NEGOTIATING HELL: a sequel to CS Lewis' "Screwtape Letters." Ch 11 -"Day#1 in hell"

Mary waited in God’s office for last-minute instructions. This nightmare was ghastly, worse than a blind date. Soon, she would be exploring the bowels of hell. Her whole life was choreographed to avoid hell! For a distraction, Mary zoomed in on God’s seascapes. She wondered how to borrow pieces for her workstation in hell.

Picturing said workstation, she remembered how labor relations reeked with uncertainty. Confounding variables included labile personalities and volatile emotions. Whatever she learned, it was through trial and error — a lot of trial and more error. Mary rechecked her list of supplies and elite-electronics suggested by God’s giga-geeks. For her tranquility, they created a thumb-drive of her favorite songs. Surely, she wouldn’t love devil-music. As she speculated, the solar-shaded Sera smiled and said God would see her now.

Mary gathered her files. It tickled her that God had an office, so simple and pleasant. As Mary enjoyed the beach scenes, suddenly she saw how the scenes were alive. She watched actual mini-waves, lap mini-sand shores, caressed by mini-salt breezes.

Upon entering holy ground, Mary removed her shoes. After she walked in, she kneeled. God’s visage was veiled. He interrupted her thoughts, “you like my moving art pieces? She never knew when His comments were literal or figurative.

Bowing, Mary responded, “yes, Sir I love the smell of water.” They inhaled the fresh sea air together.

God smiled, “I told you water was my favorite invention—so many uses. Are you ready to go?” She nodded. He came over to assist her up from her knees.

“Your Everythingness — sorry — Dad,” Mary refocused her eyes. “Am I ready to go?” she repeated back His words. “Have you ever shoved a cat in a car? No disrespect, but I am terrified!”

God soothed, “everything in good time. BTW, Satan fancies himself a ladies’ man. He’ll play charming but chuck the red suit, tail, horns and pitchfork.”

Mary’s left upper eyelid was twitching.

“Don’t be afraid,” God reassured. “Your escort is my best computer-saint. He will accompany you to spec all equipment requirements. Today, your only goals are to meet Satan and tour his office space. He’ll say you love it — you won’t. Please assess for your every need. I know you have a starting list, but you will be manipulated. Satan has nothing useful to offer. He’s thrifty, so to speak. Are you ready?”

“I don’t know,” answered Mary weakly. In His fog, God walked closer to her. She wished she could see Him. He took both her hands and held them warmly. “Everything is going to be OK. Remember your fiat condition?”

“Yes,” replied Mary, feeling immense relief. “Thanks, Dad.”

“When have I broken a promise?” God’s cloud led Mary to her shoes. Then, He whispered to Sera. Exiting, God steered Mary outside. The warm light reflected the sheen on the Pearly Gates, radiating hope. They strolled peacefully, just God and Mary. Then, she heard Him humming. It was the Beatles song, “Let it Be.” Mary stopped walking and stared at God.

“What?” smiled God.

“I never thought of You as a rock music fan.” Mary was shocked.

“My sweet Mary, not that I’m showing off but who created Elvis? Rock music resides on a spectrum from ‘greatest-ever’ to ‘don’t-go-there.’ Good lyrics are today’s psalms, prayers, poems and prose. Our Holy Spirit inspired that 1960’s boy band to allegorize Mother Mary’s fiat. Let it Be … is short for, “Let it be done to me according to thy will.” Out of love, we earworm it into humans as body armor. What demon dares to steal a soul singing Mother Mary’s fiat? Nothing, my princess, is a coincidence. BTW, I told Tech we’d meet him at ten sharp. Being a goodly geek, he’s fastidiously faithful.”

“Tech?” asked Mary.

“Tech, it’s short for St Technoble,” replied God. “Remember? I said a computer-saint was going with you today.”

“Thanks Dad,” said a relieved Mary. She wasn’t going alone.

