Welcome! Welcome! said a child's voice.

Timothy blinked once. He peered at the things around him.

There was the sweet cling-cling of doorchimes and the soft hush of the wind. And this little girl's voice.

"Ah, it's you, of course," she sighed.

He glanced around, taking in all this unfamiliarity with such unease like that of a dream. "Who? Where am I?"

The girl smiled, not amiably before disappearing under the counter which reached just her height. Timothy noticed she wore a nun's cloak which was too large for her that her arm disappeared completely inside the sleeves.

"Here it is." In her hand was a casette tape. "What? I like casette tapes." She pulled the overly lengthy sleeves to expose her dainty hand and fumbled with her casette player. She clicked it into play.

"Hm uh hm. Welcome. Welcome." Her recorded voice sounded so much cuter and she was probably aware. She looked so proud. "I am Kindness. You can say I'm a concierge here. Bonjour. You will be surprised at what I'm about to say but ta-dah you are in Hell."

Tim's mind was still clouded. He did not understand her perfectly. "What? Is this a prank?"

The recording went on. "I'll give you a second to let that sink in... uh-huh. Uh-huh. There. Let me repeat it in case you haven't heard me the first time, you are in Hell. Yes that place for bad people, evil people. You think you weren't evil enough, eh? Oh dear. At least we can both agree that you are dead now. You at least remember that, I know. Well, I'll cut to the chase, but here in Hell is your punishment, the equivalent suffering for the suffering you have inflicted upon other people. With all that said, please kindly choose the door you wish to enter. Love, love." She paused the tape.

Timothy did not listen to the rest of the recording. She was right. He was strangely aware without a shadow of a doubt that he was already dead.

It was clear as daylight. An imprint. That truth. I am already dead.

"How? How did I die?" The big question.

Kindness smiled at him. She looked so angelic it was weird for her to be welcoming newcomers to a place like Hell. She played the tape again. "How you died? I don't know. But you might find out if you choose a door now? Other souls are waiting so please hurry." She paused it.

Timothy looked around and realized, indeed there were doors. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. Hell's lobby was a vast space and on its walls, arrays upon arrays of doors. On each one was a painting, unique from the rest.

"I want to go home. How about my family? Can I see them?"

She played it, now unsmiling. "All questions will be answered at the other side of the door."

He noticed that he was wearing the sling bag that he owned and the school uniform of the high school he used to go to.

"What is behind those doors?"

She played it again. Her voice had become monotonic. "All questions will be answered at the other side of the door, so choose one you like now. Doesn't really matter which one."

Then he asked, "Why are you wearing a nun's clothes?" She's in hell. It didn't make sense.

She grinned playfully and spoke without a casette tape, "To confuse idiots. They'll think they made it to heaven." She giggled like an innocent child. "Go now, go. Just pick a way out of my sight."

Timothy strolled along and watched the paintings throb with muted music. This door where he stood showed a beach that filled him with nostalgia. It tugged at his memory of a summer getaway with his family in a time in his childhood when he desired the water and not the girls in their tight bikinis. A moment lost to time but not to him. And it was this longing that pulled him to this door.

It was a trap.