My head is throbbing. Pulsing waves of pain shoot out through the nerves that trail along my skull and down my spine. Forcing my tired eyes to open, I see nothing but a large white light casting down over me like a ray of sunshine. I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking out the painfully bright beams.

"Is she waking up?" I barely hear a voice say. My senses are so messed up that I can't tell if the voice is real or just coming from my mind. I try opening my eyes again, but the light is still there and it hurts so bad.

"I think so," another voice says. "Turn the overhead light off. It's way too bright." The piercing light vanishes. I try opening my eyes again, and this time it doesn't feel like I'm staring into the sun.

The ceiling above me is dark and gloomy. As my eyes begin to adjust, I see lots of red. The walls are red with hints of black and gray along the edges. The floors are a red carpet. Decorations scattered along the red walls have been painted a brighter shade of red, from picture frames to mini skulls to frightening and oddly unnerving paintings of forests. The overhead lamp appears to be shimmering silver, but it doesn't throw off the dreary, unwelcoming vibes of the room.

Suddenly, as if she hadn't been there two seconds ago, I see a bright figure standing beside my bed. Wait, there are two figures. I look at the first one. A girl. She only has one eye, which is colored an ugly shade of dark yellow, like an overripe lemon. The pale pink skin on her face is surrounded by a puff of vibrant pink hair with a strand of brighter (and prettier) yellow. She reminds me of a poisoned glass of pink lemonade. My gaze floats to the second figure, who looks much more human-like. With long, platinum blond hair, icy skin, and dark eyes covered with layers of eyeliner, she actually looks kind of friendly.

And then she grins at me.

I scream.

The grin is wiped from the blond girl's face and is replaced with shock as she looks up at the one-eyed girl. I cease my screaming and sit up, only to throw my legs over the side of the bed and make a daring dash for the door to my right, but there are two doors and I don't know which one will lead somewhere better. I swivel to my right and yank on the door handle. A wounded-dog-like whimper squeezes out of my throat when I feel the stiff handle remain in place as I hopelessly shake it.

"What are you doing? Hey, it's okay, you don't have to be scared," the blond girl says from behind me. I turn to face her. She must see the fear in my eyes because her expression suddenly becomes 1000 times friendlier. I feel my knees giving way beneath me and slide down to the floor, my back pressed up against the door as if it might open any moment and I will fall out flat on my ass. She looks down at me pitifully.

A light from a lamp in the upper corner of the room illuminates the blond girl's dark brown eyes. I stare up at her and say, with an embarrassing crack in my voice, "Have I gone insane?"

She only laughs, but it is a quiet laugh. Almost like a whisper. "Down here? We all have."

I wonder what she means by down here. "Where am I?" I ask. The last thing I remember is being trapped in my car, strapped tight to the driver's seat like a criminal to an interrogation chair, and then falling off of a cliff to my doom. How did I make it from there... to here?

"You're in Hell, duh!" the one-eyed lemonade girl says with an over-eccentric grin. I frown, a surge of horror pounding through my body. Butterflies like I have never felt before claw anxiously in my gut, but they are trapped and cannot get out of me. Her words ring through my ears. You're in Hell, duh!

I was certain I would make it to Heaven.

Looking down at my feet-which are still tied into the battered white converse I was wearing when I died-I feel tears springing to my eyes. I notice that my hands are shaking very intensely and clench them into little fists to make them stop. When I open my hands again, there are red nail marks pushed into my palms.

"What?" I breathe in disbelief, staring at the scary blonde girl, then the one-eyed freak.

Neither of them says anything for a long moment. They trade thoughtful glances with each other, then the blond girl clears her throat. She looks at me and says as gently as possible, "My name is Charlie, and I am the princess of Hell and head manager of the Happy Hotel, the building you are in right now. I am working to make Hell a better place and keep my people's souls safe!" She spreads her arms out wide, gesturing at the red-soaked walls around us. "This is my friend, Niffty. She's very sweet, trust me."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Niffty chirps. "What did you say you say your name was?"

"I didn't," I say after a short pause.

"Oh."

I hesitate again, taking a second to look Charlie over. She's very skinny, dressed in a flattering white button up top with suspenders and a black bow tie. Silky, platinum blond hair falls straight down past her shoulders and stops around her waist. Her deep heels lift her height by at least three inches. On the other hand, Niffty is wearing a white and pink summer dress with what looks like splatters of paint running down the side. All pink and yellow, of course. Charlie said she was sweet, yet I can tell that she has an awful dark side.

"Danielle," I say. My confidence is beginning to shine through. If I am in Hell, and these two people don't want to hurt me, then I should make the most of it. I heard this place can be quite a disaster, to say the least.

