The Rebels from Hell

By Yelda Eser

David was dropped into an empty house one day with no recollection of who he was. When he learns that hes actually dead and in Hell, hes determined to return to life to figure out who he was and why hes forgotten everything. With him he brings three other rebels of Hell; a teenage outcast, a conceited actor, and a confused prostitute- whose plans to escape back up to earth unintentionally end up in trouble.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477210239

Yelda Eser

YELDA ESER was born on March 29th, 1994. She began writing The Rebels from Hell when she was sixteen years old, and though it isn't her first finished novel, it is the first to be published. She currently lives in California, and has high hopes to publish other books or take her ideas to Hollywood, but no professional will ever replace her little sister as manager.

Book preview

THE

REB ELS

FROM HELL

Yelda Eser

US%26UKLogoB%26Wnew.ai

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2012 by Yelda Eser. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/04/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-1022-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-1023-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012909203

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

THE MAN WHO CALLED HIMSELF THE SYSTEM

THE PLACE BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL

A POST-DEATH BUCKET LIST

A PROBLEMATICAL EVER-AFTER

To Anna Maria, my best friend

and my biggest fan; your approval alone

is fame enough for me

Love, Turnip

THE MAN WHO CALLED HIMSELF THE SYSTEM

1

David was dropped into an empty house one day with no recollection of who he was.

All of his memory had been vanished apart from his lingual abilities, and even that was coming back at a staggered pace, for just as he was about to say something he’d forgotten what he was going to say—not that there was much point in saying anything, since he was in an empty house.

All of the windows in the house were boarded shut. Even as he limped from room to room (he limped because he was literally dropped into the house, but he does not remember how that happened either.) He could see no door, window, or entry of any sort to an outside place. There was a courtyard, with wilted plants and cobblestone, but it too was surrounded by walls. Because it was a courtyard, naturally it had no roof, but every time David tried to look up he felt peculiarly dizzy. He figured it wasn’t worth fighting for and he limped back inside the house, trying to look around for clues as to where he was and how he got there.

The house was indeed very empty, and the dark crooked boards that it was made of did nothing to improve the coziness. The bookshelves too were cleared of any novels or papers at all, except for one dust-coated book that had a solid red cover and empty pages all for a note inside that said "this house has everything you need for you to write your own goddamn book."

David, feeling a bit starved, limped over to the kitchen, but it too was empty. No cupboard, no fridge—just a note on the counter that said "earn your own goddamn food."

For fear of going to the bathroom and discovering a note that said "defecate in your own goddamn pants," David got up and turned to the only item of furniture in the room; a creaky wooden chair, sitting down. He felt drowsy—too drowsy. The house smelled funny, too. He suddenly wondered if there was some sort of gas leakage in here. Perhaps that was why all the windows were boarded. He sniffed the air—but it was not poisoned. His elbow rested on the table, and he was nearly about to bring his hand up to his chin in order to get a better position of deep thought—when something caught his eye. It was nothing in the house, actually; it was just his arm. It seemed unfamiliar. He gained one theory on his memory—whatever he was before was not what he was right now.

Unfortunately, he concluded, that would be even worse for trying to figure out more facts about his past. No one would recognize him. Perhaps if there was a mirror of some sort in this house, he would be able view himself.

He did find a room with a mirror—a room full of mirrors, actually. The walls were lined with mirrors, and he would have thought he was in a ballet studio if there were wooden bars and pretty dancers about. But it was very empty, and the mirrors were not covering the entire area of the walls, they were just like portraits in a gallery hung randomly across the perimeter. They all had decorative carved frames and some were large, some were small, some were stacked against the walls or in piles on the floor.

Despite the spooky occurrence of so many mirrors just when David needed it, there wasn’t anything too special about them. Though he checked, none of them were actually reflective windows, and he could see his reflection in all of them. His reflection didn’t give him very much information, other than he never remembered being such an attractive young man. He was strong looking and tall. His jaw was angular and his dark brown eyes with hazel-green centers were large and shaded under two knowing brows. His hair was dark and short, and his whole appearance gave him the look of some typical Hollywood movie’s football jock, or a superhero straight from a Marvel comic book, or something other than he was supposed to be.

He did take the time in the mirrors to get a glimpse at his back, which was in the most pain from his fall. There were no dark bruises or open cuts, so he put his shirt back on. Then, through his reflection, he observed the shirt. He never remembered wearing such a shirt before, but he assumed that he just must’ve forgotten for obviously he dressed himself.

