The Other Side by C. Bruce Hunter

The mobster’s life had been good, long and healthy. His death was something else!

Don Alberto trudged through the mist, squinting to keep track of the hooded figure who marched steadily ahead of him and occasionally sniffing the air for traces of brimstone that somehow weren’t there. The place was not what he expected. It didn’t matter, though. He was ready to go; he had already cheated Death for more than a decade.

That was one of the benefits of being wealthy. He could afford the very best in health care and was always first in line for transplants. His heart had gone first. Since then there were two kidney failures, new corneas to fix his cataracts, and half a dozen other operations along the way.

With so many problems, being a top man in the Mob didn’t hurt, either. It meant that he could always find a donor — willing or unwilling — if he needed one.

When the end finally did come, when he was no longer able to keep his body functioning, the Don went without protest. Death was so much a part of his business that he had long ago stopped fearing it, and his own death had come almost as a pleasant surprise. He couldn’t quite remember the transition from the hospital bed to... to wherever he was now. He had simply become aware of being led by a hooded figure across an endless expanse of ankle-deep mud shrouded by endless sheets of mist.

All things considered, the place wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. The mist didn’t bother him. He wasn’t curious to know what might be around him. And the mud, if that’s what it was, was cold but not unpleasant. At least there was no fire and brimstone, just the mist, the mud, and of course the hooded figure he had instinctively known he was supposed to follow. It could be a lot worse.

Then he heard the sounds. They were squishy, splashing sounds and they were coming steadily closer. Patches of dark gray soon dotted the mist, and as the squishes became louder, the patches blackened and gradually crystalized into more or less human shapes.

Don Alberto winced when they came out of the mist. They were human but grotesquely mutilated. A dozen of them appeared on all sides, surrounding him and leaving no way of escape. The nearest grinned at him, but it wasn’t a grin. As the creature moved closer, the Don saw that what looked like a grin was actually the effect of muscles contorted around an empty eye socket. Terrified by the sight, he turned to run but was immediately confronted by another, whose emaciated abdomen was split from hip to navel, and one whose chest had ruptured hideously. Others followed and quickly closed around him.

“It’s inevitable,” the hooded figure said calmly, turning to reveal a face whose shrunken skin gave it the appearance of a skull.

“What do they want?” the Don rasped as the creatures reached for him, but he barely heard the answer over the sounds of tearing flesh.

“They’ve come,” the hooded figure said, “to get their organs back.”