“About Technoble,” God explained. “When he arrived, he requested a new name. He didn’t like his birth name and ‘Tech’ sounded better. Apparently, a younger Tech was wedgied and trolled. It taught him to pray, seek spiritual help and gift us all his suffering. His suffering was his crossroads. He had 2 options: hope or despair. He chose hope and turned the other cheek.”

Mary smiled. She related to his trolling with her braces, night gear, thick glasses, fingernail biting etc. Even after her appearance was fixed, inside, she was still a dork.

God read her thoughts. “Do you accuse Me of creating junk?” he winked.

Mary smiled, looked down and thought. “Offering up suffering, is that really a thing?”

“It’s physics,” God responded. “Energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transformed from one form to another. It’s a law of nature. Your physicists call it, conservation of energy.”

“You’re losing me,” said Mary. "My world was business not science."

“Suffering is energy, right?” Mary nodded as God explored Tech’s 2 options. His persecution led to his epiphany. “Tech was bullied for his God-gifted, nerdy, computer-engineering skills.” God continued.

“If suffering-energy is perseverated-upon negatively, it transforms into despair and despair-related behaviors.

If gifted-unselfishly, suffering-energy becomes the currency by which souls are redeemed. In our love letter and soul-owner’s manual, the bible states that rewards for sacrifice are 100-fold. Suffering souls are a gold mine for the mystical body of Jesus. Charitable energy is transformed into feelings of usefulness and fellowship. Its multi-dimensional rewards are contagious, joyful energy for all involved.”

“What do you do with our suffering?” asked Mary.

“We honor it, just as you honor the passion of our beloved Jesus. We transform all cheerful suffering into grace and use it for good. Examples are miracles, faith-conversions of family and friends, purgatorial-soul releases and more. Some ask Mother Mary for her intercession, since she has Jesus’ ear. Remember the Mary-inspired, premature miracle of the Cana wine?

Since Mother Mary was associated with Jesus in acquiring the grace of salvation, she is associated with Jesus in the distribution of those graces.

She isn’t divine, but we honor her role as Jesus’ human mother via the 4th commandment. Jesus invited all to be her offspring. He declared it so from the cross. To all witnesses and St John, He declared, “behold, your mother.”

Your Mom, Mary occupies the #1 sainted-throne in heaven. Conversely, Satan occupies the bottom-most rung in hell as her polar opposite -- of all created beings.” She is the mother of a celibate king which makes her a queen. Her spouse is the Holy Spirit which makes her my daughter-in-law. There is so much more, but let's save that for another eternity."

God continued. “At your baptism, Miss Mary, you needed the leverage and power of Mother Mary’s name, because of my plan for your life. It's not a coincidence. O look, there’s Tech now.” God pointed to the base of the stairway to heaven. “BTW, Tech is the patron saint of mother boards.” Mary wondered if He was serious. “For realsies,” God answered her thoughts.

Mary saw a dark-haired, handsome being with emerald-green eyes. He was a tall drink of water! As he approached, he donned tinted-Timeless lenses.

God replied to her thoughts. “Yuh-huh. His lady-vibe is smoking. When Tech was processed into heaven, his appearance was immediately upgraded. It was the least we could do to reward him.”

“Reward him? For what he looked like before?” asked Mary.

“You know the stereotype; smudged glasses, thin oily hair, pocket protector with 5-pens, high-waisted plaid pants, etc. Yet it was his interior that mattered,” replied God.

“Why did you let him fall through the cracks?” asked Mary.

“Remember free will, Lasik and designer fashions? He rejected everything materialistic, in favor of humility,” beamed God. “Tech earned his upgrade. His new exterior reflects the exact beauty of his old interior. It’s what we mean by ‘measure for measure.’ Peer pressure was his persecution and cross. He offered his cheeks, literally. Who knew that being hung by your underwear was the ticket to heaven?” asked God.

Tech waited for their descent. “Hi Dad, thanks this opportunity. You must be Mary.” He held out his hand. “I can’t wait for Satan to hear your name. He’s deathly afraid of Mom. At her fiat, she was a 15-year-old Jewish girl. Now Satan will be forced to say your names over and over. Well-played, Dad!”

