What a joke, Bill thought. I can’t believe I took this seriously. Maybe that Catholic priest really was right. Maybe I really did just have a hallucination from all my sleep deprivation. Certainly, there must be a medical explanation. He thought about getting checked out at a hospital. No, they’ll just put me in a psych ward or something.
He turned on the radio.
“…were found off of highway 80,” the voice was saying, “car totaled around a tree. All four students were declared dead at the scene. The medical examiner—”
Bill turned off the radio. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and gave a puff, letting out a sigh of relief from anxiety.
Yes, he decided. I was just seeing things. I haven’t slept in four days. I should go home and actually try to get some sleep.
When he arrived home, he didn’t bother getting into his pajamas. He hopped right into bed and closed his eyes… but could not sleep after three hours of trying.
He sniffed. What is that? he thought.
He sniffed against—a faint smell of feces.
He got up and walked into his bathroom. He looked into the toilet. No, I didn’t forget to flush. He stuck his head near the pipes of the toilet. Not the source of it either.
The smell suddenly got stronger. Did I crap myself? He pulled his pants down. Nope.
Then came that distinct smell of rotten eggs with the feces.
No, he thought, panicking. I was hallucinating! Do hallucinations from sleep deprivation include smell?
He panic-walked to his home office and typed into Google, “types of hallucinations from sleep deprivation.” Clicking on the first link and scrolling down to the hallucinations section, he read, “Patients with sleep deprivation experience symptoms such as: Visual disturbance (seeing the wrong colors, size, depth, or distance), illusions (trouble identifying common objects and sounds), hallucinations (simple and complex).” Nothing about smells.
He typed into Google, “simple vs. complex hallucinations.” Clicking on the first link again, he read, “Simple visual hallucinations may include flashes or geometric shapes. Complex visual hallucinations may show faces, animals, or scenes and may be called ‘visions.’” Again, nothing about smells.
That means it’s real, he realized, rolling his chair away from his desk.
Then he got an idea. He ran to his bathroom closet, grabbed a fresh can of Febreze, and sprayed it all over the house.
He waited a few seconds.
The smell is still in his nose.
He ran back to the bathroom, ripped off some pieces of toilet paper, and stuffed them into his nose.
It was futile. He could smell the demon’s stench as if there was nothing in his nose.
“No!” he yelled.
Oh, I know! he thought. I’ll have a smoke. That should take over the smell.
He felt in his breast pocket. His smokes weren’t there.
Where are they? he thought, panicking. Maybe they fell out of my pocket when I got into bed.
He looked on his bed. Not there.
“Where are they?”
He removed all the covers.
“WHERE ARE THEY!” he bellowed.
Did I leave them in the car?
He walked outside into the afternoon air (not even the spring flowers helped) and opened the door to his car. They weren’t there either.
“WHERE ARE THEY!” he yelled again.
He jumped into his car, turned on the engine, and drove to the nearest gas station, breaking all the speed limits.
Parking his car in two parking spots, he ran inside the gas station and yelled to the cashier, “Get me a pack of Marlboro and a lighter!”
The cashier gives him a strange look, and as he turns to get Bill’s preferred brand, it seems as if times has slowed.
When the man finally returns to the counter with the pack and lighter, Bill snatches them out of his hand, throws all the cash in his pocket on the counter, and yells, “Thanks!”
He runs into his car, slams the door, rips the plastic wrapping around the pack off, and fumbles getting the cigarette out of the box. He lights the cigarette, gives a puff, and gives a happy exhale with that sweet dopamine release.
He smokes three other cigarettes.
But the smell is still freshly there, as if it’s protruding from his own body like body odor.
“No, no, no, no, no, NO, NO!” he screams.
He begins smoking his fourth cigarette, and on his first puff he begins coughing.
Inhaling too fast, he thought. Slow down.
But the coughing gets worse, then it turns into choking. Suddenly, he realizes he’s choking on cigarette ash.
How? he wonders.
His mouth fills with more and more ash, pouring out his mouth onto the car seat.
Bill suffocates to death as it continues to fill his lungs and bowels.
§
Bill is falling through a wormhole, colors of blood red and yellow rushing all around him.
Am I alive? he thinks. No, I’m still dead.
The wormhole releases him into another dimension—pitch black all around, except down, where the whole bottom is a sea of fire and sulfur. Black, charred bodies writhing and swimming.
Bill can do nothing but fall as he splashes into the pit, burning for all eternity but never being consumed.
The Lutheran Column 