Hell's waiting room and the face of Death

I was a young man named Alex.  A girl I was dating died and I had to carry her body to the lobby of heaven. 

I stepped through a doorway, the girl heavy in my arms, and found myself on a granite grey slab.  The walls were stop sign red, and there was a second door ahead of me, frosted glass etched with an arboreal pattern, like the network of blood vessels in the body.  It smelled like rotten vegetables, like the inside of a dumpster.  I realized I had taken a wrong turn. 

Keeping my grip on the girl tight, I backed out of Hell's lobby into the corridor.  It was side by side with a door that issued a pale blue light and wispy clouds.  I took a breath, walked through the adjacent doorway

and ended up right back in Hell's lobby.  There was muzak playing now, I noticed.  The air seemed sharper, expectant.  A shadow crossed behind the frosted glass door. 

Again I retreated, my heart hammering in my chest, arms cramping from carrying my girl.  I rested against the wall between the doorways, trying to catch my breath.

Across the hall was a discarded toaster oven, and in its burnished surface, I saw myself, the body of the girl in my trembling arms.  The archways on each side of me - one to heaven, one to hell - were reflected too. 

Something moved in the doorway to hell's lobby.  Don't, I told myself.  Don't look at it.  But I couldn't help myself.  A shadowy figure approached the doorway, and resolved.  I caught a glimpse of a corpse white skeleton face, with a thick oily tongue constantly licking its rotting lips.

It was all I could do not to scream, drop the girl and run.  I held my breath, trying not to get its attention.  It can't leave and come out to get me.  It's fine if I don't move.  Don't look in its eyes.

I began to calm down but then, with a sick lurch I realized, if I could see Death then... lifting my eyes again to focus on the toaster, I saw it watching me, saw it grimace in recognition and hunger.

I woke.