Journey To Hell

1. The Horseman

Sleep eluded me. Somehow I felt the evening was far from over. There was a strange, almost electric anticipation in the air, sort of like the feeling you get when coming into a familiar room and there is something different about it. You look around to see if you’ve been burglarized or if someone else is in the room. But when you find that all seems to be in order, you ascribe the impression to your imagination. I lay a long while in the dark of my room pondering the strangeness of the events that had brought me to this place in my life. I remembered the wonderful time I had with Jamal in Tricon, and I longed to spend another day in the heavenlies. Slowly the warm waters of sleep dissolved my thoughts and I began to drift off. There is a world of mystery and timelessness in that twilight between the conscious and the subconscious, in that quiet, undefined zone between wakefulness and dreams.

At first I could not make out what the sound could be. The pounding approached until it seemed nearly upon me, and then suddenly stopped. Only an animal’s snorting and heavy breathing could still be heard somewhere close by, very close, in the darkness. I felt the eerie chill of goose bumps and that clammy sensation you get when you realize that you are not alone in some dark and solitary place, and know you are being watched by unseen eyes. I turned my head in the direction of the noise, but saw nothing save the dark shadows of my own room. My imagination must be feeding me misleading information. How could there be anything or anyone there, for I live on the fourth floor of the building?

“Show yourself!” I called out somewhat hesitantly. “What is it that you want with me?”

Then before my eyes the darkened wall of my room receded like frost on a window pane, revealing what appeared to be a passageway or tunnel-like entrance leading off to another place, coexistent to my own. This other world, however, was vastly different from the world I had visited in my previous adventure. This world was darker, fraught with fears and hidden perils. In short, it gave me a feeling of utter dread to behold.

Alien and foreboding as it initially appeared to be, there was something hauntingly familiar about it. It was as though some part of me had always known this place existed. Perhaps I had seen it somewhere in my dreams, or the inner eye of my subconscious had caught a glimpse of it somehow, somewhere.

The whole experience was like discovering a secret passage in your own home, a hidden stairwell leading off into the darkness. But this portal, I feared, did not lead to a world of flesh and blood beings. It led to a world of spirits, of what kind and nature I hesitated to imagine, but the knot in my gut told me they were most certainly not all good.

I do not remember when or how I got out of bed. I just seemed to be instantly up and making my way toward this darkened entrance, drawn by a great curiosity to at least peer into this foreboding realm. Trembling, I cautiously approached the entrance, wondering what dreaded specter or creature was there, waiting for me in those murky shadows. Was this one of the dread horsemen of the Apocalypse?

As the dark mist dissipated, there standing before me was a very large horse, blacker than the night itself, its breath bursting from its nostrils. On his back was a mysterious shadowy figure. My heart pounded as I approached. Was this the Death Angel come for me? I had never imagined that my end would be as dark and dismal as this.

I expected that the dark rider would suddenly raise an unseen sickle and sever my spirit from my body. I had hoped that my death would have been a more joyful occasion. More along the lines of entering a tunnel of light and seeing dear friends and departed loved ones and angels coming to get me and take me home to Heaven. I had not expected to have to face a solitary dark rider at the doors of what seemed like the entrance to Hell. If this was indeed Death come for me, it was not at all as I had anticipated. I broke the silence, “Am I to die?”

“Not yet,” came the cryptic reply from the shadowy figure, in a voice that sounded surprisingly youthful. Feeling a little more encouraged, I stepped forward, approaching the dark specter, a bit surprised by my own boldness in what obviously was a rather serious situation. Still, other than the oddity of it all, I did not feel any real sense of immediate danger. If this creature meant to do me harm I most certainly would already be dead, or at least in a terrible fight for my life.

As I approached I could see that the rider wore a cloak with a cowl covering his face. It reinforced my fear that he bore no good news for me. I noticed too that he was armed. He wore a sword, the hilt of which I could see only a bit of as it glittered in whatever light there was. This strange rider appeared to be a youthful warrior from this mysterious world adjacent to my own. Who was this shadowy person? Why had he come to me? Was he indeed a messenger from the bowels of Hell or whatever they call this dark region from which he came?

Perhaps we had it all wrong. Maybe Hell was really just an ancient regime lurking in the shadows of our world, an unseen parallel dimension lumbering silently along beside us through time? Reason suggested that whoever or whatever creatures dwelt in this region, they lived more primitive lifestyles, riding horses and doing battle with swords in hand to hand combat. Yet deeper instincts warned me that such a conclusion might be totally wrong. The spiritual forces I felt sweeping over me from this place seemed to render the instruments of modern warfare irrelevant.

A wave of mixed emotions began to sweep through me, partly excitement and the thrill of adventure, partly fear, dread and trepidation. The figure was now very close by and somewhat silhouetted by an eerie glow that came from a murky light that emanated from somewhere beyond. As my eyes adjusted I could see that the rider’s hair was long and his features fine. I was more than a little surprised to finally realize that the rider was a young woman, perhaps still in her later teens.

“If you have sufficient faith and courage, Travis, you may come with me on a mission through this region.” I was further shocked to hear her use my name. She continued, “I am come to offer to take you on a second journey, but this one involves a certain amount of peril and danger, unlike your last journey.”

“Does this place have a name?” I asked, a bit fearful of what the answer might be.

“This place has many names, depending on the purpose of your visit here. Some call it Paradise, some call it The Valley of the Dead, the grave, but the common name for it is Hell.”

Now in my understanding, Hell is a place where the damned are perpetually tormented for the evil deeds they have done. Bathed in the fire and brimstone of God’s hot displeasure, they have lost all hope for a cessation of their suffering.

At the moment I was neither spiritually ready nor willing to enter into this “Dante’s Inferno” without more assurances than the words “a certain amount of peril and danger” implied.

“I am on a mission in the service of the Lord of Life and you have been granted permission to accompany me if you have the faith. I will be your guide and guardian in this region,” she said. “But you must do your part. You must gird up your loins. Stay close to the Lord in your heart. Be in prayer, and watch that you do not enter into temptation. For very powerful forces are at work here, day and night. This is the region of the Dark Lion, the lion that walks in the night seeking whom he may devour. This is the region controlled by the Dread Prince who walks up and down through the Earth, the Prince of the Fallen Ones. You must watch and pray, Travis, and prepare yourself for battle.”

“Will we be seen by these dark ones?” I asked.

“We will,” she said.

“But will they not attack us the moment they see us?”

“Possibly, but we are here with the Lord’s blessing, so they should not attack readily, for they still respect the power of the Lord and His Spirit enough to know not to attack without occasion. But we must see that we give no occasion for them to become upset. We must give no reason for them to attack. And keep in mind that some regions are more dangerous for us than others. Some are closer to the seat of Satan in the darkest parts of his kingdom, the darkest recesses, the deepest places in his realm. But you must understand that not all who are here are as evil as he or his fallen ones. And there are many here who still seek the light, whose souls cry out for deliverance from the chains of torment and guilt that bind them. There are those who see hope in the power of prayer to one day be set free from their great oppressor. I can assure you that there is no greater joy than to liberate oppressed souls from this region.”

“Why have I been chosen?” I questioned.

“You are a believer and a scribe among the children of the living, and have proven to be an excellent medium and probe into other worlds. You seek the answers that people want to know, and record the mysteries of the spirit world in terms the living can understand. So will you accompany me or not? Is your faith sufficient to face a voyage into this dread region?”

How can anyone know how much faith they have? It is not really something you can easily measure within yourself. Faith is an inner force, a spiritual confidence and power that comes through...