Collected Short Stories

by Richard Kadrey

  Morbid Depressive Scleroderma

  Etiology: An extreme form of long-term clinical depression which expresses itself in a fossilizing catatonia. Symptoms often appear even before these lost souls are processed into Purgatory. Often depressive in life, the transition to the afterlife is itself thought be the triggering cause for the syndrome in some.

  Pathogenesis: Due to the long-term immobility of a soul stricken with MDS, those souls left on or near the ground can experience the same mineralization process as fossils on Earth. Often found curled in a fetal position, souls with MDS will sometimes be mistaken for small, smooth boulders. Care should always be taken when clearing ground for new structures that it is merely bedrock and not afflicted souls being quarried.

  Prophylaxis and Treatment: No soul that has expressed symptoms has come back from MDS. In hopes of giving the afflicted a sense of purpose, and perhaps spurring a future spontaneous recovery, boulders identified as MDS sufferers are given to Sisyphus to use on his endless climbs.

  Late-onset Pathological Refutation Disorder

  Etiology: This syndrome describes a small group of souls who remain neurotically insistent that they are not only alive, but still living on Earth. Most LPRD sufferers are Americans and often classified in life as Type A personalities. Those in finance, law enforcement or political office are most at risk of developing LPRD after death.

  Pathogenesis: Forceful over-achievers in life, LPRD sufferers will often construct crude versions of the tools and circumstances of their Earthly life while in Purgatory. An arrangement of large stones will serve for a desk and chairs while briefcases are commonly woven from fallen tree limbs and reeds that grow along the edge of the Lethe. LPRD sufferers must be approached cautiously. When confronted by the evidence of their passing, they can become abusive or violent. The most acute cases will return to Earth and haunt the places familiar to them in life.

  Prophylaxis and Treatment: Fortunately, LPRD is treatable with basic psycho-analytical methods. The only souls resistant are those who were psychiatrists and psychologists on Earth. One of these souls, Patient F, set up a Purgatory office for himself and proved to have a true talent for treating other souls. Because his methods proved so successful, and he had little interest in moving on to higher planes of existence, Patient F was allowed to keep his office and Abariel, his guardian angel, was assigned as his receptionist.

  Chaotic Liquefaction Syndrome

  Etiology: This is an ailment of a soul's phase transition from matter to aether. It's characterized as a softening of the bones and soft tissues-the soul's projection of these structures while it still regards itself as still retaining its Earthly solidity. Chaotic Liquefaction only affects souls at the earliest stages of transition. Souls who've already ascended to higher realms and those assigned to the lower depths appear to be immune.

  Pathogenesis: Souls with extreme forms of CFS cannot manifest physically and vaporize entirely. Some remanifest over time. Others never come back, and remain in this vaporous state for eternity. They are known as Sublimes. Neither angel or human, they are a wholly unique class of being.

  Prophylaxis and Treatment: Treatment of CLS remains controversial both here and in Heaven. Some orders of Angels (both Heavenly and Fallen) argue that the Sublimes should be accepted as a new aetheric form. Treatments for souls who exhibit simple liquefaction can be helped by being taken back to Earth and re-experiencing their afterlife transition, however a small percentage of these souls go Sublime during the re-enactment. This side-effect of transition continues to be studied.

  Systemic Diabolic Infection

  Etiology: Colloquially known as "demon possession," this systemic version is limited to souls hosting a particularly powerful demonic infection, otherwise, the possession would have remitted at the death of the host's Earthly body. Like diabolic tape worms, these possessions parasitize the soul's life force even after death.

  Pathogenesis: Those possessing other-worldly and/or spiritual insight in life are most susceptible to this infection, with the "saintly" being the most vulnerable. The first documented case occurred in Athens to Saint Xenakis (1049-1098 AD). He experienced a peculiarly unsuccessful, though long lasting bout of demonic possession. The demon that took control of his body appeared to have a stutter or some related speech impediment, so his taunts and curses were seldom understandable. Also, the demon did not speak Greek, and could only taunt those who spoke ancient Latin or Aramaic. The demon's attempts to manifest the wounds of Christ in Father Xenakis' body mostly resulted in the Father passing copious amounts of gas, which the demon later claimed was what it really wanted all along. While the possession was in many ways clumsy, the demon in question was tenacious enough to continue its insidious infection even after death.

  A note: Besides saints, the group that most often experiences long-term demon possession are telephone information operators. No one knows why.

  Prophylaxis and Treatment: Post-mortem exorcism has proven dangerous. In the worst cases, the soul itself is exorcised to the lower depths along with the demon infecting it. The soul can be returned to the higher realms, of course, but the process is lengthy and involves centuries of paperwork.

  Soul micro-surgery has proven highly effective. Procedures have been developed in collaboration with human surgical advisors as well as ex-demons acting as consultants. More information can be found in the Arcadian Handbook of Anima Chirurgery in the chapter, "Treatment of Conjoined Protoplasms."

  God Complex

  Etiology: The name pretty much says it all.

  Pathogenesis: Those afflicted with God Complex are known throughout the higher and lower realms as the most insufferable beings in existence. The afflicted often include heart surgeons, airline pilots, computer programmers, actors, generals and television programming executives.

