This is day 8 of 
Find out more about the challenge here https://steemit.com/365daysofwriting/@mydivathings/day-8-365-days-of-writing-challenge
The stairway leading down to Hell was always crowded.
Well, normally.
But today there were no lost souls, no crying, no wailing. Kizzle was puzzled.
It's not as if the Earth was going to run out of evil fuckers all of a sudden.
And Hell wasn't full yet. Not by a long chalk. He chuckled to himself: Hell would freeze over before it was full.
He picked up his prong and and decided to start the long journey up the stairs to see what the hold up was.
Perhaps there was a troublemaker up there.
They had them occasionally. Usually, so called Christians who thought they belonged in The Other Place just because they knew the chapter and verses in The Other Book. They didn't seem to understand that they were judged on their actions - how they behaved, how they treated other people - and not because they could judge, shout words into people's faces, and use The Other Book to "condemn" others to Hell.
What right did these fools think they had to decide who belonged in HIS Kingdom, anyway?
Kizzle paused and leaned on his prong. He was breathless, and irritated. He would have to ask HIM again about getting an escalator fitted. Or an elevator. Only for demons, of course. He understood enough of human psychology (even if it repulsed him), to appreciate the impact of being made to walk the hundreds of thousand steps down to Hell.
Being a demon wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. He thought there would be far more torturing and a lot less form filling and box ticking. He sighed and continued up the long staircase.
Eventually he saw a light twinkling from the top of the stairs. Kizzle wasn’t keen on daylight, but he pressed on regardless. As he neared the large gate at the top of the stairs he could see two of his colleagues pacing up and down. They were young, new to the job. Gitsy, one of the old school demons - salt of Hell, always had an unkind word for people - was sitting on the large spiked throne, by the side, watching the other two walk up and down.
Gitsy was an ugly fucker, even by demon standards, and Kizzle had a bit of a thing for him. His weeping pustules and distorted features were ideal for a meet and greeter at the Gates of Hell and Gitsy was good at his job.
“Hello Gitsy,” Kizzle said, trying not to show he fancied the leather spiked pants off him.
“Hello, Kizzle,” Gitsy scratched one of his scabs, bursting it. Yellowy green puss flew and hit Kizzle in the face. Kizzle tried to prevent his long black tongue from licking it off. But the temptation was way too great (and Kizzle was a sucker for temptation). It tasted bloody lovely.
“What’s the hold up?” Kizzle pointed at the gates. He had expected to see an angry mob of evangelicals refusing to take the first steps, and holding up all the other souls. But there was noone.
“It’s all gone a bit mental up there,” Gitsy said, picking his nose and flicking the thick gloopy snot onto the floor beside him (he really is flirting with me, Kizzle thought)
“What do you mean?” Kizzle asked, wondering if it would be too much to lick the snot from the floor.
“Well, Earth has turned evil, innit,” Gitsy snorted and spat out a globule of something bloody and stinking: he really was trying to turn Kizzle on.
“Brilliant!” Kizzle said, then looking at the expression on Gitsy’s face, added, “Isn’t it?”
“Nah! It goes against the natural order of things. Hell is supposed to be the biggest concentration of evil. Not up there,” he indicated the world on the Other side of the gates with his elbow. “It's osmosis, innit.”
“What do you mean, Gitsy?” Kizzle said, edging a little closer to the demon, so he could lick the luminous orange wax that dripped from his ears.
“Think of that gate as a semipermeable membrane,” Gitsy said. “It used to be that because Hell had a higher concentration of evil, the souls of bad people would be naturally drawn down through it. Basic science that: osmosis. But,” he paused to scratch his arse with his clawed hand. “If Earth is now more evil than Hell…”
As Kizzle thought about about it, he suddenly heard the sounds of footsteps on the stairs below him.
The sound of many, many footsteps.
“Shit,” he said. “I think I’d better call HIM.”
...
You can read part two "Satan has a little chat" here