Who? Ciaran & Open Where? Outside the door to Hell - station side When? Around 2am, Thursday morning What? Being tormented / half asleep Open? Yes Warnings? Well, it is Hell.
Since the door to Hell had opened, Ciaran had been trying his best to get on with his life. He'd gladly accepted Dan's help with blocking out whatever it was behind the door that was calling to them, and although he was a newbie to the whole concept, he was having a fair amount of success.
During his waking hours, he was focusing on blocking it out, and on the subject of Lent. He had a nice, small group of regular worshippers, and they had been happily working through a Lent study based around the Jesuit tradition. It felt good to be doing some active ministry with a variety of different people - Anglicans, mostly, and from a different era. It was a unique challenge, but one that he was embracing, as they seemed to be.
That was the daytime. At night, his guard slipped. Whatever Dan had been having him practice worked well when he was alert, on his guard, remembering to put on the armour. But when he started to sleep, it slipped into his subconscious. It started with vivid dreams and nightmares - the death of loved ones, holding their bodies, presiding over mass funerals, and then the more troubling - like something out of Dante's imaginings of Hell. He could feel the heat of the lake of Brimstone.
And now, the voices calling to him, drawing him in. The door tempted him - what was the devil known for, after all, if not being deliciously tempting. He could feel the heat of the place through the door itself, the sweet, coaxing, tempting voice. He placed his ear to it, listening, sure he could almost hear his mother singing a lullaby somewhere in there. The heat... was this still a dream?
The thought was enough to shake him into reality for a moment, and he took a step back, looked at the door, and then looked down at himself, barefoot, navy joggers, and an old Beatles t-shirt. He'd been sleepwalking again.