A Halloween Horror Tale
He closed his eyes. The image of his family, their faces gathered tearfully around his bed, faded. He drew a breath, his last, and heaved no more. There was a temporary pain, only a few seconds, and then he saw a bright light. Slowly he struggled to his feet and walked unevenly towards it. So this is what I have been waiting for all my life, he thought. My final reward.
The light shone through an open door, and Bush stepped through it. He rubbed his eyes. This was not heaven.
He turned to his left and saw a large man in a guard's uniform standing next to him. Without a word, the guard reached for Bush's wrists and slapped handcuffs on. Bush could feel sharp claws on the guard's hands as he yanked on the cuffs. They were cold, and not the hands of a human. What was going on? Was he under arrest?
Forcibly the guard led him up a dozen steps and into a wood paneled room. This was a courtroom, but no earthly courtroom. The court audience was composed of the strangest mix of creatures he had ever seen -- angels and demons crowded wing-to-horn on bench after bench, packed so tightly that they spilled out into the aisles. To make their way past them, Bush and the guard had weave left and right to avoid an obstructing wing here, an errant cloven hoof there. Though Bush had always thought of angel and devil as mortal enemies, they seemed content to sit together. As the guard marched him towards the front of the court, the gallery erupted, the demons spitting out every expletive known to the netherworld, the angels shrieking like eagles diving upon their prey.
The guard led Bush to the defendant's seat at the front of the court. He looked cross the aisle, and with mute astonishment watched as a huge devil, flames pouring from his blistering skin, took a seat on the other side.
A whisper in his ear. "That's the prosecutor, Mr. President." Bush could hardly pull his eyes away from the hideous creature, but when he did he saw that the whisperer was a man. And not just any man. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bush, I am your attorney, Clarence Darrow."
"Mr. Darrow," Bush said anxiously, "I am very glad to see you here. You and I seem to be the only humans in the room. Can you tell me what is going on here?"
"You are on trial, Mr. Bush, for the crimes of your lifetime. There are three charges against you, as you will soon see. The pleas you enter, and the judge's decision on the charges, will determine if you go to heaven, or hell."
"Can we get a continuance?"
"I am glad to see you have not lost your sense of humor, Mr. Bush, but no. This trial continues until it is completed. Since you are now dead all the facts of your life are in evidence. But fear not; I have reviewed your case carefully and think we have a good chance of winning."
Their conversation was interrupted by the pounding of a staff on the floor. A centaur took his place on one side of the judge's bench. "This trial, G. W. Bush vs. the State of Eternal Judgment is called to order. All rise for the judge, the Honorable John Doe." A black robed figure emerged from a door behind the bench. The judge was an absolutely normal looking man, white haired, balding, and thin, someone who could have spent his entire life as a clerk in a customs office.
"Not what I expected," Bush whispered to Darrow.
"He is a common man with a common intellect. You are not to be judged by some superhuman standard, Mr. Bush, but by common sense."
The judge called the court to order, and promptly asked that the first charge be read.
The Prosecutor, the huge devil who had so terrified Bush when he walked in, rose to his feet, and said, "Your honor, the first charge: That the defendant ordered an invasion of a foreign country on false pretenses, resulting the loss of life of many thousands of people."
"Your evidence?"
The Prosecutor waived his hand and with a pop a fire erupted in the middle of the room. Within the blue flames all in the room could see flashes of events from the months leading up to the invasion of Iraq. The audience saw speeches about weapons of mass destruction and public reports trumping up false evidence.
The judge turned to Bush. "How do you plead?"
Bush stood up. "Innocent, sir." He sat down. Then Darrow stood up to speak.
"Your honor, my client is the victim of circumstance. He is dependent upon his minions to deliver accurate information to him. My client is a good man and only wanted to do the right thing. He believed in the people who advised him, and acted on the best information he had at the time. Like any leader, my client had to make a rapid decision based on incomplete information. The war the Prosecutor refers to may have been right, or it may have been wrong, but my client did his level best to come to the defense of the people he led.
"Further, he only wanted what was best for the enemy, the people of Iraq. His goal was to free an enslaved people and bring them democracy. Is this not the height of morality, to seek to bring good to one's enemies? Certainly this is no crime!"
The judge paused a minute. "Counselor, well put. I find your arguments wise, and agree with you fully. Your client is found innocent of this charge."
A cry went up from the gallery. The centaur pounded the staff. "Order!" he boomed out.
The judge said: "Prosecutor, you may now read the second charge."
