by Hugh Howey
“Do you even believe that for yourself?” Mr. Drew leaned closer. “You’re only a ghoul.”
“I provide an important service. Just as you provided food, I provide nourishment for the soul at a crucial moment.” The concept of a soul was, of course, just a religious anachronism. But a touch of poetic license was allowed at a time like this.
“Very good, Mr. Lighton,” he said.
I jerked up, pressing my palms against the table. “How do you know my name?”
Drew seemed to transform before my eyes. He wiped off the tear stains, and fixed his hair. The devastated look on his face was replaced with a smiling confident one. “Despite my gray hair, I have not yet reached fifty,” he said. “It is you who we must deal with today.”
“No. It can’t be. Last Word Attendants are let live well beyond fifty.”
“You are allowed to believe that. It makes it easier for you to do your job.”
My heartbeats fluttered like a trapped bird. “Why is it done this way? Why the deception? I deserve better.”
“Doctors make the worst patients. You’ve heard it all before. We’ve found that letting Last Word Attendants explain meaning to others was the best way for them to understand it themselves. Remember what you told me, Mr. Lighton. Our society can’t support those over fifty. The government cares for people all their lives, even at their moment of death. And, most importantly, you lived a productive life. One with meaning. Take that to heart.”
My throat was dry and my palms were coated with sweat. “I’m not ready.” Everything I’d said in this room to others had been hollow. In my heart, I didn’t believe the words I had spoken. Did I? I needed more time to think.
Drew covered my hands with his. “No one is ever truly ready, Robert. It’s just a matter of whether it’s your time or not.” He stood.
“But… but…” I’d been on the other side of this process many times, and there was nothing that could be said that would make a difference.
“I’ll disconnect your personal log machine, and file your final entry.” The door swished open and Drew walked out.
I stood. That was my door. Could I make a run for it? If I could just get out for a moment, get a chance to talk with my supervisor. I was sure he’d give me more time. Time to prepare. I reached despairingly toward the exit, but it was too late. It had always been too late.
As the door was closing, Dominic Drew had some last words for me. “Don’t make this awkward. Whatever happens you are going to die today.”
David J. Normoyle
is an Irish author who writes various flavors of speculative fiction. He used to work as an engineer but now prefers the power of imagination over the laws of physics.
He is best known for his dystopian trilogy, The Narrowing Pathseries. The first book in the series is called The Narrowing Path, and a prequel novella, The Cruel Path, is available for free. To find out more about David and his work check out his website.
David J. Normoyle’s Website
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Science Fiction
Found in Space
Jack Lusted
The red dot glowed on the monitor.
“Are you sure?”
Chima turned to look at his twin brother, Sai, who was standing with his arms folded and one quizzical eyebrow raised.
Chima rolled his eyes. “The scanner doesn’t lie. There’s someone alive in that wreck.”
Sai peered out the window. “Well, whoever they are, they’re lucky they survived whatever happened.”
Their salvage craft floated alongside the exploded guts of a dead cargo vessel. The vessel had broken up into a dozen parts, the metal frame scattering out for ten thousand kilometres. They were focused on the largest bit that was still intact, inside which there was a single live human.
“What do you think happened?” asked Chima.
Sai shrugged his shoulders as his eyes surveyed the wreckage. “Reactor failure or something like that, does it matter?” He tapped his fingers against the window before turning to his brother. “Are you sure no one was reported alive?”
Chima tapped at his monitor. “All the company said was that something’d gone wrong and they needed someone to clear it up.” He leaned back with his hands resting on his head. “Nothing about survivors.”
“Double check, okay? Let’s get them on-board.” Sai winked at Chima. “This could be our lucky day.”
Hanne tried to block the flashing light with her arm. She was hunched over and naked, breathing hard. They’d put her in the airlock, said it was for decontamination. All she knew was she’d put her clothes into a drawer in the wall and then there were all these lights bombarding her. The walls were a metallic grey, and both doors were secure enough to keep her where she was.
She cleared her throat and spoke to the room. “Not that I’m ungrateful for you rescuing me and all, but when can I get my stuff back?”
A crackly voice came over the speakers. “We’ve run them through decon. They’ll be in your room once you’ve been cleared, as well.”
“How much longer will that take?” The flashing seemed to be speeding up.
“Only a few more minutes. Don’t worry, you’re safe here.”
Those “few minutes” seemed to drag on for a lot longer than that to her. It was a big relief when the interior door opened with a hiss of steam and a thud of moving gears. Trying to cover herself the best she could, she stepped into the ship. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the darker lighting, but soon the shape of her two saviours came into focus.
Two tall men were looking at her—Chima and Sai, they’d said they were called—each completely identical. Both were smiling at her, and one of them held out a towel which she hastily wrapped herself in.
“Sorry that took so long. Had to make sure everything was alright,” he said. “I’m Sai, this is Chima.”
“Hey, don’t worry, I know you need to do it.” Hanne managed a smile. “It was just a bit too similar to where I’d been trapped for, well, I don’t even know how long it’s been.”
