The Loser, the
Flapper and Rugila,
King of the Huns – Part Two
by Don Drewniak
Author
note: I awoke some months ago at 3:13 in the
morning from a dream, or so I thought, that was
detailed and vivid beyond any and all previous
dreams. Not wanting to let it fade into the
dustbin of history, I headed to my laptop and,
aided by three glasses of red wine, a first draft
titled The Loser and the Flapper was completed in
slightly less than two hours.
* * * * *
I was
disabused of the belief that The Loser and
the Flapper was based on a dream precisely
one week later when I was jolted from sleep at 3:13.
Standing just
beyond the edge of my bed was a shadowy male
figure with a light grey face and hair that was
dark grey. It was wearing a light grey robe, and
appeared to be around six feet in height with a
medium build.
“What you
believe to have been a dream about the one called
Mervin was not a dream, inferior mortal.”
Frozen with
fear, it seemed like an eternity before I was
able to mutter, “Who, no, what the hell are
you?”
“You have
the Hell part right, inferior mortal.”
“So, you
are a visitor from Hell. Is that your story?”
“You
doubt me?”
Wham! The S.O.B.
hit me with a miniature bolt of lightning.
After my
scrambled egg of a brain once again began to
function, I told the ugly S.O.B. that I was a
convert and asked if he wanted a glass of Merlot.
“No,
unlike you inferior mortals, I have no need for
your food or drink.”
“How
about sex?”
“Yesterday,
your time, with Catherine the Great as you
mortals call her.”
“Catherine
the Grear! How was she?”
“You may
find out in the very near future.”
Hmm, maybe
Hell is the place to go.
I figured it
was time to get down to brass tacks. “Who
were you before you kicked the bucket?”
“I am
Rugila, King of the Huns and Ruler of the Eastern
Huns in the fifth century A.D. My women all
called me Rugila the Big. Only Wilt Chamberlin
has been with more women than me.”
“Wilt the
Stilt is in Hell?”
“No, last
I heard he was playing basketball on Gliese832c.”
“Gliese832c
has life on it?”
“Spirit
life, but enough about Chamberlin. Move on.”
“I
thought Attila was the big cheese back in the
time of the Huns.”
Wham! I was
hit with a second bolt. This one knocked me flat
and left my brain jumbled for several minutes.
When I once
again regained use the ability to think, Rugila
continued. “Attila was my nephew and the
only way he became King of the Huns was after I
was hit by a thunderbolt.”
“How did
that happen?”
“That
bastard Roman Emperor Theodosius II made a deal
with some two-bit god who then got me with the
thunderbolt.”
“Whoa,
you were one bad dude if a god wiped you out.
“No worse
than your politicians.”
“Can’t
argue that. Bet Hell is crawling with them.”
“Countless
thousands from countries all over Earth.”
“I guess
I shouldn’t be surprised. Say, if you are
Rugila, King of the Huns, how is it that you
speak English so well?
“Playing
poker with four ex-presidents of the United
States.”
“There
are four U.S. presidents in Hell?”
“Thirty-seven.”
“Whoa! Is
it hot in Hell with fires all over it?”
“A
perfect 20.5 Celsius at level six which is my
level, but it gets hotter the lower you go. If
you are at the bottom, level one, it is 99.2
Celsius with nothing but flames everywhere you
look.”
“Where is
Hell?”
“In
another dimension with a different frequency from
that of Earth.”
“Doesn’t
sound half bad.”
“Depends
on how badly you behaved on Earth. The badder you
were, the higher up on the ladder of Hell you go.
The higher the better.”
“That
makes no sense.”
“See if
your inferior mortal mind can grasp this concept,
Hell is the place for those who were badasses
during their stay on Earth. The badder the better.
Who do you think occupies level seven, the
highest and best one?”
“The
Devil.”
“Bingo,
but he prefers to be called Satan. He has always
been the most evil of the evil. So, who do you
think he wants nearest to him?”
“Those
who were almost as evil as him.”
“Right
you are.”
“Let me
see if I understand this. You are from level six
with a bunch of badasses. So there must be those
who were even more evil than you in level seven
with Satan.
“No,
Satan invites residents of level six for short
visits and they are mostly women. When he has
tasks he wants done on Earth, he uses those of us
who live in level six.”
“Do you
do this sort of thing often?”
“About
once every Earth decade.”
“So those
at level one who may have just missed passing
through the Pearly Gates are doomed to fry in the
fires of Hell.”
“For
eternity, inferior mortal. The more evil one was
as an Earthling, the higher up one goes.”
“What do
you want from me?”
“Satan
has sent me to find the one you call Mervin.”
“But that
was only a dream. Mervin is not a real person.”
“Wrong
again! Dreams of humans occur when there is a
frequency change and they briefly interact with
an alternate universe. There are an infinite
number of universes and, therefore, an inifinite
number of possibilities.”
“Even if
that is so,,,”
“It is.”
“How am I
supposed to know where Mervin is?'
“Your
task is a simple one. Should you have another
dream about Mervin that reveals his current
wherabouts, you will call my hotline.”
With this,
Rugila broke into laughter. “Hotline, get it?”
“Pretty
good,”
“BS, it
was damn good.”
“What if
I decide not to call?”
“When you
pass from this life, you will go to level one for
eternity,”
“What?
Suppose I don't have another Mervin dream?”
“Tough
luck. Based on your life thus far, it's level one.”
“This is
insane.”
“Your
planet is a spinning insane asylum.”
“True,
but hey, haven't I done enough bad stuff to merit
a higher level?”
“No.
urinating on Plymouth Rock with a few idiotic
teenage friends when you were all drunk doesn't
cut it.”
“Hey, I've
done hundreds of things worse than that.”
“Such as?”
“How
about when I cheated on my girlfriend when I was
a freshman in college?”
“Run of
the mill stuff.”
“Then...”
“Zip it.
If you were a petty thief or something along that
line, you would slide into level two. However,
find Mervin and you will be guaranteed a level
six slot upon passing.”
“I can't
win. I'd be stuck with a bunch of thugs.”
“Not so.
There are rules of behavior. All who mess up
disappear.”
“Where do
they go?”
“Only
Satan knows, but rumor has it they go to level
one and are put in solitary confinement for
eternity.”
“Why in
the world does Satan want to know where Mervin is?”
“No idea.”
“I am
probably going to have nightmares about Mervin
every time I sleep.”
“Contact
my hotline, one of those may be your ticket to
level six. My secretary from level four will
respond.”
“Unbelievable!
You killed and wounded hundreds, maybe thousands,
of people here on Earth and you are rewarded with
an afterlife of luxury. I do nothing much worse
than piss on a rock and I suffer for eternity.”
“Sorry,
inferior mortal, but that's the way it is.”
“Suppose
I do have another dream about Mervin, do I use my
cellphone?”
That evoked a
sarcastic laugh from Rugila, “No, inferior
mortal.”
He then
proceeded to give me an alphanumeric code.
“Commit
this to memory. To make contact just concentrate
on the code. Do not share it with anyone.”
“What
happens if I do and they make contact?”
“They
will die immediately.”
“Wouldn't
that be seen as murder by me?”
“Now you
are thinking.”
“Level 6?”
A smile
flashed across Rugila's face as he faded from
view.
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