The Secretary of Styx office is where deceased souls go to register their places in Purgatory and the Hotel. No one knows why the souls’ files don’t just update their status upon entering the Hotel, or why the process of registering takes so long, or why the office seems to be the only area of the Hotel that isn’t infinite, or why there only seems to be Hell after death. Death himself doesn’t even know. I don’t even know.
Every day, at all times, a dejected line of souls snakes from one end of the office to the other and back again, with no discernable beginning or end. Each soul clutches a ticket representing a place in the line. At the front of the room are eight service windows for each civil worker. However, due to the understaffing, six of the eight windows display red “CLOSED” signs. Only Hal and his coworker could make it today. Plastered above each window is a screen that announces which client can be helped next. At the back of the room, beside the door, Juno and Madame Muffinpie sulk on egg-shaped seats.
Madame Muffinpie scoots and scans the wall behind her. She spots a bulletin board with two fliers. One reads “HAVE YOU SEEN THESE SOULS?” It showcases three blurry figures wearing pink uniforms. The other flier reads, “HELP WANTED.” Below the words are phone number tear-offs, none of which are torn off. The cat considers taking one but stops as she notices a ginormous, golden-framed poster of a kitten hanging from a tree. Under the kitten, the poster reads, “HANG IN THERE.” The creature hangs in the worst way you can possibly imagine. Madame Muffinpie cries a little bit at the sight. She shifts back into her chair and mimics Juno’s slumping. Both of them stare ahead at the sea of fellow alien souls, all of whom are just as confused.
The monitor above Hal’s window blinks rapidly, displaying a new ticket number. As it does, the cyclops groans, inhales as much as he can, and screams, “Now assisting ‘H.S.-five ZETA, one-hundred sixty-nine billion, four-hundred twenty-eight million, three-hundred seventy-three thousand, five-hundred two of alternative M.W. within Holocene Epoch of geological time, version six-million, three-hundred seventy-thousand, nine-hundred thirty-one, point twenty-two seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven-B!’”
Juno and Madame Muffinpie jolt up from their shared trance. Madame Muffinpie gapes at Juno as he shuffles through his pocket, grabbing a thin ticket the length of a toilet paper roll.
Juno blinks. “Huh. I guess that’s me.” Getting up from his chair, he scans across the sea of souls for Hal’s window, putting a hand above his eyes as if it helps gauge the distance.
Madame Muffinpie continues staring at Juno until she loses him to the crowd. She considers praying for him but stops as she remembers their situation. She glances back at the poster, then to the crowd again, and she screams.
Meanwhile, Juno inches through the crowd, disregarding the rules of a line, but saying sorry anyway. The souls surrounding him come in literally every shape, size, and species imaginable. On his journey, Juno notices a walking bowl of cereal, but instead of carrying cereal, it carries a multitude of eyeballs. Juno also sees reverse-Medusa: a snake with human women for hair. He even, as he swears to God (but wondering if that is still a possibility), sees Mothman. Juno continues the odyssey, but he tries to focus his gaze exclusively on Hal’s window and the floor. As he does, the surrounding, miscellaneous voices flood his ears:
“Sometimes, I like my food spicy, so I add a bit of lettuce.”
“Pimento grilled cheese paper clips for sale! Buy 3,436,785.93 and get one 30% off!!”
“They had the same eyes, once upon a waterfall.”
“Life is the slowest, most excruciating death. And yet, I’m sad mine’s gone.”
“I like feet.”
Juno is still screaming as he finally falls before Hal’s window.
Hal is unfazed. “Hi, sir. I’m Hal, your Styx Assistant™. Here to stick by you ‘til the very end. Which is now. Because you are dead.”
The cyclops glances to the window left of him to see his female coworker, who has the ears of a lop-rabbit, the face of a Maltese, the build of a classic operatic soprano, and the eyes of someone who has forgotten how to blink. This is Molly. She is the maid manager, and that is all she has. Hal sighs and mutters to Molly.
