Afterlife Hounds
Writing Prompt: A pair of hounds guide the deceased to the afterlife
They say when you die you'll either find yourself in front of pearly gates or surrounded by fire deep within the Earth. I wasn't a religious man, but the Christian Heaven and Hell is what came to mind when thinking of the afterlife. The fact that there even is an afterlife is mind reeling enough, I suppose, but I had still figured it'd be a place that would be familiar.
No, the afterlife is much more different than I thought it'd be.
Today, my group is in the middle of an expansive plain. The tall, dull colored wheat grass constantly flows around us, tricking the tired mind to think that we are in an ocean. The only points of reference we can use are the jutting rocks that dot the landscape, looking as if they were the fingernails of some dead giant clawing through the earth. There is no sun here, but strangely it is bright enough to see, although with the grey tint that seems to be laid on everything. The storm clouds have yet to clear, and I've began to think that maybe they never will. Lightning strikes in the distance now and then, but it never seems to catch the plains on fire. This place, while more relaxing than the other landscapes we've trudged through, feels barren and my sense of time is beginning to slip as we walk.
"Something's up," someone said nearby, and I look to the front of our group. We've stopped, and the break of the monotony brings some life back into ourselves.
"What is it? Why've we stopped?" a woman asks.
"They've must have smelled something. Probably bringing 'em in now."
The others and I are already scanning the grass, looking for the eyes that always watch us. The grass hides them too well, bringing an extra layer of unease on their presence. At least in the other landscapes we could see them semi-regularly, whether it was perched on a ridge or blocking an alternate path. But even when we could not see them, we always knew they were watching us, always guiding.
A scream echoes across the plains before fading beneath the rumbling of the storm.
"Here they come now."
Everyone turns to watch a man stumbling towards us, begging and shouting as he jerks about. But his bleeding arm remains firmly in the grass, and he cries while being dragged forward. I may be dead, but my heart quickens as it brings the man closer, and dread sets back in. There, between the swaying grasses the man parts with his erratic motions stands a hound.
I thought it had been just a regular dog my first time seeing it. We all had. But when you take a closer look at something with eyes that black and empty, well, it sends a chill through you. Never mind its gaunt-like body where it's skin appears to be too tightly wrapped around the bones, those eyes are the most unnerving thing I've ever experienced.
It lets go of the man's arm who immediately begins running away. He doesn't even cover ten yards before the dog grabs a hold of him again and forcibly brings him back. We watch the spectacle play out a few more times before the dog decides to simply keep its hold. The arm is in tatters now, dripping blood on the grey grass, and the man is begging for someone to kill him, to end his pain and torment. All we can do is turn our eyes away, because even if we were allowed to step out of line, we wouldn't be able to end his suffering. You don't die here. You don't sleep, you don't pass out. You stay awake, and you feel every moment no matter how tired you are. Thankfully you'll also heal in time, but no matter the damage, you'll still have to keep walking. The last person took two weeks of constant biting and dragging before she finally complied and joined us. Her scars are almost gone now.
A lonely howl reaches our ears, and we all straighten our backs at the command. Perched atop one of the jutting rocks is the second hound, just as unnatural looking as it’s companion. It's sickly looking form is exposed for all of us to see clearly, and some people began to weep again, yet still it stares at us with those black eyes. There is no malice or kindness behind them, just indifference, or rather, emptiness.
We slowly begin our march again, now with an extra member whose cries have turned to whimpers as he's dragged along with us, and the monotony of our trek sets in our minds once again. The dark clouds rumble across the fields, and we let ourselves be guided forward.
I have no idea where these hounds are leading us to, but if this is only the welcome for the afterlife, I hope we never reach our destination.