The Prosecutor stood up again. "That the accused has used his presidential power and the excuse of war to deprive his own people of their civil rights." The demon waived his hand again, and in the flames were images of Bush approving orders to spy on private citizens, and to harass individuals in America and abroad in the name of national security. There were plans to limit access to voting, and efforts to jail people without fair proceedings. Finally, there were the faces of people tortured during interrogation processes.
As before, Bush rose to plead his innocence, and then Darrow spoke in his defense. "Your honor, my client was only trying to protect. As a leader, his primary goal was to assure the safety of his people. Why do people choose leaders? Why do they choose to follow authority, and not to wander the plain like lost sheep? Because leadership offers safety. When a group moves as one mind, under a leader, it is safe. My client was only interested in protecting his followers, and this required moving with determination, and decisively."
There was a murmur in the crowd.
"Any mistake my client may have made in this matter was certainly not his own. Often he had faulty information to work with. The news media distorted his every action. Under the circumstances, his accomplishments have been admirable -- yes, I say -- admirable. His followers, did they object to the tiny compromises in their freedoms that their leader made? No! They did not object. They stood with him. And what of the few who suffered for the many? This is the way of heaven, is it not? Does not the Bible, time and time again, tell the stories of men who are called to suffer for the salvation of the majority!"
Mr. Darrow sat down, and again the judge paused to consider. "Again, counselor, I find your arguments persuasive. Your client is found innocent of the second charge. Prosecutor, please read the third charge."
For the third time the Prosecutor stood up. Blue and gold flames streamed form his body more brightly than ever, and in his face Bush could see an expression of frustration. The terrible Prosecutor could not believe things had gone so well for the defendant.
"That the accused has failed to use the great powers given to him by Providence. That a great hurricane struck the homeland and he went on vacation that very day, not returning to aid the poor and suffering until embarrassment made it unavoidable. That he made no effort to make life easier for the millions of poor under his charge, and was unwilling to help the suffering who had no access to health care."
For the last time the Prosecutor raised his arm. In the burst of flame before the court, Bush could see thousands of stranded people waiting for help, without food and water. There were people standing on their own roofs, weeping, abandoned in a wealthy country. He could see people with terrible illnesses, suffering without any hope of succor.
The crowd gasped.
Bush pleaded innocent to this charge as to all the rest. Again Darrow made his case. "Your honor, this last charge may seem the most serious and difficult to surmount, but it is in fact the easiest. Is it the duty of a parent to protect his child from every scrape and harm? No. A parent should, indeed, must, allow the vicissitudes of life to take their toll. For a child must grow to become a man or woman, and must face and overcome hardships on his own. We begin as children, but cannot forever remain so. We are adults, and responsible each for our own selves. A parent who protects his child from all harm places the child in a bubble, and denies that child the opportunity to grow. For we only grow when we learn personal responsibility!
"My friends, and your Honor, a great leader leads, but he does not always protect. Does God save every child from death? Is it not true that a protector can also be a jail keeper? My client allows his followers to do what they think is best for themselves. He allows them the freedom to choose their own paths. It is reasonable to expect that this loving mode of leadership might occasionally lead to difficulties. A parent expects his child to scrape his knee from time to time. This is how the child learns.
"The defense rests."
The gallery erupted in a conflagration of joy and rage, angels weeping and hugging one another, devils bounding back and forth like animals and hurling balls of flame against the ceiling.
"Enough!" the judge said. The courtroom quieted. "Mr. Bush, you have presented your case well. My compliments to your defense attorney, Mr. Darrow. He has carried the day many times in this court, and recently, more and more often. I find you innocent of the final charge. You are remanded into the custody of your counsel, who will deliver you to your eternal dwelling."
Bush was elated. Free! He gazed into Mr. Darrow's eyes, and saw within them a hint of confidence and pride. Many men like this one have worked for me in the White House, he thought.
Mr. Darrow took Bush by the arm and led him to the steps outside the courthouse. A throng of reporters had gathered there, angels, devils, and all means of beasts, snapping pictures and asking questions. The trial of the President was big news in heaven and hell. Bush thanked his defender, told jokes and laughed, and said, "I was confident that I would succeed from the very beginning. Mr. Darrow is an excellent lawyer and he did me great justice. I will enjoy spending all eternity in his neighborhood. And so, to you Mr. Darrow, I say: Mission Accomplished."
Most of the reporters laughed heartily, but some of the angel reporters shuffled their feet with uneasiness. Bush couldn't figure out why. But he was too happy to be concerned.
After Bush had answered all of the questions, Mr. Darrow touched him on the arm. "Mr. Bush," Darrow said, "A word with you, please?"
Bush said his goodbyes to the reporters. Mr. Darrow led Bush back into the courthouse and into a small office off the main lobby. He closed the door, and they were alone.
