by Mike Ashley
“All of you, listen to Echo,” Minerva ordered.
Oh, bless you, Minerva. You’re not the Goddess of Wisdom for nothing! I let my repetitions echo into the still summer air.
“Up,” I repeated. “Wry. Zing.”
“Do you hear that?” Minerva reached for her armour.
“Up. Wry. Zing,” I said, softly now. Hurry up, ladies. I was running out of zing here myself.
“By the heavens!” Diana thundered, strapping her quiver onto her back. “We hear you, Echo. By all the gods, we hear what you’re telling us. Trust me, you’ll find the Olympians grateful!”
No one ever accused Juno of being quick on the uptake, but finally the bronze penny dropped.
“UPRISING?”
Oh-oh. I recognized that tone from the Queen of Olympus.
Someone, somewhere was going to pay.
For once, I was thankful that that someone wouldn’t be me!
I won’t bore you with the details. No coup is bloodless, and suffice it to say that there are a lot of wild bears and boars and snakes running about who’d far rather have remained river gods, satyrs and fauns. Especially now the hunting season’s nearly upon us.
But there you go.
For my part, I’m pleased with the outcome. One day, perhaps, men will take over from the gods and that will be a sad day for mortals. It is the nature of men to always want to war with one another – and who will be there to quench the fires of hatred, if not Jupiter, Juno, Minerva, et al?
My only regret was that Hercules was taken out of circulation before he could retract his scurrilous lies about me and Narcissus, but what the hell? My lover and I might be condemned to false history, but the truth of our love shows itself every spring. And don’t tell me some bloke called Wordsworth or Jobsworth or whatever won’t want to write a poem in the future about the fruits of our ardour!
As for Hercules, he and the twins didn’t disappear entirely. Being a son of Jupiter, his Twelve Labours were given a positive spin in the history books, while at the same time any mention of this little episode was duly deleted. Ditto Castor and Pollux. The gods, being gods, wouldn’t kill them, of course. That’s not in their nature. So, if you care to tilt your head upwards on a clear night you can see them. Up there in the heavens.
Only you and I know the real reason the three of them have been placed in the Constellation.
And I, of course, am not telling.
At least. Not unless you top up my glass . . .
A Bunch of Fiends
HOW MUCH WOULD YOU PAY?
Craig Shaw Gardner
Yep, it’s Craig Shaw Gardner again. I certainly don’t apologize for including an author twice in this volume, especially when it gives us a chance to have both a Wuntvor episode, as we did earlier, and now a brand new story, written specially for the book. It doesn’t feature Wuntvor or Ebenezum, but is rather chillingly closer to home than that.
Earl just hoped there was something good on. After the kind of day he’d had, he needed a little relaxing. He tipped the barcolounger back at just the right angle and pointed the remote across the room.
Click.
“Bigger! Brighter! Bolder! Better!”
Click.
“If you think for one minute that being the head of this hospital prevents you from accepting responsibility for this child inside me—”
Click.
“Now! For a limited time only!”
Click.
“Exactly! Why can’t society accept transsexual nuns? After all, it’s not as though all of us are lesbians—”
Click.
Ah, this looked interesting. One of those old-fashioned fantasy films. The screen was a wash of red, with everything in flames. Everybody screaming, too. And look at those devils with their twitching tails. Their pitchforks positively gleamed! Pretty good production values. Earl chuckled. With computers these days, you could do just about anything.
“Welcome to Hell,” intoned a voice deeper than that of James Earl Jones. “And have we got a surprise for you!”
Something crashed upstairs. His wife yelled up at Brian, their fifteen-year-old son. Earl sighed. Just another quiet evening at home.
“That’s right!” the on-screen voice rumbled on, “You’ve tuned in just in time to receive our exciting offer.”
The bass line boomed down through the ceiling above. Brian had fired up his stereo to the usual ear-splitting volume. Earl punched a button to turn up the TV. He didn’t want to miss a word of this.
A body in flames screamed as it fell across the screen.
“Just one of the unfortunates who didn’t take advantage of this exciting television offer,” the voice continued with the slightest chuckle in his voice. “Don’t you get burned, too!”
So this was a commercial? Earl felt a little disappointed. Well, at least it was different. What they wouldn’t do to get your attention these days. His wife yelled something from the other room. She knew he couldn’t hear her when the TV was on. Earl decided she wasn’t worth hearing anyway.