“Now Tech, she’s nervous enough as is.” God looked at Mary, who shuddered involuntarily.

“Aren’t you nervous?” Mary asked Tech. He radiated confidence.

“Naw,” said Tech casually. “There’s nothing Satan can do to us now. Dad is always watching.” His striking smile and dimples won her over.

God announced, “it’s time.” At the bottom of the stairs, God held the ball-ornament that topped the baluster railing. He flipped the hinged ball over to reveal a small control panel with several buttons. Pushing one, the steps lifted like a giant clamshell, ready to eat them. “In you go.”

“This is the road to hell?” Mary continued, “under the stairway to heaven?”

“How did you want to go?” asked God, “in a hand basket?” He smiled and vanished.

Tech and Mary smiled at each other timidly, as they entered the landing. Tech pressed the button marked ‘down.’ The steps swallowed them as the floor fell.

“Have you ever met Satan?” Mary asked.

“Nah, not a fan,” replied Tech. “But no worries.”

“Why not?” asked Mary.

“I’m in Heaven. My soul is safe for eternity,” replied Tech. “Guess we won’t be needing these.” He slipped his sunglasses into his pocket.

“What do you think hell is like?” asked Mary.

“IDK, probably dark, dingy and despairing,” replied Tech. “Like something a Marxist invented.” The elevator ratcheted to a rickety stop. Mary and Tech waited for the door to open. It did not budge. Tech pushed another button, and it sputtered. “Definitely built by communists,” Tech muttered as the door slid open. “Prolly never been used.”

Mary and Tech peeked out and shivered in unison. The elevator to hell, opened to a dark street. It was dull, drab and devoid of light or lull. Everything was degrees of sepia. Mary anticipated a greeter. Apparently, Satan had better things to do than send a lackey to guide them. Moreover, why would hell need a bouncer?

“Ladies first,” gestured Tech.

“… Such a gentleman!” commented Mary, as she tiptoed out, peering cautiously.

“You’re the one whose namesake is Mary,” countered Tech. He made small talk to distract her. “Here’s a joke, why does the serpent have no arms and no legs? Because becoming the new Eve, Mother Mary disarmed and defeated Satan!” He giggled.

She gave him a weak smile.

“Have you met Mom?” Mary shook her head no. “Most people think God and Satan are equal opposites, but that’s illogical. God was not created; He has no equal. Satan was created. Ergo, the equal extremes of created beings are Satan and Mom. Both masterpieces occupy spectral opposites …”

When Tech saw that Mary hadn’t burst into flames, he followed. Carefully, they picked their way down the dark road. Hell wasn’t pleasant, but there was no fire and brimstone, yet. Just dull, KGB-like housing. Mary saw eyes peeking from behind curtains and then vanish. Mary hoped inhabitants took their anti-depressive, Vitamin D-3 daily for long-term sunlight withdrawal.

“I don’t like this,” said Mary apprehensively.

“Still not a fan. But after today, I’m not coming back,” observed Tech. “Let’s go straight. If we make turns, we’ll get lost. Besides, we need to remember the way back.”

Mary too, made small talk. “It reminds me of corporate, cubicle hell, no pun implied.”

“Same. As a computer nerd, I grew up in cubes,” said Tech. “I spent my youth inside hard drives.”

“I worked in an HR grave,” said Mary. “Leadership buried us with their unfinished work, so they could leave early. It wasn’t personal, just business.” They walked until they saw movement. As they approached, a figure stopped and stared wide-eyed.

“Hello, fellow Hellion, we’re here to meet Satan,” said Tech. “Might you share where he is, please?” The man stared at the unhinged lunatics. He raised a gnarled finger and pointed toward a creepy building on a hill. “Thank you, kind Sir,” replied Tech.

They started up the hill, when the man grabbed their arms. “Run, save yourselves. It’s too late for me, but you still have time,” the man gasped.

Mary heard those exact words before, when starting her last job. Speaking of which, this ball-of-shame looked familiar. Tech and Mary shook it off, distracting themselves with more small talk.

