Curt's Inferno: Chapter One

All that Curt could remember was an intense pounding in his temples. The throbbing which drummed inside of his head erased his memories – his first kiss, playing catch with his father, riding his bike with the guys, four years of college – it was all gone in a manner of massive short term memory loss which plagued his body from time to time. In these moments of pain only two things were certain, one being that time stood absolutely still, and the other being that in Curt’s cramped jail cell, he was not alone, at least in his mind he wasn’t.

Curt had seen specials on television about demonic possession and precognition and other types of vision inducing bullshit which people claimed to be afflicted with. He was confident that if the devil was in his body that these sporadic visions would be frequent, rather than follow the unusual patterns that they had been following. None of the symptoms Curt had received matched those that he saw on TV. Of course Curt would rather kill a televangelist than be cured by one.

An interesting thought did however go through his mind as he pressed his head in between his palms. He had heard in church a long time ago, that God was so vast that if a mortal were to look upon him or understand the depth of God for a second, that person would die from the inability to grasp the concept of God’s true form.
Curt thought to himself that if it was indeed the devil trying to contact him, then maybe evil is so vast that Curt’s mortal body couldn’t take the ultimate measure of it. He could see images of Satan in his mind, but never of Satan’s true form. The images were always convoluted and the message Satan was trying to convey was always lost because of Curt’s inability to understand it. One thing was for sure though; the devil wanted Curt to write something. Curt had a message that Satan wanted to give someone else and he wasn’t going to stop contacting Curt until he got the message out.

No guard had walked by Curt’s cell in over an hour, that’s how he knew that time was no longer a factor of his life, (as long as this message stayed in Curt’s head). He soon reached the peak of madness and passed into a sub category defined only by the truly insane. The floor felt icy cold as Curt beat his head over and over into the concrete, drawing blood at the beginning of his hair line. Blood trickled down his cheek as his breathing involuntarily slowed down. Then, as if a bullet sped through Curt’s brain, the demonic message in his mind cleared up and, as if a satanic muse struck his soul, he began to write Satan’s message with a steady hand.



Dear Reader,


If you find this letter, you’re either a new inmate or an old friend in this wonderful facility. If you are a new inmate then welcome to the beautiful and might I add scenic housing development known as the Layton Correctional Facility; if you’re an old pal of mine, than thank you for all of the great times that I have had over the course of these past seven years. Elvis sure knew what he was talking about when he sang “Jailhouse Rock”! The reason that I am writing is to inform you that I no longer chose to be housed in this lovely prison. (Note that when I took my freedom back I also took back my sense of sarcasm).

My name is Curtis Williams and this is my formal resignation for my position as prisoner of this “correctional” complex. The reason I use the term complex is because of the militaristic training which I received every day from my fellow inmates. I firmly believe that the use of the term, “correctional facility” is perfectly valid. In this prison I have corrected my weaknesses and reinforced my strengths – taking pride in perfecting my minor imperfections and philosophy on life. There might not be any other means more perfect at molding one’s own hatred, then in a “correctional facility”. So kudos to the state! You have made me a better person.

What you as a prisoner must know, and what the purpose of this letter is, is that I am not one for wasting time and I am definitely not the same as one of your fellow inmates. I am articulate and educated. I can raise an audience off of their feet with the pure belief in my words, and one day, you will be by my side. You are my brother and I will never leave my brother behind. A wall may keep us apart, but my brother we will always be of the same blood. Please know that I will break you from your cage but before I do, there is something that you can do for me. Every army needs a captain and a general. I must act as your general, guiding you to train my coming army in order to break free of this prison which we are both trapped; not the cage which traps you my friend, but a prison that holds ultimate power just out of our reach. If that doesn’t entice you than the thought of freedom must. It was fate that brought us two together, and I will trust fate to bring you back to me.

There was a riot two years ago at the old A and B building. Seventeen prisoners died in a fire that burned the building to the ground. The rubble was never cleared, as if it was a reminder of what happens when we think about freedom. I will hide instructions on how to raise our army in a cinderblock lying against the former west wall of the A and B building. If you do well, then I will be contacting you shortly with further instructions. Being my second in command is a hard deal to resist. Do this job and I will promise you money, women, power, anything in your wildest dreams. You don’t want to turn down this deal, I promise you that.
Sincerely yours,
Curt Williams


Curt quickly and quietly folded the note in half. He placed the note securely behind a loose block in the wall behind his cot. This spot had saved Curt some trouble many times before when he wanted to hide unlawful paraphernalia. Now, the next lucky individual to receive Curt’s cell would have the pleasure of finding the letter; He new that whatever demonic force that was guiding his life would make sure that the letter got into the right hands. All he had to do now was to wait for an opportune moment in which to make his escape.

Time had switched its gears on yet again as a cockroach scurried across the prison floor. Curt immediately spotted the roach and thought it to be a sign of how to get out of the prison. “Maybe the roach will lead me to a hole in the prison walls”, He thought to himself as the bug slowly approached his cell. The only thing that Curt could do was to wait for something – some sign that would point to the nearest exit of the hell which confined him. As the roach came within inches of the cell, Curt could swear that the darkness intensified as if, somehow, in the bleak blackness of the prison there was a shadow hovering over him.

A loud squeal accompanied the stomp of the guard’s steel toe, black leather boots. The scream of the roach as it realized its doom sickened Curt’s stomach with the sound of blood and bone grinding in his ears. The guard said nothing, but looked directly into Curt’s eyes with a burning intensity which shone through the darkness. There was no doubt in Curt’s mind of the beating which would come soon, (the guards loved to practice their flogging skills on anyone who was unfortunate enough to be awake late at night.) Seconds of silence were broken by a sick, twisted smile which came over the guards face with a sudden ferocity that gave Curt a tremor in his heart.

The guard whistled loudly to his friends, which were ready to explode at a prisoner at the drop of a hat. Out of Curt’s peripherals, there was an odd sight. A loose cinderblock in the wall had begun to shake. Out of the crevice which now appeared, came dozens of cockroaches, making the floor seem to move with their vast numbers and sickening size. The guard near Curt’s cell had not noticed, yet his friends quickly moved out of the army’s way. “I hope you can take a lot of hurtin’ boy, cause I got a lot to give”. The guard laughed ferociously to himself at the thought of beating Curt mercilessly.

“Huh?” The sides of the guard’s mouth twinged with the strange feeling of a single cockroach moving quickly up his leg. The guard let out a scream of pain as he fell to his knee. “My leg, my fucking leg! I can’t feel my fucking leg!” As the giant fell hopelessly to the ground, roaches swarmed his body, entering every orifice they could find. One of the incredibly scared guards turned his flashlight on just in time to see the last roach enter his friends left nostril.

Seconds of silence seemed to span an eternity as both Curt and the remaining guards stood breathless. “Oh my God”, Curt spoke to himself as the lifeless guard stared into his eyes. One brave guard decided to take charge of examining his friend’s body. As he approached with his nightstick drawn, the flashlight which he held shook noticeably around his friend’s former face. Curt stared into the dead man’s eyes, not knowing what was happening, or where he was anymore. Curt could not believe what was going on; He didn’t even believe it when he saw the dead man’s hand reach for the holster of his 9mm.