Maybe I have always looked like this, he thought to himself, for it only seemed logical.

He rubbed his leg, trying to soothe the pain temporarily before he returned down the long flight of stairs. He stopped at the very top of the stairs because he heard a noise.

It sounded like running water.

He crept down the first two steps slowly, trying to avoid any creaking sound from the aged wood. After two steps he ducked his head and he could see that the bottom of the kitchen floor was flooding.

Having just been in the kitchen, David figured that something must’ve snuck in and turned the faucet on when he was upstairs, and he was smart not to rush down and chase it. He breathed heavily as he wondered what it was.

One more step and he would receive the perfect view of whatever was standing next to the faucet.

Holding his breath, he extended his foot outward and tapped it gently on the step, sliding down cautiously for a peek.

Seeing that nothing was beside the faucet, he exhaled softly in relief.

Think you’re sneaky, huh princess gorilla legs?

The voice had come from behind him. Before he could turn around and respond to it, a foot had nailed him right in the back of the head, and he flew across the curving stairs, smashing into the wall. He landed with a loud groan and slid against the wall paper, gripping the back of his head. He’d tripped down a couple of steps, too, and he was almost sure he was bleeding.

The man who’d spoken had taken one step down the stairs, and now he took another, slow and exaggerated, so that David would feel fearful of him. But from his voice, the man did not sound intimidating at all. It was squawky and nasally. Even then, David raised his arms in surrender. Sir, sir… I didn’t mean to be here!

Why yes you did, you lumber-jack-of-all-trades.

The man spoke his words very funnily, and his words were strange too. David would have found it hard not to laugh if he wasn’t so terrified of whatever weapon this man might have had.

The man grabbed him by the back of the neck. Realizing David was too heavy to carry, he just kicked his side and said, Get up, butter cup. Walk and talk. All that jazz.

David wondered; did people really talk that way and he’d forgotten about it… or was this man crazy?

The water still flooding the creaky wooden floors, David was shoved into the kitchen with his hands up in the air. He finally turned around to sit in the wooden chair, and that is when he first saw the man.

He was skinny, and awkward, and couldn’t be taller than five eight. He had an overgrown stubble and hair sticking up in all sorts of directions. His face wasn’t wrinkled, but not all too unattractive if it wasn’t for the kinked hair and redness. He was wearing blue plaid boxers and a white beater with dark red paint stains. David soon started to fear, from the man’s smell and crazed appearance, that it wasn’t really paint at all.

What’s this, funny business? Think you’re some party, hooligan? Not this time. Not this time.

I… I honestly don’t know why I’m here, sir. I was looking forward to leaving.

Were you really? Flight of stairs, I say. You were on the steps, and were all the flying faces looking at you?

Though the sentence was very jangled and abstract, David realized that he’d paused for a question to be answered. Wh-what?

Answer me! He screamed, his fists tightening up into balls.

Uh… no, no sir… David shook his head.

"Coulda’ goddamn swore I saw those floating heads, glaring at me. Flight of stares. Who says you can’t, doll. After his nonsensical speech, he let out a single, blasting HA!"

In that moment, David determined two things; from his use of the word goddamn, this was the person leaving all the notes in the house. The second conclusion didn’t take much deduction; it was that he was absolutely insane. Panicked, David gripped the bottom of his seat. Perhaps the man would not hurt him as long as he came off nicely. He looked deep into the man’s empty blue eyes and nervously edged his focus on to the running faucet, as if to suggest him to turn it off. The man just stared back at him, a grin appearing and disappearing quickly on his face as David imagined he might have been having a heartbreaking conversation within himself at three times speed.

"Who are you?" David finally felt necessary to question, growing uneasy with the man looking at him so.

He did not feel attacked by the question at all. He smiled proudly, a smile that meant to suggest he’d forgotten everything that had just happened between the two men. Why, you fool, I am The System!

The… ?

"The System, he bellowed, and he raised one of his large foul feet off the ground and placed it on the edge of David’s seat. David edged away from his smelly white sock at once. I am The System, and you are in the world, and this… he bounced off of the chair and danced over to the faucet, this is a natural disaster. And congratulations, nobody died! He looked over at the sink. Ooh…" he muttered playfully, and finally shut the water off.

David was still puzzled. Why am I here?

Why are you here, you ask?! He laughed. Well, this is the world! Where else would you be?