"Mr. Darrow," Bush said, "I cannot thank you enough for keeping me from the clutches of that terrible Prosecutor. I don't mind telling you that, while I knew we were in the right from the first, I was a little nervous."
"Mr. Bush, it has been a pleasure having your as a client." He turned askance and looked off into the darkness out the window. Bush swore he could see something in his eyes. A spark, maybe? Darrow's eyes were so dark, smoky. Something was not right. "It was a pleasure defending you, and now it will be a pleasure receiving you into my kingdom."
"Your wha--"
Darrow began to laugh. The laugh was pleasurable and light at first, and then it deepened and vibrated, and grew very, very cold. Bush could see Darrow's teeth growing longer, transforming into fangs. Horns grew from his forehead and tongues of flame began to percolate from his skin.
"You -- you're Satan! I don't understand! You defended me from the charges! You made me a free man!"
In his transformation Lucifer had grown at least a foot, and now loomed over Bush. "You fool. It was so easy. Didn't you listen to the judge? He did not free you. He remanded you to my custody! You are by no means a free man. What you are, my friend, is a slave."
Bush was numb. He tried to talk, but nothing would come out.
Lucifer turned away and started pacing the room. "Time was," he said,"that the strategy I used on you netted us very few souls. Even in the Victorian era, it was difficult to pull off this trick. Back in the old days, people had a little humility, would admit a mistake if challenged, but no matter. These days, the trick works so very, very well."
"What trick?"
Satan walked over to the desk in the room and picked up the newspaper on it. "In hell, we publish an updated edition every ten minutes. Nothing else to do." He tossed the paper to Bush. On the front page was the story of his trial, with the headline, "BUSH COMMENDED TO HELL. THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS WINS AGAIN WITH THE 'NO PENANCE' GAMBIT."
"What is the 'No Penance' gambit?"
"Oh, just one of my many tools. The Prosecutor, you see, was no devil. He was an angel of one of the highest orders, a serphim, I think. Of course, he looked like a devil to you, but that was the trick." With a clawed finger he pointed to the photograph in the paper. On one side was Bush and Darrow. In the picture, Darrow had a serpent's tail trailing from his coat. Bush couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before. On the other side of the courtroom, at the Prosecutor's table, was the most beautiful creature Bush had ever seen.
"That is not the creature I saw in the courtroom. He was a beast, a horrible beast!"
"Self-deception. That is my bread and butter, my friend. The angel was accusing you; he was your conscience. You, rather than face your conscience, chose to make him into a devil. The angel was trying to save you. How, you ask? No human is perfect, nor is any human expected to be perfect. You were expected to recognize your imperfections and own up to them. The Prosecutor offered you three chances to admit your error. If you had pled guilty to any of the three changes, even in the most minor way, you would have been sentenced to penance. Penance is the path to purification! If you had admitted your wrong, the road to heaven would have opened up to you.
"Did you do that? No, not you! You placed the blame on everyone else, on circumstance, on your followers, on anyone and everyone but you. Because you did this you severed yourself from forgiveness. There will be no forgiveness for you, not now."
"But, this is impossible. I did not make my defense arguments, you did! Why should I be held responsible for the words of Satan himself!"
Lucifer laughed. "You didn't stop me. If you had hesitated even for a moment, I would have stopped. That is the rule I am bound to: I cannot make an argument my client is not in complete agreement with."
"No ! This cannot be. I have devoted my life to public service."
"Yes, that is what many of your friends said who came before you. Cheney, Rumsfeld, Larry Craig, the entire Supreme Court, Newt Gingrich -- oh, the list is so long. Many of them blamed you for their sins. None of them thought to blame themselves, which is why they are in hell too. You lived the longest, and will be one of the last of your cohort to go in. By the way, I gave Cheney a chance to go back and warn you at the cost of one day of torture. He declined."
There was a knock at the door, and the door opened. Two demons entered carrying a large crate.
"This, my friend, is your slavemaster for the next 91,101 years. She is a spirit that died only a few months before you, but here in hell, time moves a bit differently. She has been tortured for 66.666 years, and is looking forward to returning the favor on a new recruit."
The demons tore open the crate, and a horrible beast leapt out. Her face was vaguely familiar. The beast had a long whip in her left hand, and every few inches the whip bore hooks and spurs intended to dig into flesh. The Slavemaster shrieked, and the sound bore into Bush's eardrums like spikes. She raised the whip over her head.
"Mr. Bush, meet Oprah. Oprah, this is Mr. Bush."
Indifferently, Lucifer turned his back on the pair and strode out of the room. The whip came down with a thunderous clap.