***
Over the long years of Patrick Roy’s career, there were many fans that disliked him. There were many that truly hated him. There were even those who wished with all their might that a meteor would one day fall out of the sky and crush him.
One fateful day, those people got their wish.
Unfortunately, the old adage “be careful what you wish for, you just might get it” should have been respected in this case, because when the meteor hit Patrick Roy’s house in Florida (ground zero) in a blast of fiery, Biblical destruction, it took out most of the Western Hemisphere with it. And as the cloud of dirt and ash choked all the sun and oxygen out of the rest of the world, the fact that Armageddon had been all for the express purpose of killing Patrick Roy was but cold comfort to those who survived the first impact.
And so, that day Patrick Roy found himself having the oddest experience of his whole life and his new-born afterlife. For one minute he was laying by his pool, jerking off to thoughts of Dominik Hasek stretching in the shower, and the next minute he was standing before the Gates of Hell.
“Hurry up, hurry up,” said an impatient voice. Patrick blinked, completely disoriented. He looked up to see short man, if someone with red scales in place of skin and pointed horns on his head could be called a man. He sported a narrow moustache and a black robe. He was holding a clipboard, and wore a stern expression in his yellow eyes. Beneath the hem of his robe, a forked tail twitched, and a cloven hoof clomped impatiently. He tapped the clipboard with his pen and motioned to Patrick.
“Come on, I don’t have all day. It’s the End of the World and all that, we’ve got a lot of Souls coming through. Just look.”
Patrick glanced over his shoulder and saw behind him an endless line of people.
“That’s the first stage of their torment,” the short man informed him. “There’s nothing worse than having to stand in a long, unmoving line for humans. I imagine the fights will start any minute. Now then, Mr. Roy, if you’ll just come along here…”
Bewildered, Patrick Roy followed the short man through the gates, which as he moved closer, he saw were made of human bones, fused together into blasphemous shapes. He shuddered and began to really be frightened.
“Where am I?” He asked the short man in a small voice.
“Hell. Where did you think?”
Patrick blinked at him, his mouth agape, really taking in the impatient man’s demonic features for the first time. “Are you… Satan?”
“Fuck no,” the short man replied. “I’m just a working demon.”
“Well… are you taking me to see him, then?”
“Well, aren’t WE important!” The demon arched a sarcastic eyebrow, and his eyes glittered coldly. “Just who do you think you are? Not just ANYONE gets to waltz right up to Satan on the first day, you know.”
He licked at his pen and made a note on his clipboard. “Besides, the Dark One has been on vacation for the last few decades. We’re not quite sure when that vacation will end. Now let’s go, I’m very busy today.”
Together, they left the Gates behind and passed into a long, dark tunnel. After what seemed like hours of pitch-black darkness, they emerged into the light of the other side. They were on very classy-looking, well-kept street. In the distance beyond the trees was a body of water that appeared to be a river. Further away, on the other side of the water, was the skyline of a large city.
“Wha…” Patrick blinked in the sudden brightness and looked around. “THIS is Hell?”
“It’s sort of a suburb of Hell,” the demon responded. To Patrick’s bemused horror, the tip of his tail rose into the air and began to scratch behind his ear. “This is where some of Hell’s associates live. The upper-management types, and the Favored. Most of the Damned are in the main city. That’s it over there.”
Patrick squinted at the skyscrapers the man indicated. “But… it looks like Detroit.”
“Well, duh.” The demon sneered. He pointed down the avenue in which they stood. “Go down three streets, then hang a left on the third. You’ll pass a big fenced park, before coming to a gate. Press the button and they should let you in at the house. Oh, and if you’ll just sign here…”
Patrick took the clipboard and stared at the paper clipped to it blankly. Confused, he read it aloud. “I, the undersigned, hereinafter known as the Damned, do hereby state that the Gate Keeper has performed his duty in leading me to my duly designated Place of Eternal Torment…?”
“Yeah, it’s a new thing DR does,” the demon said somewhat apologetically, handing Patrick the pen. “There were a few incidents of Damned Souls being led to the wrong places, improper levels, that sort of thing. It screwed up the paperwork something fierce.”
“DR?” Patrick was still perplexed.
“Demon Resources. Look, could you just sign that please? Just write in “Day of Judgment” where it says ‘date.’ I have a lot more people to escort other than you, you know.”
Patrick blinked, and, still shell-shocked from the events of the day, did as he was told.
“Thank you,” said the demon with relief. He took back the clipboard and pen. “Remember, now, three streets and to the left. Giant house. You can’t miss it.”
“Wait, don’t go, I don’t understand!” Patrick clutched at the Gate Keeper’s scaly arm.
The demon rolled his eyes. “Now what?”
“Well… uh…” Patrick couldn’t think where to begin. “Well, what am I supposed to do once I get there?”The demon gave him an impatient look, but flipped a few pages over on his clipboard.
“Roy, Roy…” He muttered, running a claw down the paper. “Ah, here we go. Roy, Patrick. You’ve been assigned to a house on the Island of Gross and Undeserved Wealth. You’re to be a servant for the tenants.”