David rubbed his head. If his past wasn’t blocked off so badly right now, he might have been able to make a better point.

Did you… do anything? To my memory?

What memory? You were just born here.

Growing frustrated with the madman’s logic, David retorted, does that explain how I am a full grown man right now, and I can speak perfect English? If I were just born, I would be an infant.

"Not true, not true, not true!" The man who called himself The System whined as he stomped his feet. David was so flustered by the immature act, he pressed his lips together and vowed never to contradict the man again. The man smiled a mouth full of crooked yellow teeth at David, and took a step next to him, putting his arm around his shoulder. David shuddered.

. . . I suppose you can say—you have just been born, but to make ease of what time we have together in this world before you die, you are full grown and fluent in my language. Ah! He pushed off David’s chair and spun around him, Isn’t it just fine and dandy?

Die!? David pressed his hand to his chest worriedly. How long do I have?

Oh, many days. Around three hundred sixty five thousand days.

David put the math together in his head, despite the odd formatting of such a large quantity of time. You mean, a hundred years?

Well seeing as this house is terrifyingly small and we are just much too big, that would translate to about sixty these, per year. Then the man snapped his fingers, patted his knees, and said TADAH! all within one second.

David realized what he meant by these was a second, since he’d said the number sixty after all. That meant each year passed like minutes. He had less than two hours to live.

Why should I die so soon?

Don’t worry about aging your pretty little face, Mr. Drum-Button. I’ve conveniently worked it out so before you get all terrifyingly hideous, I’ll kill you. For about a thousand snap-pat-tadahs is all I need you for.

David stood up suddenly. "Kill me?!" Even if he had nothing in memory to return to, he was terrified of the idea of being dead, especially so young and at prey to this crazy man who might just peel off his limbs one by one to torture him before his body eventually succumb.

That’s life, my darling arrow beam. Now, I can save my next victim for this water mess, sticky as it is… The man lifted his legs, and they were heavy because his socks were drenched, but through his twisted mind he couldn’t realize it was because of his wet socks that he felt sticky. David saw this. He bit his lip. He wasn’t willing to conform to what this man was going to say, but he thought, perhaps if I go along with it at first, I might be able to find some sort of way to defeat him.

The man grabbed David’s wrist with a slimy, shaking hand, and jerked him into him. I need YOU to fix these stairs. They’re just too obnoxious. It’s all glare, not enough ‘stare.’

What do you even mean by that?

Although the man had welcomed the questions at first, suddenly his eyes went fiery red and he slapped David hard in the face. WHAT I MEAN IS WHAT I MEAN! I decide what’s wrong, what’s write, what’s scribble and doodle and BLEAGH! He stuck his tongue out like some sort of tribal insult. . . . and why do I get to decide all of this? The man laughed to himself as he caressed the banister.

David learned here that the man who called himself The System only liked questions that glorified himself—and no other questions or talking of any form.

. . . because of this beauty. Why hadn’t David noticed it before? The man pulled a gun out the back of his boxers, and clicked it, and pressed it right up against David’s head. David shivered, and bowed slowly back as in suggestion of surrender.

The man laughed evilly as he watched David perform this action. This is my military. All six of my men in one cannon, ready to be shot out like little clowns right into your brains.

David slowly looked up at The System, trying to gain some sort of human reaction from him with the hopeless look on his innocent face. The man saw this action and considered it. Well… only the first half of life is doing something you don’t understand, he failed at being remotely comforting, you can ask me what the second half is. Go on, ask me. Ask me!

David felt obligated to do as he was told. . . . what is the second half?

Call me sir, I liked it when you did that.

Sir.

The man raised his arms crossly and swung them about. No. Now… the full thing.

David sighed. "What is the second half, sir?"

He smirked. Aw, you’ll hate it even worse, you will! You better finish the first half, first, as that is the way things go, don’t they? He tapped David on the nose like a pet. "Ha. But I control that, could change it if it wasn’t a good thing for me and a torturing thing for you. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, and said with a wide smirk on his face, Please me, mortal."

David stared down at the first step.

2

So there David was, trying to fix the stares on the stairs trying to make them less like glares and more like stares. He had no idea how, or why this even needed to happen. It seemed very pointless.

The System, as he now acknowledged the man to be, since he had a gun—watched David as he worked. He took a long look at the stairs and knocked on them once or twice.