“Your craft was reported missing a few weeks ago,” said Chima. “We’re here to salvage what we can. We stumbled across your little life bubble by accident.”
“That was impressive work, surviving that long,” said Sai with a smile as he wrapped his arm around her. “I’m glad you’re safe now, and I’m sure you are as well.”
She nodded. A shiver ran down her spine and she realised how cold she was. “Where are my clothes?”
Sai pointed over his shoulder. “We’ve put them in a room. I’ll take you there now. Chima has stuff to do in the control room anyway.”
The two brothers smiled at each other before Sai guided her along the corridor.
It was no luxury ship they were living on, that was certain. They passed a few doors, none of which were anything flashy.
“This used to be a prison ship,” said Sai. He must’ve noticed what she was looking at. “We got her on the cheap when she was decommissioned. You’ll be safe in your room.”
He pulled open the third door they passed. Inside, it looked like much hadn’t changed from the ship’s previous life, but her clothes were piled neatly on the bed.
Sai waved her into the room. “Take the time to rest if you need it. We’ve got some work to do here before we head back to base. We’ll come and get you when it’s chow time.”
Hanne stepped inside and sat on the bed. She let out a sigh of relief and let her shoulders relax. Sai started to close the door.
“Wait!”
He poked his head through the doorway.
She smiled at him. “Thank you.”
He smiled right back at her. “Hey, it’s our pleasure.”
Chima heard Sai’s boots thumping up the stairs to the control room.
“Is she safe in her room?”
Sai nodded as he ducked beneath a beam. “Door’s locked and I’ve left her alone.” He licked his lips. “Di
d you check on the report?”
Chima grinned. With a few touches he brought the whole thing up onto the main display. “Well, as it says, ‘There are no survivors, wreck has only material worth now.’ No one knows she’s alive.”
Sai gripped his shoulder. “That means no one’s looking for her. Is everything ready?”
Chima reached under the desk and pulled out a bundle, which he unrolled. Tucked into sleeves was an array of knives to make any serial killer proud.
“You know what, brother? I think we’re going to eat well tonight.”
Jack Lusted
currently lives in Brighton on the sunny (hah!) south coast of Britain with his wife Clare and two cats Archie and Molly. A relatively new author, he has one book out so far, Oranje, and is working on more in that series and others too.
Jack Lusted’s Website
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Horror
A Deluge of Demons
H.S. Stone
Heavy rain beat relentlessly against the farmhouse and the aging brown car parked next to it. The storm had driven most nocturnal creatures into hiding, and with clouds covering the moon and stars, not a single ray of light slipped through the night.
Inside the farmhouse, Esther screamed. Crouched on the living room floor like a lion ready to pounce, she surveyed with red, glowing eyes the circle drawn around her. Esther’s nightgown was torn, the sleeveless remains of her attire revealing the bloody tracks on her arms where she had scratched herself. Her face also carried the same red streaks. The edges of her eyes were dotted with cuts where she had tried to gouge them out. She would have succeeded if her husband and Father Patrick hadn’t stopped her in time.
The two men stood several feet away from the circle entrapping the raving woman. Harry watched nervously as Father Patrick began the next phase of the exorcism.
The priest, dressed in a white surplice and purple stole, removed the cross around his neck and held it out in front of him. “All-powerful God,” he began, “pardon all the sins of your unworthy servant.”
Esther roared, “Culan empi seiro fa!” The words came from her mouth, but the voice didn’t belong to her.
“What did she say?” Harry asked shakily.
“I don’t know. She’s speaking the demon’s tongue. Bring me the holy water.” Father Patrick indicated the bowl of water in Harry’s hands.
Harry approached hesitantly. Father Patrick dipped his fingers in the bowl and sprinkled holy water on Harry, and then he did the same in Esther’s direction. She hissed and took a step back, acting more insulted than afraid of the sacred liquid.
“In the name of God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ…”
Esther caught Father Patrick off guard by laughing. “Your God has no power over me!” To prove her point, she walked to the edge of the circle and leaned forward. “Exuro!”
Father Patrick dropped his cross and writhed in pain. He fell to the floor, rolling uncontrollably.
“Father, what’s wrong?” Harry put his hand on the priest.
“It burns, it burns!” the man of the cloth screamed. “Put it out!” His eyes were clenched tightly shut, and his face began to turn red.
Harry didn’t understand Father Patrick’s actions. He couldn’t see anything that would cause the struggling man pain. “Father, there’s nothing wrong with you!”
The priest continued to cry in anguish. Harry scooped some of the holy water out of the bowl and dispersed it over Father Patrick’s body. Slowly, Father Patrick stopped thrashing about.
Regaining his strength, the priest picked up his cross and faced Esther again. “I demand to know what you are called, demon.”
The voice that emanated from Esther answered, “You once knew us as Legion, for we are not one, we are many.”
