This is a sequel to my previous post:
A friend of my wondered if, when some unbelievers reportedly experience positive NDEs, that isn't hell in disguise. Let's consider how that might work.
i) As I've remarked on another occasion, one way of punishing a villain is to make him think he won. There's the initial elation before he discovers that he was tricked. This is a common plot motif. Screenwriters love to tell stories about the villain who gets his comeuppance by seeming to succeed, only to have that snatched away. This often involves a the apparent prize being swapped out for something worthless or worse. Poetic justice.
There are many examples. Off the top of my head, here are three. In The Book of Eli, the villain (Carnegie) is hellbent on obtaining the last extant copy of the Bible. He thinks he can use the Bible as a talisman to expand his power. He will stop at nothing to get it. He murders without compunction.
He finally obtains the prize, only to find, to his consternation, that it's a Braille Bible, which he can't read. His wife can read Braille, but because he abused his wife and daughter, she refuses to do him any favors.
Another example is The Ninth Gate, in which the villain (Boris) is determined to obtain a book of spells, which reputedly confers immorality on whoever can decrypt the message. His operatives leave a trail of bodies in pursuit of the prize. He finally gets hold if it. He imagines that he is now fireproof, which he puts to the test. Unfortunately for him, he misinterpreted the cryptic message.
Finally, I remember an episode ("The Caterpillar") of Rod Serling's The Night Gallery which I saw as a kid. It trades on the urban legend of the earwig. Back in the days when the sun never set on the British Empire, a civil servant (Macy) is stationed in Borneo. He resides with a couple. The husband is getting up in years. But he's married to a gorgeous young wife. Macy is smitten by her, but he must eliminate the husband to have a clear shot at the wife.
He arranges with a local assassin to have an earwig planted in the husband's ear when he's sleeping. Once inside, there's not enough space for the earwig to turn around. It can only exit by eating its way through the brain of the host until it reaches the other ear.
Next morning, the three are having breakfast when Macy feels stabbing pain in his head. He puts a napkin to his ear. The napkin is bloody. To his horror, it dawns on him that the assassin got the bedrooms mixed up. He's the victim of his own murder plot. Accidents will happen.
He's tied to his bed (to prevent him from clawing his face off) until the earwig emerges–no doubt causing brain damage. The worst is behind him. Or so he thinks. But the doctor informs him that the earwig was pregnant, so she probably laid eggs in his brain during her journey. Eggs ready to hatch.
ii) There's another common plot motif. Horror stories don't always begin horrifically. Indeed, they often begin idyllically. According to one trope, teenagers spend spring break at a tourist resort. At first, it's a paradise. Natural beauty. A lavish hotel. Sunshine and sandy beaches.
But then things begin to go down hill. There's a storm. They lose power. They are cut off from the mainland. The ski boat is sabotaged. There's a psychopath on the rampage. Maybe one of their own party.
These are fictional examples. Yet fiction sometimes illustrates our intimations of hell and just desert.
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