Backwards Into Hell

Part One: The Lodge

Some Time Ago

Disregarding the bottle I had been reaching for, I glanced up, twisting my neck to find the source of the voice.

As soon as our eyes met, it was clear to me what he wanted.

In the darkness of the living room, he breezed to the front of the sofa, a pleasant smile on his face, and took a spot in the armchair, face illuminated by the streetlights outside All the while I sat frozen, unable to do little more than move my eyes to follow him. He chuckled, reaching with wizened fingers to place a beer bottle in my hand. It was cold.

He sat back in the chair. The Old Man, which is about all I can call him, wasn't as you'd expect. There was nothing obviously evil about him—no horns or angry red eyes—but I'd at least thought he'd be young—perhaps a suave man in a well-fitting suit. Instead he was fragile and so, so old. His face was wide and droopy and the muscles in his arms had wasted into a pair of loose bingo wings. He was wearing what appeared to be—to my limited knowledge—a toga, wrapped around his thin body and secured by a thick brown belt.

I continued to sit in awe when, after taking a pained breath, he spoke,

'You know why I'm here?'

His voice was old but not quiet. It travelled across the room like an echo through a cave.

I nodded.

'Good!' He grinned like the Cheshire Cat and leaned forward. 'I'll give you your conditions.'

My mouth was dry. 'Conditions?'

With a slight flourish, he pulled a folder from nowhere. It was plastic and blue and held just a few sheets of paper. Compared with the toga, it was jarringly modern. He tossed it to my lap and gestured for me to look inside.

I gripped the edge of the plastic, slid my sweaty fingers over the top, and popped it open. I counted the pages. Nine. Each of them entirely blank apart from a name printed in a black, bold font, and written small at the top. Was I meant to fill these in?

At the back was a final piece of paper—number ten—which was glossy and full of information. There wasn't the chance to read it before he spoke again.

'You're confused?'

'A little,' I breathed.

'Hmm.' He slid a hand over the page, close enough to breathe in my ear. 'Each of these names belongs to a living, breathing human being, understand?'

I swallowed.

'If those nine people were to... stop breathing, then the loss of your wife would be offset.' He raised an eyebrow. 'You could have her back.'

I paused.

'Wait, what—'

The lights cut out.

I sat in the dark like a dry fish, gasping from a half-finished sentence as the TV blared. I felt for the remote and switched it off. Then, using the dim light from the window that looked to the street to see, I noted the armchair was empty.

He was gone. Could I trust him?

That night, I followed his instructions—the ones left on the glossy sheet. I went online and booked a room in Castlebay, and in two weeks, I would be on Barra.