Father Patrick recognized the name from the New Testament. He also knew that Jesus had driven the demons out of a man in Gadarenes, so they lied when they said God had no power over them. He summoned Harry and whispered, “I’m going to wrap my stole around her. I need you to hold her down, no matter what happens. Understand?”
Harry nodded uncertainly.
Again, Father Patrick prayed, invoking God and Jesus Christ. As he spoke, he walked toward Esther. She did not move, grinning at the priest, mocking him. When he was an arm’s length away, Father Patrick reached out with one end of the cloth in hand. He touched Esther’s shoulder with it. Instead of shirking away, she cackled and grabbed a hold of his arm. Her grip burned through his sleeves and seared his arm like a hot iron, but Father Patrick refused to let go. He draped more of the stole around her shoulder.
Harry saw what the priest tried to do, and he reached around Esther’s back for the other end of the strip of cloth. He wrapped it around his wife’s torso so that, with arms locked and the stole stretching from her body to his, Esther and Father Patrick appeared to be bonded together.
The priest continued chanting, grimacing in pain from Esther’s grip. With his other hand, he placed his cross on her forehead.
Esther shrieked violently and pulled away, but Father Patrick still had one hand on her shoulder. She dropped her arm and convulsed, trying to twist out of his clutch. Harry stepped into the circle and held onto her. No longer suffering from Esther’s burning grip, Father Patrick pressed forward.
Esther’s eyes glowed bright red. “You cannot defeat me!” she screeched. She put both hands around Father Patrick’s neck and squeezed.
The priest did not relent. Using the breath available to him, he proclaimed, “I exorcise you, spirits! Every one of you! In the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ, be uprooted and expelled from this woman!”
Esther emitted one final shriek before collapsing. Father Patrick let go. He knelt down, rubbing his neck.
Harry cradled his wife’s head in his arms. Her breathing was shallow but regular. Her eyes opened. They no longer carried the demonic red glow.
“Harry? What happened?” she asked.
“Don’t worry, dear. Everything’s okay now.” Harry set his wife on the couch and covered her with blankets, where she quickly fell asleep.
Father Patrick stood up and readied himself to leave.
“I don’t know how to thank you, Father.” Harry shook the priest’s hand effusively.
Father Patrick removed his hand from Harry’s grip and placed it on the man’s shoulder. “No need to thank me. Just make sure I see both you and Esther at church on Sunday.”
Harry promised, “Of course we’ll be there.”
Father Patrick closed the front door on his way out. He stepped into the downpour. The only illumination on that wet night came from the red glow in Father Patrick’s eyes.
H.S. Stone
wanted to write a book, even before he could read. Fascinated by the stories that seemed to leap from his kindergarten teacher’s books, he went home and wrote his own book, with illustrations and bound by staples. Of course, since he didn’t know how to read or write yet, the book was full of gibberish.
Undaunted, H.S. eventually mastered the ABC’s and continued to write throughout his grade school years, adolescence, and into adulthood. His publications include novels aimed at Young Adult and Middle Grade readers as well as several short stories.
H.S. Stone lives with his family in the San Francisco Bay Area.
H.S. Stone’s Website
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Science Fiction
Henry and Tori
Craig Halloran
“It’s been two weeks, Henry! Two!” Tori stuffed her face in the bed pillow and screamed.
Henry loaded up his toothbrush and started scrubbing. They’d been treated like prisoners, confined to their room until the WHS guards escorted them to eat in the cafeteria.
“Geez, Henry,” Tori said, “how many times are you going to brush your teeth in a day? That must be the sixth time already.”
It was the seventh time actually. He
scrubbed harder. You’re driving me nuts, Woman. The first few days cooped up together had been pure ecstasy. Tori had the most fascinating way of showing how happy she was to be alive.
“Are you ignoring me, Henry? You know I hate that.”
The room seemed to shrink. Henry’s skin got thin as Tori’s clingy personality took over. She was breaking down. Tears started to flow.
“Do you still love me, Henry? Henry?”
He rinsed his mouth out, put on his glasses, and smiled his best smile.
Say cheese.
He peered outside the bathroom door, looked right at her and held his smile.
She lay on the bed like a goddess in a black tank top and pink panties. She glanced at Henry and said, “No, you don’t.”
Not this again.
“Tori, I…”
He didn’t want to have this conversation again. It always ended with him apologizing for something he hadn’t started.
I have to try something different.
“You what?” she snapped.
He cleared his throat. “I was going to say, ‘I think you need your feet rubbed.’ Would you like that?”
She eyed him. “Are you trying to avoid this conversation, Henry? Huh? Are you?”
“No, I’m just trying to rub your feet.” He stared right into her eyes. “I know these interviews have been hard on you.”
“Interviews?” She sat upright. “Interrogations is more like it! Those zombies tried to kill us, and they’re blaming us for killing them. Mother—”
“Keep your voice down, Tori! Remember last time.”
She fell silent, glared at him, and fell back onto the pillow.
“Get some lotion.”