Too Broke For Afterlife

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And now I'm sitting here. 

Who would have thought that I'd be eating potato soup with Satan one day?

Is this what my mom meant when she wished for me to achieve extraordinary things?

Is this what my aunt meant when she looked at me disappointedly and said that I'd be 'going places'?

Despite the liquid lunch, I must have chugged two liters of water already. Warm water I might add.

They do not have freezers here. But warm water is a lot less disgusting when you're drying out like a raisin in heat. 

"How are you enjoying your soup?" Stan looks at me with interest in his eyes, using every chance he has to build a conversation with his guest.

Usually I don't enjoy small talk but I want to give him the joy, considering this man (can I call him a man?) must be pretty lonely down here.

"It's alright. The stone plate adds an interesting taste. But you could have used some of the salt I traveled with."

The first few spoons were okay but the blandness of this mass slowly makes me feel sick. 

"I could have but the salt was not organic. I don't want to support the consumption of food that is harmful to the environment."

"I see."

No, that's a lie. Up until now I didn't even know that organic salt was a thing. 

"So instead you threw it away? Isn't that wasteful?"

Stan looks almost offended. "I didn't throw it away, Parker. We will be using your kind donation to test out a new cooling technique. Did you know that salt crystals absorb energy when dissolved in water?"

"Interesting."

And this time it's not even a lie.

"I think we did an experiment like that in high school before."

"High school. So you are well educated."

"Eh...if you were to ask my teachers...not really. I failed almost every subject except for physics at least once."

Stan nods.

"One good thing is enough. All I've ever been doing is managing this company. I do not have any other skills but look, I'm doing fine!"

As he raises his arms to underline his statement, the spoon slips out of his hands and falls onto the ground.

"Woops." Stan leans down to pick it up. He doesn't look embarrassed at all. 

"See, I'm still fairly new to holding cutlery. But nobody cares because it doesn't matter."

I wish I had confidence like that. 

Stan puts down the spoon and leans back.

"I see that we are both finished. Would you like me to show you something grand? Something only a handful of humans have ever laid an eye on."

I raise my eyebrows.

"Isn't that the case for this entire place?"

"It is." Stan nods. "I'm just saying that the best is yet to come."

<<<

After several long, empty hallways, the surroundings slowly start to change. The grey walls are now white, the floor black and the atmosphere of the place quiets down. For the first time since arriving I'm not hearing that constant humming of Earth's core. 

Stan has started whistling a familiar melody. 

"Is that For Elise?" I can see the face of my music teacher in front of my inner eye. Mr. Bertram. He hated me and the feeling was mutual.

You're culturally speaking a lost cause, Mr. Jones. Your understanding of music is so unbelievably limited that you wouldn't be able to tell apart a soprano from a garbage press.

Still one of the funniest thing someone has ever said to me. 

"It is, my last visitor had taught me the melody. A very nice gentleman. What year was that? 1912?"

"You haven't had any visitors since 1912?"

That's...sad.

"To summon me you'll have to use something that belongs to me. And that's very rare. My most recent contacts were Jasper and that hacker ghost. But I never saw them with my own eyes. We used different ways to communicate."

"Why did you not tell the hack…Walter your plans? That would have prevented him from misunderstanding."

"Maybe."

Stan doesn't seem to appreciate the question but gets distracted by the big stone door in front of us. There is a sign decorating it and it reads:

'Hall of Fame'

Okay?

Judging from that, I'm expecting a wax figure cabinet like the one in London. 

Stan turns around to me with a bright smile.

"When dead souls come to us, they are usually already stripped of their bodies but some of the most famous bad people with the worst Karma, we receive whole. We remove their souls and keep the bodies in our Hall of Fame."

"But why?"

Stan looks confused. "Why not?"

He opens the door and one by one a bunch of lights turn on to illuminate the hall.

What we see first is a wall with direction signs attached.

The left arrow suggests exploring serial killers and politicians. The right arrow extols a category mysteriously named 'Others'.

"How many exhibits are here?"

"A couple thousand? The worst of the worst. What way would you like to go first?"

"I...don't know."

"Let's go with serial killers then, those are always fun ones."

Okay, so far Stan seemed like a cool dude. But the weird mix of his love for nature and fascination for psychopaths leaves me queasy.

A red corridor leads us into another hall and my heart starts pumping like crazy. In fact, the sight is so scary that I automatically grab Stan's arm.

Lined up on the walls are glass boxes showcasing human bodies. All with their eyes opened. All in the same stance. 

Plaquettes next to the boxes are filled with information about the person.

There are 'No Touching' signs.

Then it hits me.

This is a real museum.

A museum filled with dead serial killers.

"Are you scared?"

Stan looks down at my feeble self clinging onto him like a small child and grins amused. 

"But they are dead, silly. They can't hurt you. Let me show you some of my favorites."

Please no.

I let go of the demon and we start walking along the wall to our left.

I try to not look at the corpses but they keep catching my eyes. 

Of course I don't recognize a single one of them. Surprisingly, serial killers are not that fascinating to me.

"This boy, for example, killed his entire family when he was just 14. Then he got shot by his neighbor"

I quickly glance at the body but then immediately turn away again.

"And she was like a black widow. She lured in wealthy men just to poison them and bury them in her backyard."

I refuse to look at the woman and finally Stan seems to notice how uncomfortable I am.

"It seems to me that you're not enjoying yourself?"

I quickly shake my head.

"Let us move on to politicians then."

"Please no!"

I stop in my tracks and look at Stan with pleading eyes.

"I actually think I'm about to throw up."

He looks surprised.

"You don't enjoy looking at corpses of famous psychopaths?"

"No, I really don't."

"Hm."

Stan seems to have a hard time understanding that but with a wave he leads me out of the museum and into a small room I could best describe as a cafeteria.

I fall onto one of the chairs and take a deep breath. Well, as deep as I can with the stupid oxygen mask still glued to my face.

This was worse than any nightmare ever could be.

I'm done with Hell, can I go back home already?

Stan sits down in front of me and leans back.

I look at him for a few seconds.

"For someone who claims to not be evil at all and just doing your job, you sure are interested in serial killers."

"That is not why I've built this museum." He shakes his head.

"See, Parker. Disregarding rare visitors like you, these corpses are the only connection I have to Earth. I use them as a chance to study human history and society. This way I get a glimpse of what is going on on the surface without having to be there myself."

Stan sighs and looks out of the big window to his right.

The orange has turned a bit darker and I wonder if this is a sign of time passing or a change of temperature.

But how would I see the movement of the sun inside the Earth itself?

The glow reflects on his blue face and lays deep shadows under the wrinkles.

"You know, sometimes I get quite lonely here. I have my workers, yes, but they are soulless and not actual company. You can't have proper conversations with them." 

I shift in my chair. 

"Does that mean you have a soul?"

Stan turns to me and looks me deeply into the eyes.

I watch his pupil contracting and emitting sadness. Deeper sadness than I have ever seen before. 

"Can't you tell?"