The Demon in My Fridge: a Welcome to Hell Fanfiction

Chapter 2: Welcome to Hell

"Welcome to Hell, would ya like a hand?" the man asked.

The man stood above Sock, who laid on his back on the ground. It was pitch-black wherever he looked, yet he could somehow see him very clearly. He had red hair and sideburns that stuck out, a red goatee as well. He wore a burgundy suit, with a small pin on his lapel in the shape of a flame, and a white undershirt. The cuff stuck out as he offered Sock a hand. The man had soft, amber eyes, a kind smile.

"Uh, sure. Thank you, sir," Sock said.

He took his hand and was propelled off of the ground, his body seemed to float without any resistance. It was different compared to when he was alive and he had felt the weight of his body however he moved.

"This is my office," the man said. The darkness snapped away, and they stood in a stark-white office, only a desk and a door to either side of them. "Have a seat," he instructed.

Sock stared at the filing cabinet. It was incredibly tall. His eyes turned upward in awe, as the drawers stretched up with all of the files that he could only assume were of the people who now resided there. There was no ceiling, just drawers that disappeared into an endless dark pit above.

"Do you know why you're here, Mr. Sowachowski?" the man asked.

He smiled again as he looked down at the seated young man. Sock withered uncomfortably against the hard metal, as he reflected more on what he had done. It was a different experience as well, as there was now someone in front of him who would judge him for his actions. He gave a nervous smile as he shrugged tensely.

"Because I killed my parents, killed myself," he said.

The man inspected his nails casually, as he leaned against his desk.

"Yeah, well, I'd kill my parents too if they named me Sock," he teased with a grin.

Sock was puzzled at this. Why was he so nice to him?

"Well, where's all the brimstone and fire? Why am I not being tortured as we speak? Suffering for all eternity?" Sock prompted.

He clutched his hands in the air dramatically, as he grit his teeth. He thought this all had to be some sort of game, some trick or another. He thought it was only a matter of moments before he would be pushed out of the office, and all of the faux pleasantness would be ripped out from under him, instead replaced with pitchforks and dungeons in the fiery depths he was surely destined for.

"Oh, don't sound so desperate, kid," he laughed. He crossed the room toward the office door. His shoes clacked against the hard floor. "See, I'm currently in the process of having Hell renovated. Everyone's off the hook right now. The only one suffering, is me!"

The man clutched his hands in the air dramatically. Sock decided that they seemed to share similar mannerisms, as he watched the man. This put him somewhat at ease in spite of the situation, but he approached him with caution as he opened the blinds and gestured out the glass of the door.

"Would you look at this place? It's a freakin' mess!" the man exclaimed. Sock peered closely out, slack-jawed. He couldn't believe what he saw. Embers glowed and lent a strange cast to things, as absolute chaos raged on outside. "The gluttons and the lawyers are in the middle of what looks like a turf war. The murderers have been hangin' out with the network executives that simply can't be a good influence on them."

He then held a fist to his clenched teeth, as they watched the endless pandemonium. Sock wouldn't look away from it. He lifted his brows, though he was only confused.

"The murderers or the network executives?" Sock asked.

The man turned to him suddenly. He gripped Sock's red scarf in frustration.