The Realms of the Afterlives Short Stories

Lev Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

The Clouds didn't celebrate Saint Nicholas Day. Or any holiday, really, that evolved from Earth and Humanity. They thought it beneath them, even those that had died and shed their mortal skins for that of wings and the honour of being angelkind.

The idea of giving without receiving anything in turn, was something that made most angels ill. They didn't understand that the giving of gifts was meant to be part of the joy - knowing you had made someone you care about happy, even for a second.

In Hell though - Belial hadn't known what to expect his first year after dying. Everything he'd thought he'd known about the afterlife was wrong, after all. Hell was not some great evil place. It was open minded and beautiful and even at the end of the year, when the chill from Earth was great that it drifted through the entrance and into the spaces fires couldn't reach, the Devils showed themselves to be just the same.

Mostly.

Leviathan seemed to be absent more often than not, sharper with his words than normal, but he didn't stop the merriment or cheer, or the people celebrating anything in whichever way they wanted to. Some, Belial knew, would be giving presents on the last day of the year. Others, six days into the new year. Some would celebrate with great feasts - despite the fact the dead no longer needed to eat.

Belial had always celebrated Saint Nicholas Day though, six days into December, and he planned to keep it that way - though it seemed many in Hell embraced the whole of Yuletide and celebrated on as many days as they could. Only Leviathan's sector was still silent, and though Belial was already used to walking its paths, it was only when the cheers for other sectors could be heard that Belial realised just how quiet it was.

To his wife - the wrong word, really, for they were no longer together, but he didn't know what he had become to him yet, other than a confident and closest friend - he gave a new pair of boots, and a small pile of handmade sweets that would have, once, been given to their children. From her small smile, he knew she understood.

He missed them both with his entire heart. But he knew they were safe. Knew they were happy - Belial had grieved long ago for his children. Now he would honour their memories.
To those that were fast becoming friends - the fallen angels, one still healing, the others prickly still, he gave cookies. Lucifer had taken then, eyes wide in surprise, not knowing how to say thank you. It broke Belial's heart slightly. How short his human life had been, but how full of joy. It seemed no one who had started in The Clouds knew that feeling.

But it was Leviathan he kept til last. Leviathan, who still refused to utter the word friend, who scowled when Belial showed kindness, yet still kept coming back. Who had given him a house in his own section and made sure he'd settled. Leviathan, who Belial knew hated any celebration whatsoever.

But he, out of all of them, deserved something.

Belial stood on his doorstep, a rectangular package in his hands. The door opened before he could knock, Leviathan's face set into the scowl Belial already knew well. Leviathan's eyes went down to the gift, and he went to close the door again. Belial stuck his foot in the way, wincing as the wood hit it.

'No,' Leviathan said softly. 'Go away, Bee.'

'You're going to want this.'

'I don't want anything.'

'Trust me.' He winced; it was the wrong thing to say. Leviathan and trust - Belial already knew too much of his history. Too much for his heart to take, but barely a drop of what Leviathan had actually been through. It was a wonder he even gave the tiniest trust to Belial for those words, for the late night walks, for the risk of what it could mean. 'I mean-'