As they climbed the hill, they passed signs reading: ‘no exit’, ‘you are mine’, and ‘prepare to fry’. They found a door and rang its bell. They were greeted with a ringtone of AC/DC’s “Hells’ Bells.” The hinges ground open revealing a dried-up doorman, “you rang?”

Pointing to Mary, Tech responded, “yes! Satan is expecting …”

“Us,” Mary interjected. She eyed Tech, “Satan is expecting us.”

“Follow me,” growled the tall man, disappearing into the dark. Mary and Tech tried to keep up as he descended into the bowels of hell. Suddenly, the tall dude’s face appeared inches from theirs, pointing at a door …

“Ahhhhh!” screamed Tech and Mary.

He ignored them. “In there,” he motioned. Tech and Mary groped their way into a dark waiting room. The door closed behind them as a heavy deadbolt slid them in. Mary froze. She was deadbolted, inside hell. Dead and in hell.

“What do you want?” snarled a nearby, yet hidden voice in the darkness. The voice was as a woodchipper, grinding sand.

“We’re here to see Satan. He’s expecting us,” proclaimed Tech, smiling at Mary as he emphasized the word ‘us.’

“Park your carcasses someplace,” said the raspy voice. It broke into a hacking cough. “I’ll tell His Malodorous-Ness you’ve arrived.”

“You haven’t asked who we are,” observed Mary. Immediately, she was filled with regret.

“You’re the 2 twits sent by the Invincible. Who else would you be?” the voice ground. “Did you just graduate from stupid school? His larynx seemed dipped in honey and rolled in razor blades. “Nobody seeks Satan here. Only the living ask for the ‘action’ of His Abhorrence,” laughed the eerie voice as it trailed into the darkness, “the sorry sots. C’mon…,” said the shadow.

Tech leaned to Mary and whispered, “I never want to see the body attached to that voice.” Mary nodded in agreement.

“Are you brainless-bozos coming?” demanded the disembodied. Tech and Mary followed the voice into an office. “Have a seat. His Foulness may or may not be right with you,” the sneerer added another deadbolt between them and their egress.

“That must be one butt-ugly individual,” said Tech, looking for a chair. “And I know butt-ugly.”

There wasn’t much for seating. Apparently, souls don’t linger in Satan’s presence. The office was large, with an enormous desk hogging the room, surrounded by shelves of falling, dusty old occult books. There were 2 scorched chairs facing the desk. The desk was cleared and recently charred, by its smell. Either Satan didn’t own anything, or it was locked away daily. Mary and Tech eyed each other. Both were afraid to sit in the medieval torture-devices. Apparently, comfort was a low priority here. Everything was red. Mary hated red. She hoped her work area wasn’t decorated by this same interior designer.

Finally, Tech gambled and sat down. “Well, I didn’t burst into flames and it’s surprisingly comfortable.”

Seeing him safe, Mary found her courage and sat. She was surprised. It wasn’t Barca-lounge comfortable, but they weren’t staying long. Mary inventoried the room and expected the worst.

Satan never slept, ergo he would be a tired and crabby boss. Certainly, he understood the prince of ‘darkness’ assignment. Mind-images of Satan appeared from religious books. She noticed a framed needlepoint wall-hanging labeled, “Home sweet Hell.” Suddenly, she realized she was ill-prepared and panicked. Where could they run?

Tech and Mary sat for an eternity. Slowly, the door opened to Metallica’s intro, “Enter Sandman.” The steel notes vibrated and the wallpaper bounced. They both stood up, squinting in the darkness at what-in-the-devil was incoming. For several minutes, nothing happened except a rise in temperature. Then, a tall, well-built being with serious swag inserted himself into their presence. He sucked all the air and music out of the room. His dark hair was styled in a dandy crop. Underscoring this, was a 19th-century British-red, high-waisted tailcoat. His lateral blood-striped, cream-colored tailored breeches were tucked into exquisitely crafted black leather boots, embellished with golden spurs. He was exceptionally handsome.

