Kia Sorentos 8 & 9
The traveler shrugs and climbs into the trash can before rational logic can prevail. He shimmies in the can and begins to sink. He lands in a big store filled with comic books, action figures, vinyl albums, and fans. Lots and lots of fans of all kinds. Pedestal fans, box fans, even ceiling fans lay all about. The traveler notices that the room is very hot. He looks down and notices another thing.
“Hey, Paul? Where are my clothes?”
The traveler stands awkwardly, naked except for his Juicy Couture boxers, until Paul speaks up from behind him.
“Yeah, it’s so you don’t sweat to death here.”
“I thought I was immune to the punishments here, though.”
“Yeah,” Paul starts. “But everyone who comes down here starts stripping immediately, so we figured we’d save you some time.”
“Oh, okay.”
The traveler looks around to see if he can see any other people. From his position, he cannot, but he can hear people on the other side of the shelves. He walks around them to see a group clawing at the shelves and the fans. The traveler feels that he cannot truly categorize these people as people. They fall in the uncanny valley the same way that a wax figure does, including the melting. One of the melting people looks up at our traveler and stands up. He is about 5 foot tall and wears a Nirvana shirt with a blue flannel over it.
“Hi.” the traveler says. “I like your shirt.”
The man snarls.
“You like Nirvana? Name five of their songs, then.”
The traveler is confused.
“Songs? I didn’t know they did music. Nirvana’s probably my favorite clothing brand.”
The man lunges at the traveler, but is pulled back by another man with glasses.
“Jerry, come on, man.” the glasses man says. “This is why you’re down here.”
“What’s why you’re down here?” the traveler asks.
Glasses adjusts his glasses and sighs.
“We’re in this place because we never believed anyone when they were a fan of stuff we liked. We’d quiz them and stuff and now,” Glasses throws his hands up. “We’re here.”
The traveler looks around at the other people.
“So, what are you guys doing?”
Glasses shrugs.
“So, obviously,” he gestures up and down at the traveler’s scantily clad body. “You feel how hot it is. One of these fans,” he gestures around the store. “Works. But we’ve checked every fan in here, and they’re all broken.”
“How do you know one works?”
Glasses furrows his brow.
“One of them has to work.”
The traveler shrugs. He reaches into his boxers and pulls out a notepad and a pen.
“So,” he says, flipping open a fresh page and touching the tip of the pen to his tongue. “Symbolic retribution. How does the punishment fit the crime?”
Glasses points at the notepad, confused. The traveler shrugs.
“Oh, yeah, it’s for an English assignment.”
Glasses shrugs and begins.
“So, like, we tried to call out ‘fake fans’ on Earth, and now we’re trying to find the one fan that works. Makes sense?”
The traveler nods, not really understanding, but also not wanting to continue the conversation. He turns around to see Paul sitting behind him. The traveler shrugs at him. There is quite a bit of shrugging occurring in this circle. He is sure that if Paul could shrug, he would, but he is a knife, so he cannot.
“If I could shrug, I would, but I’m a knife, so I can’t.”
The traveler stares at him. He should know the routine by now.
“I don’t know, Dorothy. How do we move on?”
The traveler squints his eyes shut and taps his heels together three times. Suddenly, a cold wind blows over him. He can feel that he has clothes on once again and opens his eyes. His t-shirt and shorts from before have returned and he is now in a new place. The traveler and Paul are standing on what appears to be a frozen lake in the mountains.
“Hey, this is a direct rip off!” the traveler realizes.
“I thought you didn’t read Inferno.”
“I watched a Let’s Play YouTuber play the video game.”
“That alone makes you more deserving to be here than anyone else.”
The traveler laughs. He looks around the lake they are standing on.
“Where is everybody?” the traveler asks.
“I mean, if this is like the book, they should be in the ice.”
“Did you read Dante’s Inferno, Paul?”
“Yeah, in 10th grade.”
The traveler sticks his foot out and scrapes some of the snow away from the ice. He crouches down to peer into the lake below.
“Nothing.”
The traveler stands back up. Something across the lake catches his eye.
“Look, Paul,” he points, knowing that Paul cannot turn to look. “There’s a cabin.”
The traveler starts to walk towards the cabin. He drags his feet as he walks, enjoying the feeling of the snow beneath his toes. A streak of red follows him, as he seems to have forgotten that his toe is still bleeding. The cabin is tall and dark, made of a wood that he would guess to be red oak if he knew the difference between types of wood. There are only a few, small windows, and a large, stone chimney. The door is dark and metallic, and the porch seems to wrap around the cabin. A few fishing poles lean against the wall, lines tangled as if they either hadn’t been used in a while or had recently been used by an inept fisherman. The traveler steps up to the door and turns around to make sure Paul has followed. Paul sits on the porch, followed by a trail of knife-prints in the snow. The traveler turns back to the door and knocks twice before stepping back.
“Did you hear that?” a voice from inside says. The cabin goes quiet before a slightly higher voice responds.
“Someone’s at the door.” the higher voice answers.
“That’s what I thought.” the lower voice says. “Who in their right mind would come all the way down here? For us?”
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“It’s Duolingo. I haven’t been practicing my French in the last month.”
“Ah, Christ.”
There is a moment of silence before the lower voice speaks up again.
“Fine, I’ll get it.”
The traveler can hear movement within the cabin. He assumes that the person with the lower voice is getting up to open the door. A meaty thump can be heard from within the house. The lower voice yelps. The traveler looks down at his feet, uncomfortable. He is not good at meeting new people and is afraid of whoever is inside. Finally, the door opens.
