver machine encased his backside. Long needle-like arms protruded from the sides and entered deep into the ribs of the sweating man, penetrating repeatedly while the unseen rear of the squid-like machination thrust into him much like the workings of a steady clock. His eyes squeezed shut for the level of pain unknown to anyone

"He has no legs, my beautiful, bastard son. Well, they had to be removed in order to fit him for the machine, which is by far the most necessary thing, as you will soon see."

There was a dull black machine in front of the fat man. A large black pipe came from somewhere above the room and fed into the top of it. A thick tube then ran from the machine into the man's mouth, which was constantly salivating and blubbering. His throat expanded as some unidentified product sluiced rapidly down his gullet.

Standing all around the machines, watching him, screaming but doing their best to look as if they were hysterically laughing, were ancient bodies. They passed around a golden key between the fifty-odd souls. When one received it, a body seemed eager and drooling to put it in a machines' slot. It only caused one thing to happen to both apparatuses at once: they sped up in their intensity. As the old souls watched this, especially the silver rods entering the sides of the man in a blur, they laughed and laughed, and quickly let another have the key. The fun would quite literally
never
cease.

"My son, listen to this wise tale of one of The Milling Murderers. This creature told the world (when he believed he lived in another world as a preacher of hideous dogma) that a creator came and told him that if this world did not give him many millions of [monies] for his ministry, that this creator would take him off the Earth and send him to this place."

"Oh Father, surely no one-"

"Shut up or I shall scrape your soul raw, my beloved. Yes, the old ones believed this in that other dream. Actually, he was right here the whole time. So because he dared to have the dream that was nearly as mighty as The Mighty One (who is always here), he was given more pain. The pain that was given by merely blocking and unblocking his breathing was hooked to the entire sewer system of this world we love and live in and grow in. Can you imagine the exquisite delight we receive when we realize that for all [time] he is caught in that moment when someone drowns; yet, he can do nothing to make it stop? He is so preoccupied with struggling to breathe (which is a permanent, losing battle), that he, in his insanity, does not know that others here make it infinitely worse. He has always been as you see him here."

"What is the machine behind him doing, Father? I nearly fear to know its meaning."

"And well you should, bastard. He also dreamed he had a son that looked just like him. He dreamed that this foolish puppet-son took over his wonderful ministry and propagated even more slimy lies. The son has always been here inside what is called The Mounting Machine. You and I know that this filth had no son, but it vexes this hideous, religious creature to no end to think that he was responsible for bringing him here. We are endlessly delighted. We have permanently fused - made one flesh forever - the son's mouth over the spewing, splattering buttocks of the ancient, sweating father, and he feverishly grips all his father can give. Do you know the grief this must bring the father, to know the great gift he has bestowed on his son?"

The father was right. The son nearly never stopped laughing over that one. His satyr sides split like rotted leather and his empty sockets burst rusty clots. The veins on his forehead throbbed and bled profusely.

"Hey, wait, Father! He is not a Milling Murderer. He cannot
go
anywhere."

"I know, isn't that priceless?"

They laughed again until a century of leap years were past.

"Let's go to another exhibit, my son. Even more horrible than this one, if it can be believed."

"It cannot, my father, it surely cannot!"

*****

In a smoldering pit - in the bottom of a cavern - there were two quivering corpses. Some would say they were dreaming the dreams of the dead. They had shivered for mere hours, but it seemed in their fevered dreams that billions and trillions of eons had passed.

Under this intense heat, the quaking dreaming shapes were becoming ash-colored mounds. And still they slept, unable to awaken, unable to cry out, unable (more horrible still) to cease their dreaming.

The dream they shared would go on and on and on and on...

*****

The session was interrupted when one of the young students asked what these mounds were.

The old man laughed in the nude. "Oh, come now, you're pulling my leg.
Anyone
can see what they are. Let's get back to our story."

"Of course. Yes, of course. Let's."

*****

[Handwriting analysis has
clearly
determined that this next section was
not
part of the original manuscript. The Greek is modern, not Koine Greek at all. The consensus is that a vindictive writer put his/her enemies in this tableau as an older type of fiction known as "revenge literature." But, having said that, the editors have determined that it
should
be included, because it is so much in keeping with the playful spirit of
Infernus
.]

"THE CLIFFS AT HINTZ-BALZER"

Through a narrow archway they crept. The satyr was amazed when it opened into a wide dimly lit countryside. Nearly swallowed by the weak light of an orange moon, he could barely see a large grassy expanse that ran up to a cliff. He could hear waves crashing loudly below them and to their left. A wooden sign, covered with gray vines, was posted just outside the archway.

"Oh, Father, I cannot read the sign. It's too dim in here."

"Pick up a handful of hot coals from the corridor we just passed through and read it."

He obeyed and asked, "Is it always this dim, Father?"

"Yes. You'll know why in a moment. Look there." He pointed a talon at a cold, orange globe that hung in the distant heavens. It seemed to hang in the sky long dead, glaring accusingly at them. "Do you see that, son?"

"The moon is waning here, making everything glow orange."

"It is
always
orange here, my son, because
that
is the sun. And it has been waning for many thousands of years now."

"Surely not, Father."

"It is so."

The son held the glowing embers in his hand calmly, for no heat of such small consequence could affect him. He brought it nearer to the sign until he could read it. The vines partly obscured the lettering, so he pulled the dry, cracking fingers aside. As they gave way, he could smell a musty aroma, like earth and wood. When the coal illuminated the sign, he saw, tucked deep inside the vines, a skull, cracked and gray. He thought he heard, coming from the center of it, a woman weeping softly.

"Father, there is a skull pushed back, entangled in the vines. It is barely lit by the light. Maybe it was never meant to be discovered."

