RELEASE DATE: 15 July 2022
Grantupoemoeunanii’s job in Hell? Quite heavenly, actually. And by all accounts, today looks set for more of the same: well-ordered paperwork, tidy schedules…
Until an unusual co-worker appears, with a problem not quite standard. And not quite… legal.
Helping out means risking the wrath of the senior demons… But Grant’s not quite on the clock just yet.
What’s a hard-working demon to do?
A charming, hopeful vision of the Afterlife for readers who could use an extra friend as they navigate the mortal coil.
Just Another Day In Hell
Lava gurgled over opened fissures in the walls as, in the distance, the voices of the damned screamed for mercy. The air didn’t smell of sulfur or burning tires, no matter what anyone said in their religious soliloquies; it smelled of damp earth with a touch of rotten potato, and lingering mold from the humid season in Florida.
And mothballs.
Not because Hell smells of mothballs naturally, but some young buck had had the bright idea to introduce mothballs to Hell and now the smell stuck like a bad memory.
Grantupoemoeunanii, Keeper of Memories and Mortal Forms, trundled through their small office at the southwest corner of the Eternal Infernal Hall. That was the official name printed on all the pamphlets sent out by head office, though the hall was neither eternal or altogether infernal. Not unless one thought lava oozing across the broken, pockmarked floor with the occasional jazz rift breaking the boundaries of Heaven infernal.
There were donuts in the break room—the good kind—and better wages and vacation plans than even Sweden had. Really, at the end of the day, caring for the damned souls throwing tantrums rather than going to Heaven was just another heavenly job. Albeit a heavenly job that shopped at the Halloween Outlet store.
With a breathy sigh that summoned memories of bitter autumn winds and grave dirt, Grantupoemoeunanii dropped into their IKAE chair (like IKEA but actually well-made and easy to put together). Today was going to be like the last two million, five hundred fifty-five days that had gone on before. There would be paperwork, a small memo, perhaps a slice of birthday cake, and then Grantupoemoeunanii would trundle home to the bungalow they shared with Erowbbaia, Keeper of Lost Socks and Answerer of Prayers To Saint Anthony (when they involved lost socks), overlooking Elysium, the paradise for humans who died while the Greeks ruled the world.
The both of them lived on the hellish side by choice. The coffee was better and so was the beat poetry.
That was the only noticeable difference between Heaven and Hell. Many a damned soul sat weeping bitterly at the gates of the Heavens, cursing in their native tongues and railing against the creator of the universe when all they had to do was stop blubbering and actually walk on through the door to Heaven.
It wasn’t as if it was ever locked.