Do Not Enter. All trespassers shall be prosecuted. The young man surveyed the tangle of barbed wire surrounding the deserted compound and suppressed an insouciant smile. The sign made it abundantly clear that intruders were not welcome. But that wasn’t going to stop Jake. Cocksure of himself, he always lived with the notion that signs were mere suggestions, not absolute rules, and all rules were meant to be broken. That is why the moment he looked at the sign, he waltzed right past it, pushed aside the rickety fence, and entered the forbidden property.

He emerged into an antechamber of whitewashed walls and labyrinthine passageways that led into an abandoned storeroom. Passing by rows of soot-filled barrels, rusty iron bed frames, and a pile of moss-covered boulders, he found a small trapdoor that led him down a flight of stone steps. Hearing a faint commotion ahead, he bobbed under a low-hanging lintel, reflexively cupping his groin as he gingerly tiptoed around a monstrous three-foot-high steel-jawed mantrap, and entered a vast cellar lined with flickering torches along the bare concrete walls. He felt someone grasp his elbow, and before he knew what was happening, he was being briskly escorted to the center of the room.

“Welcome,” said the soft-spoken turbaned overseer. The heavy-set man was deeply sunburned, clean-shaven, wearing a starched and pleated kilt and gold-embellished sandals.

“Welcome? You are welcoming me?” asked Jake in bewilderment. “The sign said do not enter…”

“We did give you fair warning. But since you are here of your own accord, we can now proceed with the examination.”

“What—?”

“Seth,” commanded the overseer, “remove his shirt and boots. Bring the scales.” A tall bald-headed priest appeared from the cavernous depths of the arena wheeling a huge contraption to the center of the room. “Climb up,” he indicated to Jake who felt himself propelled upwards by an invisible force. “Now,” said the turbaned overseer, “place the feather on the opposite tray.”      

Seth did as he was instructed, and suddenly Jake fell to the ground with a resounding clatter.

“What happened?” he asked stunned.

“This is the Feather of Ma’at,” replied the overseer. “If your conscience were clear, there would have been perfect balance and equilibrium in your life and your body would have remained poised in blissful suspension. But we see now that you have much to atone for. Guards—take him away!”

“What do you mean!” screamed Jake. “Where are you taking me?”

“Silence!” barked the overseer with surprising impatience. “All penitents are to remain muted during their purge.”      

Suddenly, the sound was muffled and Jake could no longer hear himself. A pair of sturdy guards latched their leather-gloved hands onto his shoulders and he felt himself being dragged across the hallway and down another flight of steps into an anteroom lined with enormous steel contraptions surrounding a central fire pit. As he entered the room, he noticed another prisoner being lifted out past him. The woman’s head was bobbing up and down in distress; for a moment she fixed her vacant eyes on him in recognition.

 “Julia—is that you?” Jake could hear himself thinking as he remembered the classmate he used to tease relentlessly not so long ago.

“Ha, ha—it’s Jake the rake,” he thought he heard her say.

The guards burst out in derisive laughter. “Jake the rake—Jake the rake! Ah, ha, ha!”

“OK, buddy,” one of the guards said. “See that treadmill in the distance? You’re to haul that hundred-pound boulder up to the top and then you’re finished with your assignment.”

“That’s it? Piece o’ cake,” Jake thought. But every time he dragged the rock up the incline and placed it at the summit, it would gather momentum on its own by a mysterious force from within and roll back down again. Over and over, Jake carried the ball up and each time it would invariably roll back down again.

The guards watched on in amusement and prodded him with long trident-shaped hooks. “That’s the Ball of Sisyphus, you fool!” they laughed. “It will keep rolling back down unless you stop it yourself.”

“But how?” cried Jake in helpless exhaustion. “I’ve been at this for how long now—a day, two days? I’ve lost track of time.”

“See that twisted old man there in the far corner?” said a guard. “He’s been at it for over a thousand years.”

“Oh my God—please, help me stop it,” pleaded Jake.

“Alright, enough,” said Seth coming downstairs to assess the proceedings. “Just think of one positive, redeeming thought and it will cease.”

Jake pondered for a moment, closed his weary eyes with a whispered prayer, and miraculously the boulder remained suspended in its resting place at the top of the summit.

“Time to move on to the next trial,” Seth said. “Guards, bring out the bed.”

“Uh, oh—you’re in for it now,” said a short, squat guard. “Look at me. Half my legs are missing from that contraption.”

Near the burning flames of the fire pit in the center of the arena now lay a gigantic steel-framed bed with movable bars that automatically adjusted to the length of the occupant’s limbs. Any extremities that extended beyond the boundaries of the frame would be expeditiously leveled off with invisible hacksaws. If on the other hand, the occupying body was short of the mark, levers would latch onto the wrists and ankles of the victim and stretch out the limbs until they were flush with the confines of the frame.

“Oh, no—that looks like a rack!” screamed Jake.

“Hush up, we said,” countered the stubby guard. “But yes, it is a rack. In fact, it is the ancient legendary Bed of Procrustes. Listen carefully—hear that popping? Ha, ha! Don’t you just love the sound of popping joints!”

“No, please, God, no!” Jake now heard himself shrieking while feeling himself being jostled from behind.

“Time to go. Move on now, stop malingering.”

“Mama, help me! Please, no—no!” He felt his head snapping to and fro from the violent shaking.

“Wake up, Jake—you’re late,” he thought he heard someone cry in his ear. “Get up, you rake! Jake, you’ll be late again.”

“Mama, is that really you?” he said, his blurry eyes lazily focusing on his mother’s bouffant hairdo that framed her face like an iron helmet.

“What do you mean, is it me? Of course it’s me. And Julia is downstairs. She told me everything, how you cruelly treated her in history class, you scamp. Go down and apologize right now!”

Jake bounded out of bed checking his hands and feet with relief, stamping up and down with maniacal fury to clear away the morning’s stupor. He then ran into the foyer kissing a mystified Julia on both cheeks, picked up his satchel and pushed open the front door priming himself for a mad dash.

“Hold on a minute,” his mother said frowning. “Where do you think you’re going, huh?”

“Ma? I’ll be late for school—” 

“You, young man, are going nowhere.” She raised a hand in warning. “This is called tough love, Jake.”  

“But, Ma—”

With the twitch of an eye, she motioned to a pair of uniformed officers positioned near the entrance. 

The morning light streaming from behind obscured their features, but Jake squinted then gasped in recognition at the two men, one tall and lanky, the other heavy-set, blocking his exit. “I know you, don’t I—?” 

He felt a familiar sturdy grip bearing down on his shoulders. “Let’s go, buddy,” the shorter one said.  

Before he knew what was happening, Jake found himself being dragged across the hallway and out the door. “Ma…” his voice cracked.

“Hush up, Jake. Officers, take him away,” his mother said with an insouciant smile.