“A servant?!” Patrick was insulted and incredulous. “For how long?”“Forever, dumbass,” the demon snapped. “Haven’t you ever read the Bible? Now quit complaining. There are a lot of torments much worse than this. Trust me. You should see what happens to Red Sox fans.”
He carefully rearranged his papers, and used his tail to hold the pen. “Relatively speaking, being a house servant is really a sweet deal. You should be glad you’re not Brett Hull. He’s got a big set of tits and a job as an Amazon Queen waiting for him when he gets here.”
Patrick scratched his chin. Hmm, that sounds kinda hot… he thought.
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.
“But, wait, what am I…” Patrick stopped abruptly and blinked in surprise. The short demon was no longer there, and he was now standing alone on the street. Not knowing what else to do, Patrick began walking the direction in which he’d been directed.
He walked past rows of tasteful townhouses with slender trees growing along the walks, but met no one. Upon the third intersecting street he turned left. Soon he was walking along a cast-iron rail fence that enclosed a large park. Trees dotted the lawn here and there, and every so often Patrick could catch a glimpse of sun hitting water.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, Patrick found himself in front of a set of iron gates. Set some distance back was an enormous house, almost a palace, in the Tudor style. The white pillars reflected the sun, and on either side stately, ivy-covered brick wings gracefully retreated. There was a small black box mounted to the side of the gates. Patrick stared at it for a few seconds, before carefully pressing and holding the button.
“Yes?” A voice squawked out of the speaker. The voice was female and business-like in tone.
“Hello,” Patrick answered after a moment. “My name is Patrick Roy. I was told to come here…?”
“Oh, good,” the voice sounded pleased. “That didn’t take long at all. Stand back.”
Patrick let go of the button and backed up as the gates slowly swung inward. Passing through them, Patrick began the long walk up to the house. The driveway was overarched by two rows of Spanish Oaks that marched along either side. There really was a sense of taste and elegance about the place, and Patrick began to be a bit more optimistic about his future eternity.
At last he was climbing the steps to the large stone porch. Before he knocked, he looked up above the door. There was a large golden plaque there, bearing only three embossed letters, standing out in relief: IHC. Patrick had no idea what the letters stood for, and while he was pondering their meaning, he rang the doorbell.
The door was opened immediately, and standing in the foyer were two young women. One was tall, about his height, with dark blonde hair and blue eyes. The other was shorter, with dark hair and eyes to match. Patrick smiled, his spirits lifted. He hadn’t known what to expect from the tenants of the house, but the appearance of pretty girls was hopeful.
“This is fabulous,” said the brunette to her companion.
“I know!” answered the blonde. “And he’ll be ready before the party starts! Come in,” she ordered. She stood back to allow Patrick access to the house. “I’m Debbie, and she’s Rebecca.”
“So I am to be your servant, eh pettites filles?” Patrick winked at the two women. Hell, indeed. This could turn out rather well.
The two women simply smiled at each other.
“Damn right you are,” answered Debbie. “And your first job is serving drinks at a party we’re having tonight.”
“Are you sure there are not… OTHER things I could do?” Patrick wore an open grin.
“Don’t talk back, bitch,” Debbie told him.
“We OWN you,” Rebecca added.
Patrick’s mouth dropped open. How dare they talk to him like that!
“Come with us,” Debbie said. They two women turned and went into the house, and Patrick was left with no choice but to follow them. They passed through the foyer and entered a long hall. The trio continued through a few more principal rooms and bypassed past large sweeping staircases. The ceilings were high, and the interior was well-lit and well-furnished. Everything seemed elegant and comfortable. They passed several side corridors, and as Patrick peered into them, he could see scores of other rooms branching off.
“What is this place?” Patrick asked curiously.
“It’s our house,” Debbie replied. “It was set up for us here while we were still alive. Of course, we didn’t expect to see it this soon.”
“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Rebecca added.
“Set up?” Patrick asked, not choosing to understand the last comment. “You mean, you are not Damned Souls?”
“Oh, we are,” Debbie said. They were now passing through the rooms at the rear of the house. “But while we were on Earth, we were much with the evil. Doing our part to corrupt the innocence of the world. We were given this house out of thanks.”
“Now it’s time for us to party!” Rebecca said. “Well, not including you. You have to work.”
They now passed through a large set of French doors and walked out onto the sunny veranda. Below was a giant patio, and in the center, gleaming like a jewel, was a large swimming area. At the bottom of the stairs leading down to the patio were two round hot tubs sunk into the ground, next to each other, and they were alive with bubbles. Extending away from the hot tubs was the main pool; it was long and cigar-shaped. At the far end a small waterfall spurted into a small, shallow wading pool. Patrick stared at the pools for several seconds, before it finally dawned on him what the arrangement was supposed to represent. His eyes widened. Both women laughed.
“This is no time to be shy, Patty,” Debbie said. “Those pools don’t have anything you’ve never seen!”
“Probably,” added Rebecca.
They led Patrick down the stairs and to one of the medium-sized, wooden buildings lining the patio.
