Excerpt: Hel's Bellboy -- or, Frank Dies: The Death and Times of a Man Who Destroyed the Afterlife.

Warily he thought about opening the book again. He slid his thumb under the warped and tattered cover. The page beneath it felt as cold as ice. Eerie and cold and unnatural. Yet Frank seemed to have forgotten how to be afraid of it, for lack of a better term for how he felt. He left his thumb in there, questioning himself over and over again. It's just a book, there's nothing to fear. Maybe it changed. Maybe it's still the same.
Maybe it's worse.
Finally Frank took the plunge, and opened the book.
Something screamed. An eerie, unnatural high-pitched wail that send shivers down Frank's spine. He quickly closed the book and held it shut, but the screaming continued. He threw the book across the street. The book landed with a thud, and the screeching stopped. Frank breathed heavily, once again utterly terrified of the seemingly harmless little book that he had been given.
The screeching was returned by another screech, farther away. Frank whipped his head around in a useless attempt to find the source of the sound. It was no longer the book, that much was certain. Frank almost felt bad for tossing the book like that, even if it was pure evil. It was still just a book. He was much more scared of whatever else could make a sound like that, in all honesty. He got up and moved toward the book. He was very slow and diligent about it. He looked over his shoulder constantly, afraid of whatever might actually have been able to make a sound like the book. At the same time, he almost wanted to never see it coming if it was going to take him. He would rather be ignorant of the horrors that lurked in the shadows, thank you very much.
He made it to the book without any hazards appearing. A good start. He reached to pick it up. Still going ok. He touched the book, and nothing happened. Very good, very good. He picked the book up, and dusted it off. The screeching sound, whatever it was, seemed to only be a passing hallucination, if anything, at this point. He stuffed the book back under his arm and headed in the direction that was most definitely not where he had heard the sound come from. He suddenly felt a new spirit in him, driving him forward to find the Good Hel Day Hotel as fast as possible.
Then another screech echoed down the street. It was behind him. And it was loud.
Frank froze. He wanted to turn and see what was there. He wanted to run as fast as he could in any other direction imaginable. He wanted to stand there and pretend he didn't exist, as if whatever creature that could make such an unspeakably evil sound could only see him if he moved. Neither of his impulses gained ground over the other, and so he stood there. Frozen. Petrified. Terrified.
Then the creature screeched again, a much shorter and less echoing screech. It was much closer as well. Frank could hear it as something that sounded like metal claws scraped along the red brick streets. Every step sounded like a butcher sharpening a knife. Sssscritch. Ssssscritch.
Ssssssssssscritch.
scritch scritch scritch scritch! The creature took off in a sprint toward Frank, and Frank did the only thing he could think to do.
He screamed like a little girl and pissed himself. Then he ran, but it was barely two steps before he tripped over a stray brick and fell on his face. He quickly turned over onto his back. Whatever he had thought before, now he wanted to at least see what was going to be the end of him.
There was nothing there.
Frank looked around. His eyes darted to every crack, every shadow, every little nook and cranny that could house whatever terrifying creature had just been pursuing him.
But there was nothing.
Frank let out the breath he had been holding, only to remember that he had not been breathing, nor did he need to.
He looked at the book again. Warily, he fit is thumb underneath the cover. The page was icy cold. He lifted the cover an inch away from the page.
Ssssssssssssssssssscritch.
He shut the book and held it closed. Then he stood up, dusted himself off, was relieved to find that he had not actually pissed himself (perhaps because he had no piss to begin with) and then ran as fast as he could. He didn't care where he ended up, as long as it was not here.