The C.J. Henderson MEGAPACK ®. C.J. Henderson
X is for Xmas: Christmas Mysteries
AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION
Hello, everyone—
C.J. Henderson here.
First off, thanks for making this fine purchase. I’m going to be doing my best not to disappoint anyone.
When you’re asked to pick 25 stories that might give people a good idea of what you’re all about, it can be quite daunting. I’ve been a published author for over thirty-five years. There are hundreds and hundreds of stories to choose from and, yes, it’s true, it really is like trying to pick a favorite from out of all your children.
There are some stories of mine that are—for lack of a better term—considered my classics. I’m not that full of myself. Honest. I’m just trying to explain my thought process here. What I’m saying is, I didn’t want to stick stories in here that everyone has seen. After all, I wasn’t asked to put together a “best of” really, but more of an “introduction to” kind of package.
So with that notion in mind, yes, okay—sure—I did put in a couple of stories that have seen print numerous times because, well, ya gotta have some of those—right? But then, after that, I tried to get the most rounded lineup I could together. There are a lot of hardboiled detectives—supernatural investigators and just ordinary joes—because a large part of my canon is made up of such tales.
But, after that, anything goes.
I have grabbed some of my science fiction, sword & sorcery, comedy (romantic and non-) and just plain stories to fill in around all the tough guys. No trunk stories allowed. I’m not going to waste anyone’s time with things I couldn’t sell (actually, to be a little full of myself, I don’t have any stories I couldn’t sell [hey, I’m allowed to brag a little…right? {oh, they tell me I can’t. Okay, back to business}]).
So, what you have here are the 25 tales I and a lot of Facebook friends chose for this volume. The first one to appear was the hands-down fan favorite. And, since it’s always been one of my favorites I thought, what the hell? And, since all of you out there bought this book to read the fiction, not to listen to me dodder along, perhaps I should shut up and allow you to get on with things.
Thanks again for your purchase. If you want to ask questions or make comments about anything you read here, feel free to drop in at www.cjhenderson.com. I answer all my mail, and I love to hear what people have to say about my work.
And now…on with the show.
INTRODUTION TO “HOPE”
To start us out, I thought, let’s go right to the core of what a C.J. Henderson story is all about. This story is one of my shortest, but I think it should get across what I’m all about as a story-teller.
HOPE
“People will not readily bear pain unless there is hope.”
—Michael Edwards
Most people did not have the imagination to see anything other than flames. True, as time spun along endlessly they incorporated their own variations on the eternal theme—rivers of lava, belching pits that hurled smoke and magma and burning oils into the air, fiery rains, volcanic animals that vomited fire—human beings could be quite clever. But, the grand majority of the damned persisted in seeing their personal eternities in simplistic terms of licking red tongues that merely charred their flesh and consumed their vitals endlessly. For the keepers of the abyss, most of their charges did not offer much in the way of entertainment.
The man currently wandering the western heights of the Stygian depths was different, however. Throughout his centuries within the infernal regions, he had rarely suffered from any type of combustion whatsoever. His was usually a more interpretive picture of damnation, one that forced the punishment to fit the crime—over and over—an endless replaying of his sins with him on the receiving end of a trillion variations.
His name, by that point, he had forgotten. What he had done to deserve the torments of the pit had mostly faded from his memory as well. During his imprisonment, he had come to understand that he did belong where he was, that his lifetime of contemptible behavior had rewarded him with an eternity of constant pain in the name of celestial retribution. He had also—finally—come to the absolute end of his ability to care.
The man had suffered in every way possible that he had been able to imagine. His feet had rotted away so that he walked on leprous stumps, eating and drinking from slime-coated pools where he fought unidentifiable things for every crumb and droplet. He had been torn apart by beasts, dropped from galactic heights into rivers of spikes, lived with the shade of his mother constantly whispering into his ear, been eaten, digested and left in the sulfurous weeds as food for the insects.
Time and again he had been destroyed and reconstituted. Time and again he had made his humble apologizes to a God he had finally come to realize not only could not hear him, but was not interested in anything he might have to say. For years on end he had thought that perhaps he might have some chance at redemption. After he had realized that his sins and his sins alone had brought on his dire situation he had determined to make up for them.
Every torment had been suffered gladly. Every infliction visited upon him had been endured with a stoicism unseen in the annals of Hell for centuries. But apparently, it mattered not. He had known the rules—good behavior took you to Heaven. Wrong thinking was punished—forever.
Forever—
He hadn’t realized, hadn’t thought, hadn’t bothered…had done as he pleased. And now, he was paying the price. For eternity.
Forever—
Yes, he thought, he deserved punishment for what he’d done. He did. Even for the horribly terrible times in which he had lived—when human life didn’t mean much to begin with—he had been a monster. Considered one in the past and considered one still in the present, his was a name unforgotten and unforgiven by humanity even if he himself could no longer recall it.
For the longest time, though, still he had believed there could be redemption. That somehow the past could be made up for, glossed over, ignored. That somehow the shame could end and what he once was could finally be undone by what he had become.
He no longer believed that.
There was no relief. He knew that now. He was damned. People had said the words—damn you—and it had been done. Bound to the pit by the righteous indignation of those who survived him. Doomed to forever watch the shadow of Great Satan rippling over the landscape, knowing that its terrible shape would mottle his back day after day, hour after hour—
Forever—
“Don’t give up.”
The words sounded tiny and thin, more a trick of the wind than any actual voice. The man had heard many great and pitiful noises since eternity had begun to stretch out before him, but this was something new. There was pity in the tone that swirled around his ear, encouragement…
“Don’t give up.”
Hope.
The man turned his head, searching for the source of the whispers he had heard. He had wandered onto a sparse and blasted plane, a thing of burnt stumps and crumbling dark rock. Sulfuric smoke rose like pollen from the mangy scraggle weed littering the landscape to the horizon. The man’s eyes studied every twig and shadow, but he did not see anything that could have been speaking to him.
“Salvation is still possible.”
The man’s form froze in terrible hope. There was no madness in Hell—he knew this. The man had found eternal damnation to be a great equalizer that freed all minds. If they accomplished nothing else, the torments of the Stygian depths taught their students truth. The man knew that someone, something, was speaking to him.
And that, maybe, just possibly, they might even be worth listening to.
“How can I believe that?” he still asked, however. Closing his eyes, he