Abner Jones Goes To Hell

Abner Jones went to Hell. I mean exactly that. When ol’ Abner Jones died he went straight to Hell. What puzzled him, first made him suspicious and alarmed him was the strong smell of sulfur wafting around the hinges of those big iron doors which were all softly glowing and smoking hot. 

Abner knew he was dead all right. How could he not? He’d been sitting there playing poker with a few friends, mostly guys who worked for him on the farm.  It was a regular Friday night affair in his basement rec room. He was having a good night like he usually did, and was ahead by nearly five hundred dollars. Then out of nowhere came a tremendous pressure in his chest. Abner knew exactly what that was because he’d had a little taste of it a few months earlier. At that time the doctor warned him to lay off the beer and fatty foods and told him to lose about twenty or thirty pounds. But what the hell do doctors know about real people anyhow? They are always giving folks pills and putting them on diets. Hell, the doc didn’t look all that good himself.

By the time Abner’s head thudded into the card table and he’d rolled out of his chair onto his back on the floor, he’d had a conscious second or two to realize he was actually really was dying this time. He faded out and the next impression his consciousness had, he was standing on a red brick veranda before those glowing hot doors.

"What the Hell? I mean like really, WHAT. THE. HELL.?" he thought in bewilderment.

Being there was a startling surprise to Abner because without really thinking about it, he’d always kinda figured he’d end up in Heaven when he died. He was a good Christian - at least as good as most of his neighbors and friends. Born again, ‘saved’ and all that, Just like President Jimmy Carter. Everyone knew what a goodly man Jimmy was and all the kind things he was always doing for folks. It was certain that Jimmy definitely was headed straight for Heaven when he checked out even it still seemed like he was gonna live forever. Abner had fully expected to himself, go to Heaven I mean.  Hell, he was a member of the First Anglicized Baptist Church of Waycross, Georgia for Christ's sakes! He was all paid up on his tithes and all the other things wasn’t he? And wasn’t he a farmer too, raising crops to feed and nourish people?

Just goes to show you never do know about those Heaven and Hell stories, do you? Who to believe? What to believe?  It’s really a totally unfunny, slam-damned to dickens mystery, ain’t it?

When Abner arrived in Hell the only living thing in sight was this rather large and handsome goat placidly munching on the green spots in the dried grass a few yards from the veranda and those glowing, smoking hot doors. Abner could see flames flickering around the hinges at the door jambs and could faintly hear screams and shrieks from somewhere far behind those doors. That really terrified Abner and gave him a cold chill in spite of the heat radiating from the doors.

“There’s been a big mistake!” Abner thought to himself. “It's gotta be a big, HUGE mistake!”

“I need to see the boss of this here damned outfit!” Abner suddenly hollered out loud in a panic. “There’s been a big, big, huge mistake!” 

Nothing.

Being now thoroughly terrified, Abner hollered again. He always hollered for whatever he wanted and now he hollered a third time even though he could see no one. If he hollered enough somebody was sure to show up.

"Where's the damned boss?" he hollered in near panic.

“Guess that’d be me.” the goat finally said just as pretty as you please. The goat tossed his head back so the reddish light from the glowing doors reflected in his eyes. “I’m kinda the boss around here, so just hold your horses, won't you?”

That just about floored ol’ Abner. If he wasn’t already dead, that right there would have been enough to kill him outright all over again.

“Welcome to Hell, Abner.” said the goat with a thin smile on his handsome goat lips.

“What the Hell?” protested an astonished Abner. “I’ve never heard of a talking goat!”

“In Heaven and Hell, all things are possible Abner. I’m Beelzebub 6032, one of the intake angels.” said the goat. “You can just call me 'Beelzebub'. Let me see the palm of your right hand.”

“”Intake angel? No, no, no! You’ve got things all wrong!” Abner sobbed. “I ain’t supposed to be here!”

“Oh, you’re in the right place all right Abner. I’ve just got to see what level to place you on. Don’t make any trouble now. Just give me the palm of your right hand please.” 

Numbed by the past few moments Abner obediently held out his right hand. Beelzebub 6032 took it between his front hooves, which now seemed to be two very handsome and very human-like hands.

