The War in Heaven by Kenneth Zeigler Page A

another pair of shackles was attached. There was a harsh yellow light coming from under the grate, and the smell was horrible. They dragged me in and placed my wrists into the shackles hanging from the ceiling. These weren’t shackles with a regular lock, oh no, these things clamped shut on my wrists like they were magnetized, then they welded themselves shut. I could hear my flesh sizzling like a piece of broiling meat, at least for a second. After that, all I could hear was me, howling in pain.”
    Tom cringed. Why had he ever asked such a question? What could he possibly have been thinking of?
    “And those shackles had a bonus effect,” continued Bedillia. “They were smooth on the outside but barbed on the inside. They dug into my wrists brutally. It took only a few seconds before blood was running down my arms. Then they shackled my ankles to the grate below, stretching me out, keeping me from moving back and forth. Only then did I look down to see the flames below me through a brick-lined shaft. Never had I seen such flames. They were bright yellow mixed with blue, and they swirled like they were in a whirlwind. Being dressed only in a short gray skirt and top, my skin was exposed to the heat. But something was holding the flames back for the moment.”
    Bedillia paused.
    “Really, it’s OK,” said Tom. “You don’t need to go on. I see why people don’t talk about it here.”
    “No, I need to,” said Bedillia. “Sometimes I have to let it all out. Other people have to know about it. This experience is part of my life, so much a part of what I am now. There are still others there. Telling my story is telling theirs as well. Others have to know.”
    Tom decided not to respond.
    “Here is something that might interest you,” interjected Bedillia. “You could appreciate this more than most. Satan told me that the flames that I would be tormented by were flames of plasma.”
    “Good Lord,” gasped Tom. “That would be an incredibly hot flame, much hotter than most normal flames.”
    “Yes, like I said, I thought you might appreciate that. Satan said that the flame had to be carefully controlled otherwise it would burn my body to cinders…and his entertainment might be cut short.”
    Tom gazed into Bedillia’s eyes. He was certain that he could see a trace of madness there. It sent a chill up his spine.
    “Satan went on about my being positioned at the very most intense core of the flame. He said that if the rest of the furnace was that hot, the walls would be slowly eroded away by the heat, or something like that. Then he and the others departed. I heard the sound of gears, cogs, and wheels as the door was rolled back into place and sealed. I kept pleading for mercy again and again, but it did no good. Then there was a pumping sound. My ears popped, then the flames came roaring up toward me. I was engulfed in them in seconds. You can’t even begin to imagine how it feels to be flame-broiled for eternity. I never knew the human body could feel so much pain … continually. There was no part of me that didn’t feel it. You prayed on that altar they put you on. I was so crazed with pain, that I couldn’t even think what prayer was. All I felt was a sort of unfocused regret. My very most primal instincts told me that I had to get out, but that was impossible.
    “For years I hung from the ceiling with the flames roaring around me. I was stripped of my humanity, leaving little more than a mad pain-crazed beast. Then all at once the flames died away. At first the pain was little relieved. The glowing walls radiated back the years of stored heat. Slowly they cooled. I hung there for hours. After a time, I felt so very cold. Then there was a noise, the metal door moved, ushering in even cooler air from the corridor beyond. I waited. I heard voices; someone had entered my crematorium.”
    “Mommy?” said a voice barely above a whisper.
    At first I didn’t understand what was going on. I opened my eyes to