“Oh my God,” the lower voice says in shock. The traveler looks up to see a young, feminine male with long, dark hair standing in the doorway. He gapes at the traveler for a moment.
“Who is it?” the higher voice calls. The boy in the doorway startles and backs up.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he says to the traveler, gesturing inside. “Mal,” he calls back inside. “You’re gonna wanna see this.”
The traveler and the lower voice enter the cabin. It is a very cozy place, with shelves filled with books and knick-knacks against the wall. The other side of the room has a couch and two chairs, positioned around a coffee table that sits adjacent to the roaring fireplace in the wall. In one of the chairs sits another person, whom the traveler assumes to be the aforementioned Mal. Mal has shoulder length maroon hair and glasses. They look up from the tablet in their lap and gasps.
“TJ, is that…” they trail off.
“Yeah, I think so.” TJ answers from behind the traveler. He guides the traveler to sit on the couch while Mal hops up and runs to another room. TJ shuts the door and opens another one to a linen closet, where he retrieves a big knit blanket. He lays the blanket over the traveler and sits down in the other chair as Mal returns with a steaming mug, which they sit on the table in front of the traveler.
“What were we thinkin’, sendin’ that poor boy through the cold in those clothes.” TJ says pitifully as Mal takes their seat.
“What were you thinking,” Mal amends. “You wrote it.”
“You’re the one who drew him in Adam Sandler clothes.”
The traveler takes a sip from the mug placed in front of him and yelps when the coffee burns him. The two people turn back to face him and their expressions soften.
“We should probably introduce ourselves.” Mal says.
The traveler swallows the coffee and begins.
“My name is-” he is cut off by TJ, who is squirming in his seat, unable to get comfortable.
“We know who you are, you’re the traveler.”
The traveler is suprised.
“That’s not my name, but how did you know who I am?”
TJ straightens in his seat.
“I’m TJ, and this is Mal.” he says, pointing first at himself and then his friend. “And we’re the author and illustrator, respectively, of your story.”
The traveler chuckles.
“Oh, yeah, that’s funny. And I’m the main character of this universe, and you guys just sent me into Hell for no good reason.”
The two in the chairs look at each other sheepishly.
“We did have good reason,” Mal says. “We needed to make this for an English assignment.”
“I’m not buying it.” the traveler says. He leans back into the couch, smugly. Mal and TJ look at each other and shrug. TJ reaches forward and grabs a laptop computer off of the coffee table. Mal picks up the tablet they had had before and readies the pen.
“Fine,” TJ says as he opens the laptop. “We’ll show you.”
TJ begins frantically typing as Mal scribbles across the tablet’s screen. The traveler can feel his left hand rising and he turns to look at it. He tries to put his arm down, but cannot, as if another force has possessed his body. Suddenly, his left hand strikes him across the face. He yelps in pain but is hit again, this time backhanded. TJ giggles.
“Why am I hitting myself? Why am I hitting myself?” the traveler feels himself say. He reaches up to touch his jaw with his other hand. He cannot stop himself from speaking. These are not his words.
“They were never your words to begin with.” TJ says, as if he can read his mind. “Everything you’ve said, everything you’ve done, even the shape of your face, that was us.”
“He’s had enough,” Mal says, not looking up from their tablet. TJ nods and types a few more words before the two of them stop. The traveler stops moving and realizes he can control his arm once again. He rubs his sore jaw with both hands before it clicks. The traveler looks at the authors with big eyes.
“It’s true,” he says in awe. “Are you two… gods?”
“Woah, there, buddy.” TJ throws his hands up. “Nuh-uh. We made this Annoying Pop Culture Opinions Hell as far away from the real thing as possible. I’m not messin’ with the real one.”
Mal sighs and rolls their eyes.
“We’re not gods, traveler. None of this is real.”
The traveler ponders this for a moment.
“Am I real?”
TJ smiles.
“Are any of us real? I mean, you’re definitely not, but who knows.”
The traveler stands up, panicking.
“What’s gonna happen to me when it’s over?”
Mal shrugs.
“What happens to anyone when it’s over? Another story begins.”
“Can I go home now? I’ve learned my lesson.” the traveler begs. The authors look at each other, confused.
“Learned your lesson?” TJ asks. “You weren’t supposed to learn a lesson. This was an English assignment for us. We just wanted a good grade.
“And internet fame, don’t forget that.” Mal adds.
“Yup, that too.” TJ agrees. “But, sure. We’ll send you home. Paul too.”
The traveler nods before realizing that he is missing something.
“Wait, one more thing.” he says as TJ reaches back for his laptop. “What’s circle 9?”
TJ and Mal laugh.
“Oh, yeah, circle 9 is for the people who get mad about the other circles. They get frozen because they’re snowflakes.” TJ says, opening the laptop again.
“There's no one out there because no one’s heard the circles yet, so they can’t disagree yet.” Mal says, twirling their tablet pen. The two wave at the traveler before opening their respective devices again. The traveler blinks.
In the wee hours of the night, our traveler lays on his bathroom floor. The pain in his back is his only clue as to how long he has been there. He sits up and finds that his head is covered in blood, as well as his big toe. The steak knife he had been using to cut his toenails lays a few feet away, unmoving. The traveler rubs his sinuses, knowing he not only had one of the worst written nightmares of his life, but he was also going to have to clean up all the blood left over. He stands up and washes his face before bending down to retrieve the knife. His hand misses. He looks around. The knife seems to be closer to the door than it had been before.