“Molly, do you think—”
“Would you like a break? I could finish your work for you. Could I get you a snack? Tea, perhaps? You can’t digest it but pretending tends to feel good, that is, if you’re hungry for something else, something a physical vessel could never truly—”
“Please take a vacation.”
Hal returns to Juno, who hobbles forward. The man’s bent knees shake.
The cyclops sighs. “Are you here to cross, sir?”
“Yes? Yes, I think. I think?”
“Clearly, you don’t.”
“Huh?”
“Paperwork, please.”
“Paperwork?”
Hal furrows his unibrow. “You know, what you filled out prior to your death?”
“My suicide note?”
“Huh? Oh, god, no, okay, clearly you didn’t do it.”
Juno gawks at Hal, who groans and opens a drawer to grab a packet. It is as thick as Juno’s stomach. Hal then shoves the papers to Juno. The top paper reads, “AFTERLIFE ADMISSION AND OTHER OTHERSIDE PREREQUISITES.”
The cyclops drones on. “Read through this, fill it out, and come back. Or don’t. It’s fine if you never come back.”
Juno flips through the packet as he mopes away. He immediately returns.
Hal grits his tusks. “Aaaand you’re back. There’s a line, sir.”
“Yeah, I know, but, really quick, I just want to clarify something. I have to pay a fee?”
“Do you think you’re above multidimensional capitalism or something?”
“Um, no, no, it’s just. I have to pay to die?”
“Well, sir, you should’ve thought twice about killing yourself.”
“I did! I didn’t even kill myself! I— I...” Juno recalls his death.
Juno flopped on his face, leaving him in an awkward butt-up position.
After a minute of listening to the river hum and Cheron honk the Hearse, Oto pulled up his Scythe. “...We just finished.”
Cheron kicked open the passenger door and hopped onto the grass. “What do you mean? What were you— Uh...” She stared at the body. “...Huh.”
Like incense, Juno’s milky soul rose from beneath the carcass’ face. The vapor formed hands, which patted at itself. The patting turned into grasping and clenching as the chubby torso and legs formed. Finally came the orange eyes, which flashed as the apparition stabilized and, as it did, the eyes fell upon the corpse. Soon after, Juno, the ghost, fell over the body, but his white knees and hands phased through it. In wretched silence, he turned to Cheron and Oto, shaking his head violently. The duo slowly nodded in return. The silence persisted until, unblinking, the ghost uttered a quiet, quivering noise that resembled a fork grating against a plate. After shifting his eyes to Cheron, who shrugged, Oto stepped toward Juno.
“Hey, buddy...”
“I died from tripping over a branch?!”
Cheron glanced at the body. “Actually, it looks more like a twig...”
“Why do I have to know this?! Why am I still conscious?!”
Oto tucked his hair behind his ear. “Because we still have to drive you to the nearest liminal portal, then you have to register at the Secretary of Styx office, then our Boss has to evaluate your Narrative Worth… It's a whole process, really.” He watched as Juno assumed the fetal position. “Is it okay if I make a pun?”
Juno held his legs closer. “Kill me.”
Returning his attention to the present, Juno closes his eyes and takes his time to open them again. “Look. I can’t pay the fee.”
Hal is not having it. “Why. Sir.”
Juno points to the price on the packet. It reads, “One (1). You know, like, just, One.” The text is accompanied by a small dog, the mouth of which curves to be two butt cheeks. “What the— I don’t even know what this currency is!”
“Just give me your money so I can convert it! We have technology here!”
Juno flips out his pockets to nothing but lint and forgotten chocolate, ruined by the washing machine. “...I don’t have my wallet.”
“You don’t have your wallet?! You’re supposed to bring that everywhere you go!”
“I was supposed to stop existing! I shouldn’t have to deal with this anymore!”
“You think I’m not disappointed with my short end of the Scythe?! I shouldn’t have to deal with—” A revelatory bell rings in Hal’s head. “…I have a job offer for you.”
ns 18.68.41.177da2
