She had always done her best to be a good person—kind, considerate, and full of empathy. She believed in seeing the good in people, no matter how small. So, when her time came, she expected to find herself before the golden gates of Heaven, bathed in warm, celestial light. Instead, she opened her eyes to find herself staring at tall, foreboding gates made of dark, twisted iron.

The iron gates loomed over her, their metal vines twisted into wicked shapes, almost alive. A heavy mist clung to the ground, glowing with an unsettling, purplish light. She hugged herself, shivering from a cold that seeped into her bones. "Um… hello?" she called softly, her voice trembling. "Is anyone there?"

The gates groaned, slowly swinging open. She hesitated, taking a step inside. “Maybe this is some sort of… waiting room?” she thought, trying to hold onto her optimism. But as she ventured further in, her hopeful smile faltered.

The room was vast and dark, with walls painted black and seeming to stretch infinitely in every direction. The darkness swallowed the air, making it hard to breathe. There was no natural light, just a single source from the back wall—a massive painting that spanned from floor to ceiling.

She squinted, adjusting to the dim light emanating from the painting. It was a portrait of Satan, unlike anything she had ever imagined. The figure was gaunt, with hollow eyes that seemed to follow her every move. His skin was sickly and pale, his limbs long and thin like gnarled branches. No horns, no flaming red skin—just a man with greasy hair and a crooked, knowing smile. The painting glowed with an eerie light, casting twisting shadows across the floor. The light flickered unnaturally, giving the room an eerie vibe.

In the middle of the room was a small, rickety desk, comically out of place against the darkness. Behind it stood a man she instantly recognized—Adolf Hitler. Her heart jumped, her hands flying to her mouth in shock. “W-Wait! This… this has to be a mistake!” she stammered, her voice shaky.

Hitler, in a shabby uniform, looked up with a scowl. His small mustache twitched as he shuffled papers on the desk. The chair behind him was broken, a leg snapped off. The room smelled strange—burnt orange peels, pine, sulfur, and something acrid that stung her throat. Somewhere nearby, an old radio played a loud, distorted version of “This Is the Song That Never Ends,” looping endlessly. She noticed faint screams at different points in the song and wished it would just end.

Hitler’s eyes narrowed, his voice sounding garbled, bubbling, like underwater speech. Yet somehow, she understood him. “There has been a mixup,” he said, tracing his fingers down a massive tome on the desk. The book was ancient, its pages yellowed and cracked, the cover glowing with a light of its own.

“A mixup?” she echoed, tilting her head in confusion. “This… isn’t Heaven, is it? I think I get that much. But what do you mean, a mixup? What happens now?”

Hitler sighed, irritated. “You ask a lot of questions,” he muttered. “You. Shouldn’t. Be. Here. But, here you are.” His lips curled into a reluctant smile, making her stomach twist.

“They’re sorting out the details upstairs,” he continued. “But for now, you’re free to look around. Don’t worry—we won’t chop off your body parts, stick you with spikes, douse you with acid, or shove you into the giant microwave…” He continued listing tortures for what felt like an eternity. Her eyes widened, and she hummed softly with the radio, trying to stay calm as he droned on.

Finally, he paused, noticing her dazed expression. “But you,” he said with a wry grin, “are just an observer. The fun is reserved for the residents.”

“Fun?” she repeated, blinking in confusion. “Do you ever… participate in the fun?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

His face twisted into a sneer. “No,” he spat. “I’m a resident, but as Satan’s secretary—his right hand—I have no time for frivolity.”

She bit her lip to hide her incredulity. “I see… so, what should I do now?”

“Go through that door,” he said flatly, pointing to what she had thought was a wall. Now she realized it was a massive door, blending into the darkness. She blinked, wondering how she hadn’t noticed it before. “Have a look around,” he added. “They will come for you soon.”

She approached the door, feeling a mix of fear and excitement. It towered over her like a mountain. She pushed, and at first, it felt immovable. Then, with loud creaks and groans, it swung open, as if weightless. She stepped through and gasped at the sight.

At least two dozen people were tied with ropes to massive iron hooks on the door, straining to pull it open. Their faces were contorted in pain, breaths ragged. Among them, she saw a familiar figure in a glittering jumpsuit—Elvis Presley. He turned, gave her a tired smile, and collapsed on the reddish rock and mud covered ground as if performing one final act.

“Oh… oh my goodness!” she whispered, her hands to her chest. “This really is Hell.”

She moved further into the space, her steps light but her heart heavy with realization. As she wandered, she saw more bizarre, theatrical scenes of torment.

To her right, a line of souls trudged along a path, signs around their necks reading “Glutton,” “Greed,” “Pride.” They marched toward a giant pit belching fire and smoke, some with faint smiles, oddly satisfied with their fate.

To her left, she saw a massive cauldron filled with bubbling tar. Above it, people hung by their ankles, slowly lowered into the boiling blackness. Their screams filled the air, yet some showed twisted enjoyment, as if daring the heat to consume them.

In the middle of it all, she spotted a familiar face—Albert Einstein, wearing a clown suit, juggling flaming skulls for a crowd of demons. His expression was a mix of terror and amusement, his eyes wide behind his glasses, finding his absurd situation strangely funny.

She continued walking, her heart pounding. How long had she been here? Hours? Days? Was she… enjoying this? A reluctant smile crept onto her lips.

Then, in a flash, everything changed.

She suddenly found herself before another set of gates—pearly white, gleaming against an endless blue sky. She realized she was floating in mid-air, completely naked, her hair drifting around her face without wind.

The gates swung open, revealing a serene figure with a motherly smile. An angel stood there in a simple robe, radiating light, her eyes kind.

“Welcome, dear,” the angel said softly, her voice a calming lullaby. “There was a mixup, but you belong here.”

The woman blinked, still processing. “A… mixup?”

The angel nodded. “Yes, but it’s sorted now. You’re where you’re supposed to be.”

The woman hesitated, curiosity crossing her face. “Um… can I ask a question?”

The angel chuckled. “Of course. Ask away.”

With a small, almost mischievous grin, the woman asked, “What would I have to do… to get back down there?”

The angel’s eyes widened, then she smiled knowingly. “Not something we hear often,” she replied gently. “You would push the red button. But I must warn you, once you go, it’s permanent—no coming back. Eternity is a long time. I strongly insist, as a result, that you embrace what you have earned. Just push the blue button when you get into the elevator.”

The woman nodded, eyes sparkling. “I understand. Thank you.” She turned toward an elevator that hadn’t been there before, stepped inside, and saw two buttons—one blue, one red. Without hesitation, she pushed a button. As the doors closed, familiar, scratchy music began playing—loud, distorted… “This Is the Song That Never Ends.”