She had always been a good person. The kind who never jaywalked, gave generously at every opportunity, and wouldn’t dare take a single grape at the supermarket. She was also the type to see the good in people, even when said good required a microscope to see it.

So, naturally, when her time came, Sadia had certain expectations. With her religious upbringing, she totally expected to find herself face to face with the golden gates, bathed in a blinding celestial light, and greeted by a choir of angels singing "Amazing Grace." Instead, when she opened her eyes again after her death, she found herself staring at tall, foreboding gates made of dark, twisted iron.

The creepy gates loomed large in her view. Their rusted metal twisted into shapes that seemed almost alive, writhing like serpents. All around her a heavy mist with an unsettling purple hue clung to the ground. She hugged herself, shivering from a cold that seemed to seep into her very bones. "Um… hello?" she called softly, her voice trembling. "Is anyone there?"

The gates creaked open, and she hesitated, stepping cautiously inside. “Maybe this is some sort of… waiting room?” she thought, clutching onto her own optimism like a lifeline. But as she ventured further, her hopeful smile faltered.

The cavernous chamber was dark, painted in a black so deep it seemed to swallow the air. An unnatural light, the only source in the room, came from a massive painting that spanned the back wall—a portrait of someone or something she thought she knew. But this wasn’t the cartoonish devil she had imagined. No horns, no flaming red skin—just a gaunt figure with hollow eyes that seemed to follow her every move. Its skin was sickly and pale. Its long limbs thin like gnarled branches. The creature in the frame wore a crooked, knowing smile, like it had just heard the punchline to a joke only it understood.

Sadia slowly stepped forward. At the center of the space, a small wooden elementary school desk greeted her, ridiculously out of place against the eerie backdrop. Standing behind it she now saw was a man. One she instantly recognized—not from any dream or movie, but from every history class and documentary on World War II. Her heart leapt into her throat. “W-Wait! This… this has to be a mistake!” she stammered.

Adolf Hitler, wearing a disheveled uniform, looked up with a scowl, as if her arrival was just another bureaucratic inconvenience. His mustache twitched as he shuffled through papers with all the enthusiasm of a DMV employee on a Monday. The too tiny to be useful chair behind him, one leg shorter than the others, sat unused behind him.

Taking a breath, perhaps the first since entering this nightmare, slapped her with a bizarre odor. A mix of burnt orange peels, pine, and something acrid that made her throat sting. An old radio somewhere played “This Is the Song That Never Ends” on a loop, distorted and maddening. She could swear she heard faint screams punctuating the melody.

Continuing this theme of WTF, she noticed Hitler’s voice sounded garbled, bubbling as if submerged underwater, yet somehow she understood him perfectly. “There has been a mix-up,” he grumbled, tracing his fingers down a massive, ancient tome on the desk. The book’s pages were yellowed and cracked, the cover pulsing with a faint glow of its own.

“A mix-up?” she echoed, her eyebrows knitting together. “This isn’t…”, Sadia pointed up at the ceiling, moving her arm up and down to drive the point.

“No, genius,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here. Yet, here you are.” He gave a reluctant grin that made her stomach twist.

“They’re sorting it out,” he rolled his eyes. “But for now, you’re free to look around. Don’t worry. We won’t chop off your body parts, stick you with spikes, or shove you into the giant microwave…” Hitler went on, demonstrating each torture with his hands as he did so as casually as someone reading off a menu. She felt faint, humming along with the radio just to keep herself grounded.

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

Sadia collected herself before speaking. “Fun?” she repeated, blinking. Curious, she added, “Do you ever… participate?”

He sneered. “No,” he spat. “I’m the secretary. I don’t have time for frivolity.”

Sadia bit her lip trying not to laugh. “I see…“ A few awkward moments passed before she continued. “So, what do I do now?”

He pointed to what she had thought was a wall to their right. She could see now it was a massive door, perfectly camouflaged in the darkness. “Go through there,” he said flatly. “Have a look around. They will come for you soon.” He scrunched his face as he said these last words.

She pushed against the door. At first, it felt like moving a mountain. But seconds later it swung open with surprising ease. She then saw why.

Behind the door at least two dozen people were gathered, straining to pull it open, each tied with thick ropes to massive iron hooks on the wooden opening. Their faces were contorted in pain, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Among them, she noticed a familiar figure in a giant purple costume—a man dressed as Barney the Dinosaur. He turned, gave her a tired wave, and collapsed onto the ground like a deflated parade balloon.

“Oh… oh my goodness!” she whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth. “This really is Hell.”

As she wandered further, she began to see the strange appeal of the place. To her right, a group of sinners was on a perpetual rollercoaster, endlessly looping through a series of corkscrews and drops, their screams a mix of terror and exhilaration. A sign read, "Eternal Thrills: No Exit."

To her left, a giant stage had been set up, and in the middle stood George Washington, dressed in his old colonial garb but breakdancing furiously to a techno remix of “Yankee Doodle.” Around him, demons cheered and threw neon glow sticks, clearly having a great time.

Everywhere she looked, there was chaos, and yet… it was kind of fun. A crowd had gathered around a pool filled with what appeared to be Jell-O, where people were wrestling, laughing hysterically as they slipped and slid in the gelatinous mess.

She spotted a man dressed like a medieval knight jousting against a demon armed with a pool noodle, and she couldn’t help but giggle. This was Hell, but it wasn’t the Hell she had been taught to fear. It was like some absurd, eternal carnival of the damned.

A thought struck her: she had spent her whole life being good, always following the rules, always playing it safe. And here, here was a place where rules seemed to dissolve, where chaos reigned, where mischief was the order of the day.

How long had she been here? Hours? Days? She realized she was smiling. A genuine, wide grin.

Then, with a sudden lurch, everything changed.

She found herself standing before another set of gates—pearly white, gleaming against a bright blue sky. She realized she was floating, completely naked but it did not matter somehow, with her hair drifting around her face. The gates swung open while a melodic chorus of choir voices sung softly, revealing an angel in a simple robe, smiling warmly.

“Welcome, dear,” the angel said, her voice like a lullaby. “There was an unfortunate mix-up, but it’s all sorted now. You’re where you’re supposed to be now.”

The woman blinked, still processing. “A… mix-up?”

The angel nodded. “Yes, but you’re home now.”

The woman hesitated, then asked, “Um… can I ask a question?”

“Of course, dear,” the angel replied gently.

With a sly grin, she asked, “What would I have to do… to get back, you know, down there?”

The angel’s eyes widened, but then she chuckled softly. “Not something we hear often. Or ever for that matter,” she replied. “But since you asked, you would simply push the red button. But keep in mind, it’s permanent. Or better to say, eternal.”

The woman nodded thoughtfully, eyes twinkling. “I was not aware of that.”

“Nor should you worry. It’s completely fine. Just push the blue button when you enter. You have earned it.” With that the angel vanished.

For a second the woman wondered aloud if she should have asked where these buttons where, but then realized there was no need. She stepped into an elevator that hadn’t been there a moment ago and saw the two buttons—one blue, one red as the angel had said. Without a moment’s hesitation, she pressed a button.

As the doors closed, a familiar, scratchy tune began to play—“This Is the song that never ends…”