Free Ghost Shadows by Thomas M. Malafarina Page A

learning something new whether he wanted to or not, and each new lesson was more horrifying than the last.
    Winston kept the gruesome sconces in his peripheral vision as he slowly walked along the Path, among the howls of the countless damned, searching for the next open door; which he unfortunately saw up ahead. He understood the opening was meant for him and as such, was to be his next destination. Dutifully but reluctantly, Winston stepped through the doorway and was once again thrust into complete darkness to blindly face whatever fate awaited him inside. He heard the thick wooden door slam shut behind him as he had heard a thousand times before. Then he stood in the blackness of the room where he awaited his next torture.  
    Suddenly the room burst into light and Winston had to shield his eyes from the blinding brightness. After a few moments, when he became accustomed to the light, he looked around and was shocked to discover he was not in another stinking fetid cave filled with devices of inhuman anguish as he had anticipated, but was in a room; a real room like he recalled from life.
    He was standing in a brightly lit office very similar to what he recalled his own office looking like back before he died. In fact, it was his office, he was certain of it. Winston was no longer naked, but was dressed in a casual shirt, dress pants, and expensive shoes. The office was decorated exactly like his office had been and had his same large mahogany desk and comfortable leather manager’s chair positioned behind it. Winston turned to look at a certificate hanging on the wall. He was shocked to see it was his own college diploma.
    â€œYou are Mr. Winston Peter James, is that correct?” a voice said from his left. He turned to face the desk once more and saw that the chair was no longer empty, but was now occupied by a peculiar looking sort of man. The man was dressed in a business suit and sat up in a manner that appeared straight and proper, almost as if he were posturing and assuming what Winston supposed was the man’s interpretation of how a businessperson should appear.
    He was not however doing a very good job of looking the part he was trying to portray as his suit didn’t seem to fit him well and was somewhat rumpled and disheveled. He appeared to be about middle age, slightly built with a full head of thick brown hair, which was graying somewhat at the temples, giving him a slightly distinguished look despite the issues with his attire. He wore a pair of round wire-framed glasses, which sat askew upon a long thin nose. He had a pencil thin mustache and no other facial hair. His hands were folded and resting on the top of the desk, giving Winston the impression that the man was unsure what to do with them.  
    Besides the obvious incongruity of the office itself being recreated in its entirety in Hell and the presence of the odd looking character behind the desk, Winston noticed there was also something else that was very wrong. It was the man’s eyes. For starters, the skin around the eyes hung loosely and seemed to bag in places as if to suggest the flesh was not his own, but was some sort of skin mask worn to cover whatever countenance lie beneath it. Likewise, the man’s eyes were just as strange; they did not appear to be quite human but were more cat-like and seemed to stare out at Winston without blinking.
    Winston suddenly feared he might now understand what was going on. He dreadfully suspected this might be yet another new form of torture, one that would start in a place familiar to him, such as his old office, and then quickly morph into another session of agony. Cowed by his time in the countless torture chambers, Winston found himself unable to lift his head to look further at the creature. And the strange way that the creature’s flesh appeared as rumpled and ill-fitting as his suit truly disturbed Winston making him certain that at any moment the scene would change and he