Charlie smiles. "Well, why don't you follow me? I'll give you a little tour of the hotel." She then shoots Niffty a look, who swivels away and struts out of the left door. I still don't know what is behind that door, and I don't think I will any time soon. Charlie gives me a hand, helps me up, and then walks out of the right door, waving for me to follow behind. I close my eyes. Pinch my arm and pray that it is just a dream. But nothing happens. I open my eyes. My surroundings are the same, but Charlie is a few steps further now. My heart is still pounding, and the angry, trapped butterflies in my stomach have not stopped fighting. They want to get out of this place just as much as I do.

ᯬ

"This is the lobby, where we welcome our guests for their stay," Charlie begins as we walk into a large room, decorated with red carpets and red walls and dark wooden desks and fuzzy black chairs. A bright pink chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, and I have a fleeting feeling that it will fall. "You just came from the medical room. Over there we have our restaurant, which people usually come to for brunch, or to throw things at Husk, the bartender. We have the main desk over there, and as you can see, plenty of chairs around here-"

"Charlie?"

"Yes?"

I blink a few times. Look down at my feet, then back up. "How did I end up in your medical room? All I remember is, well, crashing my car off of the side of a cliff to my death," I say, hearing the lightness laced in my voice. It is acting as a cover for the deep fear that really hides behind my tone.

Charlie looks me straight in the eyes. "Alastor found you in the woods when he was out for lunch. He told me you were just lying there, dead, almost. But you smelled alive, so he took you back to the hotel. That's when Niffty and I took you to the medical wing to see if we could wake you up. At first, you didn't look like a demon to me, but now I think you might be."

I pause. I feel my lip shake slightly and bite it hard. "What?" I snap.

Charlie frowns, looking clueless. "I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong?"

I ignore her question and look around frantically for a chair, couch, or anything I can set myself on. I need to sit. Overwhelmed, I run over to one of the lobby's long, red leather couches and sit down. My head falls in to the palms of my hands, and as my eyes close, I realize just how exhausted I am.

"Listen, Danielle. I know that the transition from Earth to Hell is a very difficult one. There are a lot of changes in the space around you and you start to feel out of place and alone. Really, I know exactly how you feel." Charlie decides to sit beside me. The couch beneath me shifts with the welcoming of her weight, which isn't much. My eyesight is blurry with tears, but I can see my shaking hands sitting on my lap, fiddling around nervously. This is messed up, way too messed up. "And I am here to help you."

I do not look at her, I know that the pity is in her eyes again. I rub small circles into my forehead and stare at the recently vacuumed carpet. "Okay," I say. Get it together, Danielle. You're fine. "Alright. So, what, are you, like, a demon? Help me out here," I ask, finally looking back up to meet her gaze. I was right, the pity is there.

"Yes."

"Am I?" My voice is a wind, scared to come out of the facade of clouds that it is hiding behind. I don't want her to answer, not even in the deepest part of my curious mind. But she will answer, and I will have to deal with it.

She sighs again. "Yes."

"Yes?"

Charlie begins to explain the process of becoming a demon and how I became one, but I barely hear her. My head feels like it's stuck underwater, the sounds of pressure swirling through my ears. My thoughts are muddled together; I can't process anything.

"Well, when you die, the time comes to decide whether you go to Heaven or Hell. If Satan chooses to keep you, then you become a demon. If you die as a demon, then you become a spirit. For example, if I were to give you a fatal stab to the chest right now, and you died, then you would become a spirit. A spirit lives in the same Hell as us demons, but they float around like ghosts and can go back to Earth whenever they would like. Demons are stuck down in Hell because they keep a physical body with them. The cuts along your arm are cuts you got around the time of your death, but they have not finished healing yet, so they're still there. The terrible bruise on your head shows that you most likely died by hitting your head too hard, cracking your skull and probably puncturing your brain," she explains, her dark eyebrows creasing together on her forehead. "Sorry, I'm getting sidetracked. Being a demon isn't all that bad. Most demons go crazy, sitting in Hell for all of eternity, but it's basically just like being a human. But in another world.

I look at the cuts running down my arm. Sure enough, they're there. Foot long, bloody slices. I start to feel the pressure in my head growing stronger and force myself to look away. "Okay," I whisper. "Okay. Ha. A demon. In Hell. How unusual. Heh. Unusual. Ya. Pre-tty unusual."

I hear laughing. My chest is shaking. Am I crying? No, wait, I'm the one laughing. "I'm a fucking demon," I whisper-shout, staring at the girl sitting beside me. I'm sure I appear crazy, because, quite frankly, I feel crazy, but she doesn't seem the least bit fazed by it. In fact, she smiles back at me, a wide, toothy, gorgeous smile. I'm smiling too. I'm laughing, and the tears that were waiting patiently in my eyes for this moment begin to flow.