“This is the cabana,” Debbie said. She waved at a smallish demon working behind the bar. “The imp will be mixing the drinks, but you’re gonna serve them. Oh, and here.”
Debbie handed Patrick a small scrap of material. It was fluorescent pink and it sparkled.
Patrick took it from her. “What is this?”
“It’s your uniform,” Debbie said.
Patrick stretched the piece of clothing out as much as it would, and that wasn’t very much. “This is a… a thong!”
“Very good, Patty,” Debbie complimented him. “Go change. There’s a small room in the back behind the bar.”
“And make it quick,” Rebecca said. “The rest of the group should be here soon.”
“Some of them are already here,” said a new voice, also female. Patrick looked up and coming down the stairs was another young woman. She had reddish hair and dark eyes, and was smiling.
“Hi, Kris,” said Debbie.
“Hi, Debbie, Rebecca. I didn’t expect to see you guys this soon.”
“None of us did,” Debbie glared at Patrick, who didn’t notice. He was still looking with horror at his uniform.
“Hi, Kris. Is this a nice place or what?” Rebecca said.
“It really is,” Kris agreed. She turned her attention to Patrick, eyeing him up and down. Patrick looked up to see himself being examined and flushed slightly. Kris grinned.
“Aww, our cabana boy is shy!” Kris laughed. “But he’s here, just like we said he would be.”
“Isn’t it great?” Debbie grinned back. She turned back Patrick. “Come on now, Patty, chop chop.”
“Do not call me Patty,” Patrick snapped. He was beginning to be very annoyed. “And I am NOT putting this thing on.”
“Oh, I think you will,” Debbie smiled but her voice was hard. “That is, unless you want a new job. You could be scrubbing bathrooms with Mario. Or even worse. You don’t want to KNOW what Potvin’s punishment is.”
Rebecca snickered. “And you’re ours now, Patty. We’ll call you what we want to call you.”
“So don’t give us any shit,” Kris finished. “This is Hell. You’ve got it easy… so far. You haven’t even BEGUN to suffer.”
Patrick looked helplessly at the three women, but they would not be moved. Muttering to himself, Patrick stalked into the cabana. The imp stood on a stool in order to reach the bar, and was busily cleaning glasses. He smirked at Patrick as he passed, who in turn shot back a curse in French.
Once inside the small room, Patrick gritted his teeth and stripped off his t-shirt and shorts. He was too angry to really consider what he was doing. And anyway, he didn’t seem to have much choice. He hated it. But on the other hand, what would happen to him if he refused? Where would he be sent? Maybe to the middle of the Hell-city. He shuddered. Anything but Detroit.
When he was naked, he carefully fit himself into the thong. He straightened, and looked himself over. The sparkles on the front of his new uniform threw cheerful points of light into his eyes, and the back was doing what a thong was meant to do.
“Oh, fuck no,” Patrick said. “No way, I’m NOT doing this, Hell or no Hell!”
He turned to pick up his discarded clothes, and gasped in shock. The clothes were gone! No one had entered the room, but they had disappeared.
Patrick groaned.
“Come on, Patty!” came the voice of the woman called Debbie. “We’re waiting for our drinks!”
Patrick sighed heavily. He might as well get it over with. He raised his head resolutely, took a deep breath (though how he could still breathe when he already dead was beyond him), and walked out of the room.
The imp bartender grinned at him and handed him a tray.
“What the fuck is this for?” Patrick grumbled as he took it.
“To carry the drinks, dumbass!” called a voice from the crowd. And there WAS crowd. In the time Patrick had been changing reluctantly into his uniform, about 20 more people had arrived on the patio. Some of them looked disgusted to see him, and the rest merely looked amused.
“Mmm, very nice,” said Rebecca, giggling.
“Come out here where we can all see your pretty thong, Patty,” said Kris. The crowd laughed.
Patrick flushed and walked slowly out toward them.
“Turn in a circle,” Debbie ordered. “We want the entire effect.”
“No we don’t!” called a voice from the crowd. Mortified, Patrick spun in a quick circle, gaining him mocking applause and jeering catcalls.
“Patty, these are the IHCers,” Debbie said, walking up to him. “This is our house and you are our servant. It’s your job in this afterlife to serve us all in any manner we might require. And right now, we require drinks. Bring me a martini, bitch!” She smacked Patrick sharply on his bare ass. He jumped with a yelp, and there was more laughter.
It was, all in all, quite a humiliating evening for Patrick. As the sun went down and the Tiki lights came on, he was forced to fetch drink after drink, swallow any number of cruel insults, and submit to slaps on the ass, complete with the occasional groping. Finally, Debbie clapped her hands for the attention of the party.
“We have a very special guest who’s just arrived!” Debbie announced. “This is truly an unexpected honor. Ladies and gentlemen, returning to Hell from an extended vacation, and stopping by the Island especially to see us, Satan!”
As the crowd parted to allow the most evil of guests to walk through, Patrick’s jaw dropped. Standing there in nothing but a hot pink, sparkly thong, he was completely and utterly speechless. However, he was not surprised in the least.
“I fucking knew it!” he said miserably.
Mimi winked at him. “Welcome to Hell, Patty!”
***