Mary whispered to Tech, “no wonder he fell. He’s prettier than I am.”

Speaking loudly to Mary but laser-focused in on Satan eyes, Tech announced to all of hell, “it’s theater. He looks like a lobster. Focus.”

“You must be Tick and Marty,” ignored the moderately-miffed Satan. No one corrected him. He seemed interested in himself and his words only. “His Worship told me to expect you today. I planned to meet you earlier, but I must have been detained.” He admired himself in the wall-mirror and adjusted a perfectly tied ascot. They waited. After a long moment, he remembered their presence. He reached out to shake their hands. Who knew Satan had manners?

“Weird to meet you,” replied the determined Tech. He hesitated to shake hands but did. Satan turned to Mary and extended his hand. Mary looked around for latex gloves.

“You must be Martin. Quite frankly, I was expecting a man. Good luck to you, as my slaves and minions are quite the handful.”

Mary ignored his slight and shook Satan’s hand. “It’s weird to meet you too. I’m Mary, not Marty or Martin. Just Mary.” Satan didn’t bother to acknowledge.

“By your faces, I see I’m not what you expected,” boasted Satan. “Most people are surprised at what a handsome-devil I am. No pun intended. Whoopsies! — I lied, it was intended,” he laughed. “You are not what I expected either.” Turning to Tech, Satan shot in envy, “I understand you’re the computer geek? Naturally, I expected someone much more geekier.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” smiled Tech, “but my efforts are not meant to please you, only our collective Dad. So, if you please tell me where to go, no pun intended, I wish to obey your Heavenly Father. You and Mary have lots to discuss.”

“Of course,” winced Satan.

Tech shot Mary a look of confidence hinting — ‘you got this’ — as he turned for the door. He was deserting her, alone with Satan. Thankfully, Tech drew severe boundaries that commanded—’don’t mess with our Mary.’

Out of nowhere, appeared the dour doorman and Mary jumped. His color was a grout gray. Since being new to hell, she wasn’t sure how devils looked, but it was not good. She wouldn’t say ugly because that insulted ugly people.

“You summoned, Your Maliciousness?” monotoned the mottled man. “Did you wish your desk to be replaced again?”

Satan waved off the request. “You are to escort this gentleman to my caucus room and follow his instructions. It will be the same as if I gave you instructions, myself. I will be watching.” Satan pointed 2 fingers at his eyes, then 1 finger at the butler.

“Yes, Your Metastasis-Ness. It will be done as if you cared.” The man turned toward Tech and said, “walk this way.” The man ambled out the door. Tech copied the butler’s pre-amble and winked at Mary. Mary was amused as she tried to be herself.

“Now I do believe …” Satan patronized Mary, as Tech poked his head in, interrupting Satan rudely.

Tech looked at Mary, “Don’t wait for me. I’ll let myself out.” And he was gone.

“Ahem,” snorted Satan, clearing his throat. He was annoyed. He needed 100% of audiences’ attention. Concentration must never veer. Mary filed this away as another weakness.

“I expect that I am not what you expected,” pontificated Satan. “No red face, horns, tail, pitchfork or red Prada shoes. Do you think I would be taken seriously if I dressed thusly?”

“Yes, every Halloween,” mused Mary, tapping Tech’s tenacity.

“That devil cliche is so yesterday. Let’s tour the recent feng-shui project, shall we? Follow me to your work area.” Mary noticed that Satan said “your” and not “our” work area.

That was some relief. Perhaps this wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe it could be fun? She could get him repeat Mother ‘Mary’s’ name during introductions to the whole of hell!

< See below link for Chapter 12: "Getting comfortable in hell" >

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Talking to a wall

Chapter 2: Jerking Satan’s Chain & the burning laptop

Chapter 3: “Hmm …. I guess I read that wrong”

Chapter 4: The devil is in the details

Chapter 5: And what was it they wanted to organize?

Chapter 6: Nothing is every good enough

Chapter 7: What could be worse?

Chapter 8: The learning curve

Chapter 9: It’s all in the sales pitch

Chapter 10: Uh, huh?