The Unnatural Inquirer

“Sorry,” I said.

“I should think so, too.”

“Wait a minute. Downstairs in the bar, you said your new girl-friend was up here. So where is she? Why is she hiding from me? And why do I just know that I’m really not going to like the answers to any of these questions?”

“Oh, hell,” said Alex. He looked back at the other room. “You’d better come in, Cathy.”

And while I was standing there, struck dumb with shock, my teenage secretary, Cathy, came in from the next room. She smiled at me brightly, but I was still too stu

“This is your new girl-friend?” I said finally. “Cathy? My Cathy? My teenage secretary? She’s almost half your age!”

“I know!” said Alex. “She took one look at my music collection and turned up her nose! Called it dad rock…But; she came into the bar one night with a message from you, and, well, we happened to get talking, and…we clicked. Next thing I know we’re a couple, and she’s moved in with me. Neither of us said anything to you because we knew you’d blow your stack.”

“I am lost for words,” I said.

“Bet that doesn’t last,” said Cathy.

I glared at her. “I did not rescue you from a house that tried to eat you, take you in, and make you my secretary, just so you could get involved with a disreputable character like Alex Morrisey!”

“I thought Alex was your friend?” said Bettie, who I felt was enjoying the situation entirely too much.

“He is. Mostly. It’s because I know him so well that I’m worried! Alex has even worse luck with women than I do.”

“I resent that!” said Alex.

“I notice you’re not denying it,” I said.

Cathy stood close beside Alex, holding his arm protectively. It reminded me of the way Bettie had been holding my arm recently. Cathy looked me square in the eye, her jaw set in a familiar and very determined ma

“I am eighteen now, going on nineteen. I’m not the frightened little girl you rescued any more. Hell, I’ve been ru

I smiled briefly. “Well. My little girl is all grown-up. All right, Cathy. You’re clearly off your head and displaying quite appalling taste, but you have the right to make your own mistakes.” I looked at Alex. “We will talk about this later.”

“Oh, joy,” said Alex.

“Quite,” I said. “Now, show me how that fiendishly complicated-looking remote control works.”

Alex picked up something big enough to land the space shuttle from a distance, turned on his television, dimmed the lights, and showed me how to work the DVD player.

“That button is for the surround sound, the toggle is for the volume. Don’t touch that one; it turns on the sprinkler system. And stay away from that one because it operates the vibrating bed. Don’t look at me like that.”

“What’s this big red button for?” said Bettie, sitting beside me on the sofa before the television.

“Do not touch the big red button,” said Alex. “That is only to be used in the event of alien invasion, or if someone not a million miles from here starts another bloody angel war.”

“I did not…”

“Right,” said Alex. “That’s it. You two enjoy the show, Cathy and I will be down in the bar.”

“Don’t you want to see what’s on the DVD?” said Bettie.

“I would rather stab myself in the eyes with knives,” said Alex. “Come along, Cathy.”

“But I want to watch it!” said Cathy.

“No, you don’t,” Alex said firmly. “Wait until John’s test-driven it; then, if it’s safe, we can have a peep at it.”

“So I’m your guinea-pig now?” I said, amused despite myself.

“Hey,” said Alex. “What are friends for?”

“If you do get Raptured,” said Cathy, “can I have your trench coat?”

Alex hustled her out, leaving Bettie and me alone with the television and the Afterlife Recording. The disc looked quite remarkably ordinary, almost i

There was no menu, no introduction. It was a recording of an unexpected transmission, with the begi

The structures were packed too close together, their malign presence like a concentration camp of the soul. Through the narrow streets ran an endless stream of naked si

The sky was on fire, spreading a blood-red light across the terrible scene. Huge bat-winged shapes circled overhead. And from far off in the distance, vast and terrible, came the laughter of the Devil, savouring the horrors of Hell.

I hit the PAUSE button, leaned back on the sofa, and looked at Bettie. “It’s a fake. That’s not Hell.”

“Are you sure?” said Bettie. And then her eyes widened, and she actually leaned back a little from me. “Do you know? Are the stories true, that you’ve really been to Hell, and returned?”

“Of course not,” I said. “Only one man ever returned from the Houses of Pain, and he was the Son of God. No; you can tell that isn’t the real thing from looking at the si

Bettie leaned in close for a better look. “You’re right! All the faces are the same! Even the demons, just exaggerated versions of Pen’s features. But what does this mean, John? If this isn’t a recording of the Afterlife, what is it?”

I hit the STOP button and turned off the television. “It’s psychic imprinting,” I said. “We discussed this, remember? What we were looking at was one man’s personal vision of Hell. All of Pen Donavon’s fears and nightmares appeared on his television set, leaking out of his subconscious, and when he tried to record what he saw, he psychically imprinted his own vision onto the DVD. Poor bastard. He believes he belongs in Hell; though probably only he could tell us why.”

“So there never was any transmission from Beyond?” said Bettie.

“No. All that junk Donavon bolted onto his television set was just junk, after all.”

I removed the DVD from the player and slipped it back into its case. Such a small thing, to have caused so much trouble.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bettie said cheerfully. “It looks good enough to pass. Fake or no, the paper can still make decent money off it. Actually, it’s even better that it’s not the real thing; now we don’t have to worry about upsetting anyone Upstairs. It looks impressive enough, and that’s all the punters will care about. So what do we do now, John? Take the DVD back to the U