Test time! The System suddenly screeched after five minutes of watching David in peaceful silence. David was so surprised from the sudden scream that had jolted out of his throat that he’d nearly tumbled down the stairs.

The System ran up the stairs and looked down at David. Get out of the way, foolish tree rider. I am going to see how you’ve done, how far you’ve come, and if you’ve won! He sung the last three rhymes in a horrifyingly unsound pitch.

. . . but… David mumbled quietly, and then moved out of the way. He knew he was doing something wrong—and it wasn’t by the means of fixing the stares on the stairs, it was something else. Some voice inside of him was telling him that he needed to fight against this man.

But how? He thought to the gut feeling, he has a loaded gun and no mind for mercy.

"Always question the system," the voice said. And somehow, where his own voice and own face and arm had all been so unfamiliar, that voice… it wasn’t. He’d heard it before.

The System hopped awkwardly down the stairs, two feet both landing at the same time on each step loudly. He looked very deep in concentration as he went down. David opened his mouth to say something, feeling the strength in that familiar voice to question the odd looking man.

But as soon as the man reached the bottom, his mouth opened in rage and out spilled all the cuss words that David could even think of in his blank, memory-erased state of mind. YOU’VE FAILED! He shook his head in rage, and then he socked David in the face. Then he picked him up, and shoved him back on to the stairs. Lookie here, how nice I’m being you waxy hot shot. I’m giving you a snap-pat-tadah chance. Try again.

David did not know how to play this game. He looked all around him, but the stairs just looked like such ordinary, plain stairs, he couldn’t imagine what was wrong with them. Perhaps it was that they squeaked.

With his foot, David pressed down with all his force on one of the stairs, forcing a small sound. He turned to look at The System. Is that a glare?

That’s a creak, you dumb mortal. And not the kind with two E’s that has lots of tadpoles in it.

"What… what makes them glare more than stare?"

The System wasn’t enjoying all the questions. It was almost as if each question was breaking down his own little barrier of sanity in which he thought his actions were rational. It’s in the books, you fig sweeper!

The books? David only remembered a book with empty pages in this house.

What book? He shrugged.

Why don’t you just work, you skimpy rock blocker?

David dropped his arms at his sides and stood up straight. He wasn’t afraid to speak back to this crazy man; he knew that he wouldn’t kill him until the stairs were fixed. What’s with all the ridiculous names!?

"I can give you any name I want! Rat baker, Pointy Caker! Sippy-sip-shum monkey SHIT! Anything I say, your name can be, I could change it at any minute! But usually when I reside from the random insult, your name stays under my keep as Black, K dot, David."

David was unaware of his real name, until that moment. My name is David… ?

Illustration1%20copy.jpg

The System would have expected some sort of remark about the formatting of his name. But David’s repetitive question puzzled him too. Yes, of course, you did not know?

I… I did not.

The System walked up and slapped David’s stomach lightly. That is a funny bean, David. Because all of the people who come here, they do not know much about anything, but they do know their names. And you do not know anything… anything at all.

David grimaced. He was given the option to interject anything now, whether it be about the other people who have come here, or about himself and his name. But his mind was focused on defeating The System.

If you’re aware of the fact that I do not know anything, David reasoned, how can you expect me to fix the glares on the stairs… if I know nothing about anything, and nothing about that?

David had expected from some sort of miracle this question would make The System explode in front of his eyes. But it did not. The man just pressed his lips together. Life’s unfair. Enjoy the strobe lights and ice cream.

Enjoy the… what!? David raised his arms up in the air in a defensive surrender. It matched very well with the phrase I give up! which David did not say, for he was not giving up. He could not give up in something he never felt truly a part of. Instead he said, in a way that he’d hoped The System could understand, "I’m done unless you can give me a goddamned reason why I have to do this."

The System whipped out his gun and sent David back on to his knees. Because! I am The System, and you are living under my rule! Everything I say, you must do!

"Is this YOUR house?"

No. He raised his eyebrow, "but you are MY slave."

I work for no one… David growled, and he launched himself at the man. To his surprise, the man disappeared into thin air. David laughed to himself, wondering why he hadn’t tried that before.

Suddenly a gunshot sounded from behind David, and his heart skipped a beat as he turned around and discovered The System was at the top of the stairs, and David was at the bottom, with a bullet hole in the wall right next to his head.