  Prophylaxis and Treatment: There is no cure. Souls afflicted with acute God Complex must be isolated so as not to infect (or harass) others. Usually, they are assigned some small, meagerly populated parallel universe and sent away to rule in isolation. Some of these "gods" have proven surprisingly inspirational to local populations. Henry Jennings Gannett, a neurologist from Selma, Alabama, so inspired the beetle-creatures on GSN-324 that the entire population of the planet pitched in to roll the largest dung ball in the universe in his honor.

  THE END

  The Enigma Event

  "Mikhail Vasilovich Boltrushko, the young master, had been smuggled to Canada before the Great Patriotic War," old Anna began. "After the German surrender in 1945, he returned to the family's home here in Irkutsk."

  Tony Lansen looked at the old, weathered woman. He still wasn't sure how she'd found him, at his hotel. He hardly ever came into Irkutsk, preferring the clean air of the Siberian taiga. But the old woman had insisted on speaking to him, because he alone, an American scholar, might understand.

  "I had been the head servant," she continued, "and the young master, he was kind enough to keep me on, though I was old, even then. I'd come east with the family when we left lovely Kiev for harsh Siberia. When he returned, the young master had little interest in the family shipping and export business. I mostly left him alone to his studies. He had arrived from Canada with crates of books and boxes of special inks, papers, and odd instruments I had never seen before. I was just happy to have someone to take care of again.

  "Mikhail Vasilovich disappeared into his father's old study for weeks at a time. When I brought him his dinner — he soon stopped eating anything but a single evening meal — I found the floor littered with reams of parchment, papyrus and rice paper covered in colored gibberish. What I saw disturbed me. Many of the letters looked like the writing on the old synagogue in Kiev, the one that was burned. The master would never let me clean the room or remove any of the papers, but he would occasionally permit me to gather them from the floor and stack them on his father's desk. One night, I boldly asked the young master what the papers were for. Was he writing a book in a foreign tongue? Had he been con
sorting with Jews in Canada? He must keep his associations with them a secret, I told him. I was talking above my station, but I was afraid, and it all spilled out.

  "Mikhail Vasilovich laughed and drew a clean sheet of paper from a stack on the sidetable where he worked. He took a fresh pen, dipped it into ink, then wrote some of the strange letters. All at once, a tiny flame appeared above the desk. I remember I screamed at the sight, but he showed me that it was safe. He controlled the flame he had conjured. He licked his thumb and smudged one of the letters from the word he had written, and the flame flickered and disappeared. He said that he'd learned the True Name of fire and was trying to learn the names of many other things. Yes, some of the words he had been writing were Hebrew, but others were Tibetan. Still others were Mayan, a people of the southern Americas. I'd never heard of any of these languages, but when he assured me that he himself had not converted to Judaism, I felt better. The young master, always a prankster as a boy, even offered to show me that he wasn't circumcised. That made us both laugh and I went to bed happy.

  "That night, I dreamed of the whole sky on fire, and of angels.

  "After the German came, nothing was the same. I hated him on sight, with his greasy hair and long, filthy nails. He left the same day he arrived, but the young master became more elusive than ever. He even stopped eating his single daily meal and would only munch a piece of toast every two or three days. It was too much. I wouldn't have the head of the family starving himself while I was running the household. After finding another cold, uneaten dinner outside the study, I opened the door to demand an explanation.

  "Above the sidetable, the moon slowly circled.

  "'I learned to write its name,' he explained.

  "There was a machine on the table. He brought me over to see the thing. It was like the typing machines I'd seen Party clerks and secretaries using in government offices. But this machine had dials and wheels and little lights that shone when you touched a letter.

  "'It's called an Enigma Machine,' he said. The German had brought it. One of the few that hadn't been captured by the Allies after the war, he said. It had cost the young master a small fortune.

  "'The Nazis were madmen and despots,' he said to me, 'but they were also powerful occultists.' The Enigma had written unbreakable codes for the Germans during the war. 'What are codes,' he asked me, 'but a kind of secret language which reveals mysteries to those with eyes to see?' He had conjured the moon by writing thousands of variations of its name on the machine. There was much more work to do, he said. More names to learn. After promising to eat more, he shooed me from the room.

  "I was concerned for the young master, but I didn't enter the study after seeing the moon. I know I should have been more courageous, for his sake. Sometimes I peeked at him through the keyhole. Soon a star hovered near the ceiling, and the moon circled it. Then there were planets. Light poured from the keyhole night and day. Then it was gone. I stooped and peered into the room. It was empty. No floors, no walls, no ceiling. The young master still sat the sidetable, typing, as a galaxy spun slowly over his head. That night, the good people of Irkutsk saw strange things in the sky. Swarms of fireflies filled the streets. Ball lightning spooked cattle. The stained glass window in the old church collapsed on itself.