“M-mm.” murmured Beelzebub 6032 as he turned Abner’s hand between his own and studied it. “Guess I’ll start you out on level 3-A Abner. We’ll just have to see how it goes from there and how well you take to everything.”

Abner by now recovered himself a little. 

“But, I’m not supposed to be in Hell,” he protested. “I’m a good church-going Christian man.”

“You are gonna be really surprised at how many good Christians are down here, Abner.” said Beelzebub 6032. “Quite a few you will know yourself, including a couple past deacons from your very own church. In fact, we have more religious folks down here than any other type of resident besides politicians. And every one of them said the same thing as you when they first got here, that there’d been a mistake. You see Abner, almost all religions can turn people into damned fools.”

“But, I’ve always been a good man,” said Abner. “Didn’t I always tithe ten percent at my church just like the bible says? Didn’t I subscribe extra to put stained glass windows behind the altar?”

“Yes, your palm lines say exactly that,” said Beelzebub 6032. “But who did that actually benefit besides you and the folks in your church, Abner? Self-benefitting doesn't count in the karmic scheme of things you know. So, what about the widow Harper whose husband worked for you before he got sick and died? Why didn’t you use the money you gave to the church to help her and her children keep their home from being foreclosed? The church sure didn't do anything to help them, did they?”

“Well, I, I, . . .” Abner stammered. “I guess I figured Social Security and the welfare folks would take care of her and the kids. I can’t help it if her husband died.”

“Exactly,” said Beelzebub 6032. “So long as it was not you, eh? And what about the guys who work for you that you pay just over minimum wage, Abner? What about them? Do you care about their families at all?”

“Well, of course, I do!” said Abner. “Don’t I provide a job for them? I always treat them fair and square.”

“Sure, you think you do Abner. But, does the work they do on your farm make any money for you Abner?” asked Beelzebub 6032. “How much income did your farm show on your tax forms last year Abner, and the year before that, and so on? Did you ever hide income from the tax man Abner? Be honest now, because I've already read the truth from your hand.”

“Well yes, of course, my farm makes money. Last year I was able to declare $175 thousand in personal income,” said Abner somewhat proudly. “That's what hard work will do for you. And, since you seem to already know, well yes, I do protect some income from the tax man by clever accounting means. It's not against the law and everybody does it. It’s the smart thing to do according to my accountant. We’ve been doing that for years. I've saved tons of money.”

“So, tell me then, Abner,” said Beelzebub 6032. “How much did your top man make last year? Just round numbers and a fair estimate will be good.”

Abner could see where this was going, so he answered carefully, “Well, I’m not sure exactly, but somewhere around $22,000 as I seem to recall.”

“Well, there you go, Abner,” said Beelzebub 6032. “The official US poverty level for a family of five is $29,000 and change. Your highest paid man, his wife, and three kids have to supplement his pay with food stamps and other forms of government assistance just to make it. His name is Norman by the way just so you know that I know what I'm talking about. Why didn’t you share some of that income you hide from the tax man so your workers can have a decent living? These are the people who sweat to do the actual work so you have a nice income while sitting on your big, fat ass. You give to your church. Why can’t you pay the people who actually make your money for you enough to be comfortable without asking for assistance?  By the way, I also know you are cheating on your promises to your church too.”

Abner looked down at the red bricks.

“And as far as cheating goes Abner, I happen to know about your flashy little girlfriend over in the next town too.” said Beelzebub 6032. "Hot little number she is too, and you seemed to spend a lot of your excess income partying all over the place with her."

Without having answers, Abner simply hung his head.

“Hold out your left hand Abner,” said Beelzebub 6032.

As Abner held out his hand obediently, Beelzebub 6032 suddenly pierced it with a white-hot iron stake. The hot stake did not seem to bother Beelzebub 6032's hand in the slightest. 

Abner let out a piercing scream. 

“Calm down Abner. That’s just where the meat hook will go.” said Beelzebub 6032. “We find the cauterization helps prevent infections down here. You’ll be hanging from a rack down on level 3-A right next to your accountant. I processed him through about two hours ahead of you.”

(NOTE: This story is total fiction, but loosely based on my perceptions of realities in today's South. There is no Abner Jones, nor Anglicized Baptist Church. I do sincerely hope there is something like Beelzebub 6032 in the karmic scheme of life.)