"Saaaad thing, The System spoke condescendingly to David, who was still breathing hard from the magical sight he’d just witnessed. The crazy man appeared to have a little more sanity now—even though it was only because he had something against David-and also because he was frowning now instead of smiling oddly as he always used to. He sighed. Never before did I have to use that bit on any of my other slaves. They saw the gun and at once gave up on the idea of fighting. You really are an idiot, aren’t you?"

I’m not afraid of dying. David exhaled deeply. The only thing I’m afraid of is dying at your feet, doing your ugly work in which I do not understand.

Instead of bursting into anger like David thought he would after hearing that profound little comment of his, The System merely cocked his head. "You believe in… freewill?"

David nodded his head. Will you let me go?

The System shook his head, and his crazy smirk returned. No, no, I like you, you are a challenge, and you will be mine before these hundred minutes of ours are over.

David felt cornered, but he pointed his hand up in the air. Minutes! You said minutes, you didn’t say six thousand snap-clap whatever’s!

Snap-pat-Tadah’s! He was more offended by the mispronunciation of the invented-word than the realization David was having.

"You’re just crazy, and even if you can disintegrate into thin air… something is falling through here and you KNOW it."

Suddenly, The System disappeared, and reappeared right in front of David. David held his breath, frightened, and also unwilling to learn of the rotten breath that resided within the messy yellowed teeth of the man.

"Not just disintegrate. You see here, pancake boy, I am not a man." He leaned over and another one of him, an exact copy, was right behind him. That one leaned against the banister as well, and suddenly a whole army of clones of The System were revealed to David, in a comic synchronized-dance-in-a-musical kind of way.

I am many men. I am The System. They all spoke simultaneously, and together began cackling evilly. You can’t defeat me.

David punched the first one in the stomach and grabbed his gun. Automatically all the other’s raised their guns, but David was quick. He lifted the gun to his own head.

Suddenly, all of the copies’ wide grins vanished. No, no, no, don’t do it! They were crying. Some of them dropped their guns and started holding each other, weeping.

David finally got it. He thought to himself, if there is no slave, there is no system to run it! He raised his voice eagerly, "if I die… You won’t exist anymore. Because you . . . you aren’t a man!"

Please! one copy sobbed, I absolutely forbid it… but then he realized that a tone of authority—which he was so adapted to using—was no good, he fell to his knees and cried even more. What about part two? After all the nonsense tasks… aren’t you wondering about that?

No. David shook his head firmly, the gun still pressed up against his hair.

Oh, I’ll tell you anyways! he cried through fake laughter, It’s just repetitive work. And you’ll love it, because it’s just very repetitive and there’s no more testing… The System saw that David wasn’t buying into his advertisement, so he stuck to pleading again. Please, please… don’t do it. Don’t kill yourself, just wait. Just wait! Give me one more hour; I’ll give you a break…

It doesn’t matter. David shook his head. You’re going to disappear, because I’m not going to follow your instructions anyways. I don’t have to die. You won’t kill me if I don’t work for you.

Wait, wait… The System tried to reason with David, and all of his copied bodies returned to the one closest to him. Just wait until my next victim arrives… oh, won’t you take pleasure in the fact that someone else will be here, in your shoes? he fell on to the floor, clasping David’s feet. Isn’t that exciting, Mr. David?

It isn’t, David spat, nudging him away. He looked off into the distance. I don’t know what I was before I came here, but all I know is that I wouldn’t have wanted more people to be brought down by you.

You were… The System coughed. He started shriveling up, getting smaller and smaller, weaker and weaker. He wheezed.

David realized that The System was trying to tell him who he was, and his curiosity started to overpower his will to harm the crazy man. I was what? Hey! Answer me! What was I?

Obey me, and I’ll tell you.

Tell me, and I’ll obey you. David was lying, but The System was unused to such deals, and too desperate. He would do anything.

You… and all… all the people… who come to this place… this house… are damned souls… bubbles… then… tested… by me… curtain… never… chicken… win… I… I… kill them all.

David tried to eliminate the random words out of his understanding of what the man was saying.

So people come here, are tested by you, and never defeat you? You always kill them?

"Yes… flower… but… certain . . . types . . . of… strangle… people… bridges…"

"Certain? Certain types of people?"

House. Is. World. RUBBLE HILL! . . . road. He screamed the address with all of his last efforts, David almost wondered if he was trying to end himself just so that he would never know who he was.

Pull yourself together man, and tell me… But The System would not answer; He was still curled up