Grrrr the days punched right into the next like fist going through the wall. They were stuck. In no way to reverse. No new motivation to go forward and it dawned upon the cretin in a very elaborate disguise that he should get used to feel this way. His world cleared a little as studying occurred. He walked the floors of Lyle's home. Took pictures of the pictures that were mounted uponn the walls, on mantels, the desks. He figured out his spending habits with stray receipts and those added to a very elaborate collection of funkos. He thought this human was strange but strange would get him through.

Waking up once again on earth and in this realm without a way of going back home, it felt like home. He was in hell. The realm mistaken for the place that once beautiful Lucy oversaw. He had been on the search for his minions the moment he awoken but was sad to have one ugly cat near his side. This time not clawing at him or trying to destroy the bits of furniture laid out for him to do his duty on. He was there perched on the fridge looking down at him with eyes narrowed in judgment. If he had been God or reincarnated to fulfill a prophecy then by the image of a hairless cat, then so be it. With little flames dancing around its head like a fiery halo, stepping away was best. He felt there was truth to the pits being raised somewhere, but where had the earth split?

That day felt stranger than most. Wishing a hot Sunday morning to Phil that took his daily jogs and watching the distorted smile upon his face. Lyle was submissive to the spirit of Mephisto and hadn’t fully come to any terms but this realm had been different than he last thought. Everyone he encountered along the streets of Beacon Hill weren’t in full on agony as he hoped. As it were expected through the by ways and paths of Hell. He rubbed his hands seeing the skin rolling away. Peeling back like a bad sun burn trying to heel. In his palm wasn’t the pink flesh beneath the surface but it was rouge. Reddish in tint and giving way to be exposed.

Jumping into a body that had been fair in skin tone, sometimes with a hint of olive if he remained touched by the sun, his temptation to pull more was there. The torture of peeling away a thin thin layer of skin was going to drive him up the wall, finally dawned upon him that this was hell after all. If he quiet down the traffic of cars going by or chatter of passing by pedestrians, he could hear the screams of despair. The moans of pain. The groans of anguish. It was like a song that grew on the ears when in reality was horrible, thanks to payola and radio spins, no one could get enough of it.

The citizens on the block away from his house looked on with craziness in their eyes and he could have mistaken them for concern. Flickered lights of fire danced within their pupils and his smirk stretched the more he felt for the skin of his hand ease off like a glove. He dropped it, dead in his trail as he looked at the red hand. Fingers wiggled freely before his face. He marveled at the sigh. Cooed at the beauty of it and waved right along to the grandma who pushed her cart full of cans along faster than she moved in years. The dead skin that was left behind, crumbled and dissolved into thin air as if it never existed.

Hell enabled his metamorphosis and did an awful slow job at it as he moved free to walk the street. He saw the valley of death by crossing the street, looking around for his throne. Someone had to have kept it warm and when he found it, it was curtains for the intruder. This meant going back home, to Lyle's home and get fitted properly for a suit. Yes a suit to strut around the town in. To let this level of hell and it’s miserable occupants that Mephy was home.

He never needed a reason to pace on a stroll the way he came. With a snap of his fingers, and by a simple test, his mass was displaced. And arriving right in the bowels of his home. Just like that the magic was back. He jumped for joy. Literally jumping and pumping his arm before strumming on an imaginary guitar, hopping along the foyer of his home like Angus Young. The highway to hell was paved in cemented roads. Some laid in cobblestone. Within the home, instead the path was patched in wood flooring and speckled ceiling with the walls modernized without the botched surface of bumped rock with blisters of souls trying to fight its way out.

Something else had to be done about the peeling skin that his racing to the nearest mirror, propelled him to reveal one missing facet of landing back in the strangest yet familiar place to be. He tore at his cheek. Flicking off the stray decay. Pulling back without going into shock but there was nothing to be alarmed by. There was the handsome beet redness that filtered through as his reflection highlighted. Like a painted on mask, it ripped, cracked to rub off in revealing the best part of the day besides the muscled headache. Dead skin curled up and fell against the floor the longer he went at the strenuous task.

He felt no pain, only joy in what would be a unsettling display to a sane person. The pain was numbed down long enough to show off what would be the most handsome face reveled as Mephisto. He backed away slowly long enough to enlist a small narrow tunnel of thinking. To embark on a trip of accepting this turn of events for the week to be better than it had been in...eons. His age was in the multiple digits but skin felt fresh as a ripened tomato. Riverdancing across the floor, his end of all feeling like a wicked butterfly.