I don’t have much time because they’re after me. They’re always after me. Relentless and foul beasts, hell-bent on capturing and torturing me for centuries.
I know you think I’m dead, Steve. And you’d be right to assume that, because I am. But it isn’t over for me. I forfeited the right to a peaceful afterlife when I killed myself; the Counsel determined that.
I know you’re a Christian, Steve and... shit, so was I. But there is no heaven and no God. All there is, is peace and hell.
The Counsel is a group of 300 bodies, 150 demons and 150 saints (again no angels), who decide whether the deceased get to rest in peace or be damned to eternity in hell. The Counsel decides this by looking at your life and examining it for crimes or sin.
But what they spend the most time examining is the way you died. If you were murdered, for example, you could opt to rest permanently. Or they could choose to inhabit a newly born child. This rule also stands for children and in some cases virgins (don’t really get this, but whatever). If you died naturally and lived a mostly crime-free life, you get to rest. But as you already know, I committed suicide, which is an automatic entry to hell. It’s pretty fucked up, but what can you do?
Anyway, I want you to say sorry to my family, the rest of my friends and of course, Steph. Tell them that it wasn’t their fault. Oh, and tell Steph that I will always love her.
They are close now, so I’m going to finish this letter. God, I can hear their insane chittering. They know in here where everyone is; you can’t run forever. You can run for decades, centuries, millennia, but they will catch you sooner or later. Time is different here; a day here is about a second to the living.
I can smell them now. They are so close.
P.S I pray to God that you don’t end up here.