  "Perhaps a week later, imps invaded the house. I heard them at night, tittering as they crept passed my bedroom door. In the morning, my kitchen would be a mess. All the sugar and lard would be eaten, often along with the crockery in which they had been stored. This was too much. I marched to the study. When I opened the door and saw the burning sulfur lakes of Hell, I wasn't surprised. I stood my ground, and explained that I simply couldn't run a proper household with beasts roaming the halls all night. Instead of being angry with me, Mikhail Vasilovich — he was such a kind boy — came and embraced me. He agreed with me, and, over my protests, left for the country the next day. He took only his typing machine, the family Victrola on which he ceaselessly played American jazz, and some of his books. As much as I hated to see the young master go, I was relieved that, the very night he left, the study reverted to its former appearance, and there were no more demons in the kitchen.

  "But things weren't right. My dreams kept me awake at night. I got down on my knees and prayed for peace, but it didn't help. When I read my bible for comfort, I finally understood the fear that haunted me. If the young master had gone so far as to conjure up the stars and then Hell, the only thing left for him to manifest was heaven itself. This was inconceivable. The monstrous blasphemy of it. There would be no forgiveness for such bloated pride. In the middle of the night, I dressed and went to the train station to catch the early morning coach to Tayshet. Using the remaining household money, I hired a boat to take me to the Angara and thence to Keshma. It took another three days overland to reach Vanavara, a stinking trading town, full of Cossacks and of nomads smelling of sweat and the seal fat they gobbled to keep warm. The boatman would go no further into the wild country where the young master had his izba — a hut, really — and I had to hire a horse-drawn wagon with the last few rubles I dug from my pockets.

  "Later, I dearly wished that I hadn't found the money and had simply returned to Irkutsk.

  "Mikhail Vasilovich's hut was a distance from the village. When the wagon made it through the woods and into open land, I could see the hut on a rise above us. It was glowing with the pure white light of stars and angels. When we reached the bottom of the final hill, the driver stopped, refusing to get any closer. Celestial voices drifted down to us. Stars spilled from the rooftop, sailed into the sky, and fell back to earth with the light snow that was starting. Meteors streaked across the heavens. More and more, until they were a storm. Overhead, a star glowed, brighter than all the others combined. The star seemed to hover over the hut. I thought of the star of Bethlehem and wondered if the young master had conjured it so that he could proclaim himself some mad, new messiah. I didn't understand what was happening, until the driver pulled me back to his wagon. The star wasn't hovering. It wasn't a star, at all. It was something bright and enormous, falling straight at us.

  "The star, the size of a mountain, seemed to fall forever. I prayed as the wagon driver cursed his horse to go faster. When the star hit the young master's hut, I closed my eyes and waited to die.

  "The wagon trundled on.

  "I looked back at the mountain. The light was gone and so was gone the hut. A few last stars shot across the night sky. Snow fell and thunder echoed from far away across the taiga.

  "Farther than that, even," Anna said, leaning across the table and taking Tony's Lansen's hand. "Thunder from forty years in the past.

  "During one of his infrequent meals, the young master had told me that time and space were the same thing, that one could affect and pervert the other. When God reached down to slap from existence Mikhail Vasilovich Boltrushko — for that could only have been God's hand in the sky — the weight of the creator's wrath had warped time and space. The man God obliterated with a falling star in 1946 had been blown through time to be felt in 1908, near the Little Tunguska River. I remember hearing about the event as a girl. Whole forests had been laid low. Lakes had been burned dry in a split second by the blast of the falling star."

  The old woman finished her story and looked at Tony, as if expecting an answer of some sort. The American didn't say a word, but got up from the table and went to one of crates stacked in the little hotel room. He pushed aside his field notes and collections of local plants, until he found what he was looking for. He fumbled in the dark, putting things together. Then he came back to the table and sat with Anna. A tinny music filled the room. From the crate, Benny Goodman and his band jumped through a rendition of "It's Only a Paper Moon." Anna moved one of her wrinkled hands to her mouth, and began to weep quietly.

  Tony knew how to fudge data in his geology reports to keep the grant money flowing in, but until that night, he had no idea what to say about the stack of Benny Goodman 78s and the scorched Victrola he'd
dug up in the same layer of geological strata as the Tunguska explosion. He still had no idea what he was going to say when he got back to the university. Pouring Anna and himself shots of good Finnish vodka, Tony silently toasted Boltrushko. Then he took Anna's hand, and in the little room, they began to dance.

  THE END

  The Götterdämmerung Show

  At the end of time, humans invented a machine that trapped all the gods of the universe so that they could be put on display in the Ontology Wing of the new World Culture Museum.

  Finding themselves imprisoned, the gods at first tried to cajole the humans into freeing them. "After all, we created you," the gods told the humans.

  "It was we who invented you through our belief," the humans replied.

  "You are our children."

  "You are physical manifestations of ancient and primitive neuroses," the humans told the gods.

  Infuriated, the gods hurled threats at the humans. This brought more humans to see the opulent display of divinity.

  The Norse gods were the first to rebel at their captivity. They let loose Fenrir, the wolf, to devour the sun and, thus, begin Ragnarok, in which both gods and humans would be annihilated. But the human's elegant machines provided all the light and warmth they needed and protected the earth from such trifles as a missing star. Odin, Thor, Loki, and the other Norsemen attacked each other in frustration. More humans came to observe the divine carnage. The other captive gods grew restless and fearful.