Eric followed Michelle to her house. Despite believing in the existence of Hell, for at least the last dozen hours, experiencing it ranked as quite a different matter. He’d expected dark caverns filled with tortured souls, brimstone-laden fire, and demons with mighty whips. Too much Milton and Hollywood. Except for the cruel mountains, now hidden by the foothills, it looked, almost normal. Maybe the tortured souls were kept somewhere else.
He had chatted with Peter as they started down, apparently Michelle had built a self-regulating Hell of the mind. He had wanted to try a sample until he’d seen the man attempting to appear casual while slime dripped from his very pores.
Even up close, Michelle’s house looked friendly and comfortably substantial, without crossing over into ostentatious.
