[Go to Hell] "Jack Be Nimble...." (PG-13)
Author's Note: Written for < lj user="tamingthemuse">'s "prompt 377-bleak". Inspired by AddictingGames.com's addicting "Go to Hell" (which I finally beat). I was curious to know the backstory on this odd little game. Spoilers abound, also dark crack.
"You go to hell!" Little Jack Horner heard on a regular basis. From his father when the boy got into serious mischief, from his teachers when he caused a commotion in class, from the larger kids when he got the better of them with his pranks. The last one sent him running as far and as fast as he could, till he reached the edges of the town and the badly weathered stone church that stood alone on the top of a bleak and windswept hill. He collapsed on top of an overgrown grave, panting, staring up at the darkening October sky overhead, heart hammering in his chest.
The wind rose, cooling the sweat on his forehead, pulling the leaves from the half-dead trees that stood behind the church. Clouds scudded across the sky, half-hiding the moon just rising in the east. A flurry of dead leaves trailed across his chest. Jack sat up, watching the leaves, as they twisted and crawled across the ground, till they piled up against the wall of the church, collecting against the blade of a pickaxe. Perhaps some forgetful -- or hopeful -- sexton had left it behind, as if they might return to dig another grave.
He had heard stories that, at this season between the end of summer and the dead of winter, the line between the mortal world and the hereafter grew thin, that at the smallest careless gesture from a mortal, that the veil might open and let them step across, either into faeryland or the realm of the spirits, or even the realm of the devils.
Faery, limbo, or hell.
"Maybe I just will go to hell," he said, out loud, and rose to his feet. Could life in hell be any more or less bleak than life up here in the mortal world? At least hell possessed a certain coolness to it, and it made no pretenses at anything other than a place of darkness, instead of these brief flashes of light between slabs of dark. "Wish they could see me now, it'd be the first time I 'did as I was told'," he mused, brushing the leaves from his chest as he strode to the axe and pried it free of the dead grass that wound around it, pinning it to the ground. He hefted it, feeling its weight. Then striding in among the graves, he looked for a likely spot, the place where the grass grew thin and the ground lay bare: they said that patches like that marked a place where devils had passed through on their devious errands.
He found one patch sufficiently devoid of grass, at some yards from the church, amongst tilted slate headstones and crumbling stone crosses. Swinging the axe, he broke the sod, which fell away into a hollow in the earth. He leaned over to look in, seeing distant firelight in the depths. Did hell lie that close? He wondered now if he should back out and go home now. No, couldn't do that: his father would give him a licking for not coming home before dark. Best to press on, now that he had put his hand to it. You have to finish something that you start, right?
Sitting on the grass and sliding his legs over the edge, he let himself drop into the open mouth of the earth. He fell several feet, into a narrow open chamber, lit by a flickering torch, a boulder at one end, earth at the other. Reaching out, he pushed against the boulder, feeling it give and move, rolling along the passageway, till he heard a crunch and a thud. Looking down, he found it had dropped into a narrow vertical shaft. Going feet first, he dropped down after it, feeling something plink at his feet.
"Better pick that up," a voice rasped. He looked around, looking for the source of the voice, and the first tingle of fear xylophoned up and down his spine.
"Huh?" he asked, looking at his feet to find a golden coin the size of a silver dollar
"You'll need fifty of those: no such thing as a free hell," that same raspy voice said. "And be careful of falling rocks: we want you to make your way to the gates in one piece, after all."
"Who's there?" Jack asked, warily.
"Hmmm, call me your... guardian *devil*," the voice replied. "Watch out for snakes and rising water, while you're at it: the elements, they will conspire against you, if you aren't careful."
"That's not very reassuring..." Jack said, with a frown.
The voice chuckled, derisive. "Well then, if you're looking for reassurance, you're going the wrong way. You can still jump up the shaft and go your merry way, human boy."
"Oh yeah?" Jack said, pocketing the coin and hefting the pick. "We'll see who's just a human boy..."
"You go to hell!" Little Jack Horner heard on a regular basis. From his father when the boy got into serious mischief, from his teachers when he caused a commotion in class, from the larger kids when he got the better of them with his pranks. The last one sent him running as far and as fast as he could, till he reached the edges of the town and the badly weathered stone church that stood alone on the top of a bleak and windswept hill. He collapsed on top of an overgrown grave, panting, staring up at the darkening October sky overhead, heart hammering in his chest.
The wind rose, cooling the sweat on his forehead, pulling the leaves from the half-dead trees that stood behind the church. Clouds scudded across the sky, half-hiding the moon just rising in the east. A flurry of dead leaves trailed across his chest. Jack sat up, watching the leaves, as they twisted and crawled across the ground, till they piled up against the wall of the church, collecting against the blade of a pickaxe. Perhaps some forgetful -- or hopeful -- sexton had left it behind, as if they might return to dig another grave.
He had heard stories that, at this season between the end of summer and the dead of winter, the line between the mortal world and the hereafter grew thin, that at the smallest careless gesture from a mortal, that the veil might open and let them step across, either into faeryland or the realm of the spirits, or even the realm of the devils.
Faery, limbo, or hell.
"Maybe I just will go to hell," he said, out loud, and rose to his feet. Could life in hell be any more or less bleak than life up here in the mortal world? At least hell possessed a certain coolness to it, and it made no pretenses at anything other than a place of darkness, instead of these brief flashes of light between slabs of dark. "Wish they could see me now, it'd be the first time I 'did as I was told'," he mused, brushing the leaves from his chest as he strode to the axe and pried it free of the dead grass that wound around it, pinning it to the ground. He hefted it, feeling its weight. Then striding in among the graves, he looked for a likely spot, the place where the grass grew thin and the ground lay bare: they said that patches like that marked a place where devils had passed through on their devious errands.
He found one patch sufficiently devoid of grass, at some yards from the church, amongst tilted slate headstones and crumbling stone crosses. Swinging the axe, he broke the sod, which fell away into a hollow in the earth. He leaned over to look in, seeing distant firelight in the depths. Did hell lie that close? He wondered now if he should back out and go home now. No, couldn't do that: his father would give him a licking for not coming home before dark. Best to press on, now that he had put his hand to it. You have to finish something that you start, right?
Sitting on the grass and sliding his legs over the edge, he let himself drop into the open mouth of the earth. He fell several feet, into a narrow open chamber, lit by a flickering torch, a boulder at one end, earth at the other. Reaching out, he pushed against the boulder, feeling it give and move, rolling along the passageway, till he heard a crunch and a thud. Looking down, he found it had dropped into a narrow vertical shaft. Going feet first, he dropped down after it, feeling something plink at his feet.
"Better pick that up," a voice rasped. He looked around, looking for the source of the voice, and the first tingle of fear xylophoned up and down his spine.
"Huh?" he asked, looking at his feet to find a golden coin the size of a silver dollar
"You'll need fifty of those: no such thing as a free hell," that same raspy voice said. "And be careful of falling rocks: we want you to make your way to the gates in one piece, after all."
"Who's there?" Jack asked, warily.
"Hmmm, call me your... guardian *devil*," the voice replied. "Watch out for snakes and rising water, while you're at it: the elements, they will conspire against you, if you aren't careful."
"That's not very reassuring..." Jack said, with a frown.
The voice chuckled, derisive. "Well then, if you're looking for reassurance, you're going the wrong way. You can still jump up the shaft and go your merry way, human boy."
"Oh yeah?" Jack said, pocketing the coin and hefting the pick. "We'll see who's just a human boy..."