"Sometimes, you are so dull of wit that I wonder if there really is any hope for you."

"Surely there is not, my father. Surely not. The sign says: 'The Cliffs At Hintz-Balzer.' Were these cliffs of historical significance?"

"No, for when the preacher and his accomplice, the village idiot, dreamed of another world, as they have for thousands of lifetimes by now, their beautiful murders were never discovered. So clever were they."

A few yards away, there were shadowy blobs, pale in this light, involved in heavy, hurried activity.

The father said, "Approach softly and you will see their gorgeous pleasure-quest."

What the son saw was a man lashed with tight leather straps to a wooden wheel, clothed only in an opened long coat, completely exposing his nakedness. Seven or eight dwarves swarmed ceaselessly over his face and lower extremities. His eyes were punched with such force by two or three of them, that from a distance they could hear the smart thuds and bones cracking.

"But, Father, I cannot see - oh, Father, they are chewing off his...his
genitals
. I can see that the eyes and lower extremities heal instantly, then they, oh, Father, no man could ever-"

"It isn't painful to me," the demon said, "so it doesn't concern me."

"And near his feet is the head of a Neanderthal. A brute. Like the head of a gorilla. With its brain exposed."

The son saw that in their haste to pound the man's eyes into oblivion, and their failure at it, and the chewing of his lower extremities, they often stepped into the soft, green sick brain. It cursed and cursed and wished it could reach them. Every filthy thing spewed from its mouth, but it had no calming effect on the dwarves.

"But, Father, it
can't
talk if it is only a head. The voice box would-"

"Beneath the ground is where the rest of its nearly seven-foot frame exists. Be silent and I will tell you of their dream they believe was their world before."

The son fell silent, eager to discover the answer to this enigma.

"When that world was not so old," the father began, "the preacher cut a handsome figure in his long waistcoat and lengthy, straight black hair. No one ever suspected he had an accomplice in town, for they could not have been more different.

"This head believed he was the village idiot, and was never called anything other than 'the ape, Jerrod.' His heavy brow only caused the primitive villa to hate him more and fear him. He was never allowed to mix with the townsfolk or date their women. He was frequently chased through the streets by children throwing rocks at him and shouting, 'Go up, you ape! Go up!' He slept in barns and wept piteously.

"Every year a fair came to town and they loved it. But one year a very different wagon appeared. Its outside was painted bright oranges and reds, and was a festive wagon indeed. The occupants were dwarves, seven or eight in all. They put on plays, sang songs and played many wild instruments that delighted everyone in town, except one individual. The preacher was jealous of the people's love for them, and became adamant with Jerrod the ape that they were cursed by God, and their small shapes were a sign of their accursed nature. He told the monster ape that it would be a grace to God if they were stolen away at night, locked in their wagon, and driven over the cliffs to be dashed on the rocks below.

"The village idiot always believed the preacher, for he was treated kindly by the man of God, so that is exactly what he did. When dusk fell, like this permanent dusk you see around you, all the dwarves were dashed to pieces on the rocks below and no one ever heard of them again. Both of them were idiots; they have never been anywhere but here.

"The preacher knew they would be seen in broad daylight, and in total darkness, the preacher and the ape would not have the satisfaction of seeing the dwarves destroyed on the rocks. They listened with glee to their screams and watched them flail as their broken bodies washed out in the ocean. The preacher and the ape laughed until their sides ached."

"My kind of people, Father. But the preacher does not make sound as he-"

"It is true that they have been punching him in the eyes nonstop for many millennia, and they have been tearing off his privates with their teeth, and they grow back instantly, but this is not so for the tongue. They have torn the tongue out with their teeth and swallowed it many lifetimes ago. He does not have the satisfaction of begging them to stop, or of them hearing him screaming. It
is
funny, isn't it?

"Have you ever seen
anyone
struck that hard in the eyes before, my son? And when one dwarf becomes tired, another takes his place. He doesn't remember any time before this where his genitals weren't being chewed. His poor sick mind constructed this fantasy to try to make sense of the complete senselessness of
this
. Nothing less. Pathetic, really. I have stood here many lifetimes completely silent, listening to their hungry munching and loud punching. Just wistfully watching."

"Surely it is of a romantic nature, Father."

"If you loved pleasing me, my son, you would drive your hooves into the ape's eyes for many a lifetime."

And the son did. In the dim, orange light, they went to their work, the father and son kicking energetically, repeatedly, into the head that sat above the ground. It cursed and screamed and begged, and they laughed so hard it soon made standing impossible.

The preacher shuddered, shivering in his pain, but could do nothing else, which made them laugh harder. The dwarves sped up their punching and munching, pleased but never laughing. They were much too serious and intent on their job for that.

A good time was had by all.

Thus ends the episode entitled "The Cliffs At Hintz-Balzer."

*****

They came to an open space and saw a man's behind. The front part of his jerking body was lost within a fiercely glowing furnace. The heat was so intense that the son wondered if he had ever felt anything so wild in his life. It caused the machine to expand and retract without cease; probably intensifying the temperature to unimaginable heights the whole while. The son felt an internal giggle-fest coming on and satisfaction seethed within his shrieking chest.

A child-sized skeleton was whacking the bottom with the speed of a hummingbird's wings. Red drew near and asked him to hold still for one moment. A strangely adult voice came forth from somewhere within the bones as it stopped whacking the pulped gray bottom.

"I will only hold for a moment. I must be about my eternal pleasure-quest."

"Quick, son, read what is on the paddle. Quick, now, approach softly."

The son did so and saw right before the skeleton began swinging again. "'Fathers, love your children and do not exasperate them.' You mean-"