Silence. The silence is the first telltale sign that something wasn't right, the silence taking the place of the screams and cries that had become my companions for the past forty years.

And all around me, all I can see is blackness, not the bright orange and blood red that I should be seeing. This...this has to be a trick, another damn mind game set upon me by the filthy demons i'd become acquainted with, the very same demons I know I'm destined to become sooner or later.

If this is true, then why doesn't it feel like that?. This silence is far too deafening, this pitch blackness surrounding me, smothering me seeming far too real, no scent of sulfur mixed with blood and other bodily fluids assaulting my nostrils.

It...It's not possible, it can't be. My shaking hand moves slowly to what I can feel and know to be my chest, my palm pressing over my heart feeling it beat and thump pretty fast and hard, that thumping rhythm feeling just as real as the silence and the blackness.

I move my hand from my chest to what I can feel is my pants, my fingers trying to locate one of my pockets, it taking me a good minute or two to find it. Once I do, it takes me half the time to get ahold of the object I know was in there before I ended up in the pit, my old fashioned cigarette lighter, feeling instantly thankful that I hadn't quit smoking altogether.

I pull it out fast, moving it up above me, managing to ignite it, wincing a little from how bright the orange and blue flame is finding I'm where I was starting to suspect I was that's if this isn't all in my head.

It hits me like a sledgehammer, feeling the first telltale signs of a panic attack start to kick in, my claustrophobia rearing its ugly head, my free hand starting to slam into the wood above me, whimpering loudly. It takes me about ten tries before I manage to break the wood, dirt starting to shower me pretty fast making cough, finding it a little difficult to breathe, the flame of my lighter going out.

I push my body up as hard as I can, starting to dig my way out finding it virtually impossible thanks to my obscured vision. I nearly cry out the instant my hand gets met with warm, heavenly air, my other hand joining it a few seconds later. I throw both hands out, grabbing onto what I can feel is grass, using it as a leverage to pull myself out of the ground.

I unleash a massive gasp falling forward onto my stomach, my hands moving fast to cover my eyes, the sun blinding me, something I thought would never ever happen again. I roll over onto my back, my emerald green eyes staring at a sight I thought I'd lost all those years ago. Or is it months above ground?.

Suddenly, I start to laugh, my hand moving to cover my stomach, no idea why I'm laughing when none of this should be possible. When I'd sold my soul, receiving just one year left on this plain, I knew exactly what I was signing on for, a one-way ticket to hell. So how is it possible that I'm suddenly free?. I mean, what supernatural being is capable of rescuing a human being from hell?.

I move up into a sitting position, getting up onto my feet, feeling a little unsteady, my laugh quickly dying out seeing where I'd been buried. I can only describe it as a scene of utter destruction, at least thirty or forty trees ripped out of the ground. My fear of how I'd been brought back has just doubled.

"Hello?. Anybody home?," I shout, banging on the door of the gas station I'd luckily come across after what feels like an hour of walking, no idea where the hell I am.

My first thoughts are to contact my brothers or Bobby and yet I'm a little afraid to knowing they wouldn't exactly welcome me back with open arms, more like a knife to the chest. No, I can't ring anyone not until I figure out who or what brought me back. But where the hell am I gonna even begin?.

I give up trying to knock again choosing to break in, my hand smashing the glass then reaching in and unlocking the door making my way inside finding the place deserted, no sign of anyone.

"Oh thankyou, God," I mutter finding the place fully stocked running to the fridge, grabbing one of the bottles of water, opening it, drinking the entire bottle in one.

Then my eyes land on a small pile of papers moving over to them grabbing the top one, looking at the date: September 18th.

"September. I've been gone four months," I whisper, dropping the paper then making my way to the back of the store finding a sink, a mirror above it.

I slip my leather jacket off, letting it drop to the floor, my eyes never leaving my reflection, my hand moving to the cold water tap, turning it on then proceeding to wash my face, getting all the dirt off.

Then my hands fall to the bottom of my t-shirt, lifting up the material slowly expecting to see big, ugly scars, remembering that hellhound tearing into my chest and stomach, the pain, the blood. But all I can see is smooth, perfect skin, no scarring, no sign of that hellhound ever attacking me.

I drop my hands finding they're shaking like crazy then turning from side to side, my fingers rolling my sleeves up. And I freeze the second I look at my right shoulder in the mirror, finding something there that definitely wasn't there before. It's a handprint, bright red, massive, it looking like its been burned into my skin like some sort of brand, it feeling a little sore to the touch.

What the hell are I really dealing with here?. What kind of demon would be responsible for this?. Or is it something else entirely?.