He looked back to the screen.
The announcer continued: “And now a word from Mephistopheles!”
A face filled the screen, round and smiling, with a pair of horns at the top and a pencil-thin moustache in the middle. To Earl, it looked like a pinker version of Don Ameche. Don Ameche grinned. The light in his eyes seemed to come from within. “What have we got? Bargains, bargains, bargains! Stay tuned for the sweetest deals of your life – and your afterlife.”
Something crashed upstairs. Something else crashed in the kitchen.
His wife bustled out to the base of the stairs to yell at Brain. His son stomped out of his room, an amazing amount of noise for someone who only weighed 140 pounds, and stood at the top of the stairs so he could yell back. Brian used a four-letter word. Earl’s wife replied with some four-letter words of her own. And where, she added, had he learned that language in the first place?
The conversation continued in the usual circles. Earl didn’t have to hear every word. He could fill in the rest. Too bad, Earl thought, his family couldn’t be as clever as these infomercials.
He looked back at the set, and realized he was actually a little disappointed that he had missed a bit of the commercial.
The announcer said, “This is just one small sample of what you’ll get with your entertainment package, the latest from Hades Sports Central!”
A man, dressed in rags, his body covered by scrapes and scabs, was giving his all to push a good-sized boulder up a steep slope. A half-dozen words were superimposed over the bottom of the screen: “BOULDER ROLLING COMPETITION – ALREADY IN PROGRESS”.
A pair of announcers spoke in hushed voices.
“You’ve got to give it to old Sisyphus here, he’s a real competitor,” the first remarked.
“I think he’s really got a fighting chance this time around,” the second replied.
The ragged man strained and sweated, pushing the great boulder with his back, digging his bare feet into the rock-strewn soil. It looked nearly impossible, but, inch by inch, this Sisyphus guy was pushing the big rock up the hill. Earl had to admit, this was a real man’s sport. It reminded him of a Scottish games sort of thing, like caber tossing, or that bit they did with a sheep’s stomach. It was a real change from all those bass-fishing shows you’d usually see around dinnertime.
“This could be particularly meaningful for our competitor,” the first voice said. “He’s been pursuing this goal for a really long time.”
The second voice laughed. “It seems like he’s been doing it for an eternity.”
Earl became aware of the noise of a crowd behind the action, shouting now, rather than screaming.
“Listen to those fans!” the second voice exclaimed.
“The home team can get you over that hump,” the first enthused. “Sort of like that extra player.”
“And Sisyphus needs it now! He has to give 110 per cent!”
But Sisyphus was having
trouble. The angle of the hill appeared to grow steeper the higher he got, and the boulder moved more and more slowly. Earl watched for a long, agonizing minute as the great rock seemed not to move at all. With a strangled cry, the ragged man fell to one side, barely avoiding being crushed as the boulder crashed back down the hill.
“Oh! So close!”
“Better luck next time, Sisyphus! What a trouper! He just never gives up, no matter how long it takes.”
“It does seem to take for ever.” The second voice chuckled again. “This could be almost as bad as the curse of the Bambino. We’ll be back shortly, to watch Sisyphus try again. But stay tuned for an important message!”
Earl had had just about enough of this. Maybe there was something good on the Playboy Channel. He punched the remote. It didn’t do a thing. The TV still showed the bright red infomercial.
What now? Hadn’t he just changed the batteries in this thing a month ago? Earl shook the remote and punched it again.
The first announcer’s voice took over: “Well, we’ll check back with you fellows later, after we tell our viewers about this exciting offer.”
The remote wasn’t doing squat. Maybe he’d actually have to get up and change the channel on the cable box.
The camera panned across a sea of miserable-looking people, some dressed in rags, the rest totally naked. “You already know the story,” the announcer continued. “Expenses are up everywhere. Hell is feeling the crunch just like everybody. But you can help. We want to contact every living soul. That’s right, Hell needs you.”
The pinkish Don Ameche grinned on-screen again.
“No,” Don added, “we’re not talking about our special contracts, although if you’re interested, simply call the number at the bottom of your screen.”
1-800-DAMNATION appeared in white letters as he spoke.
“But what about the rest of you?” he continued. “Do you ever think of the fiery pit? Because the pit thinks about you. And now you can let a little bit of Hell into your life for an amazingly low price!”
Earl’s wife appeared in the door from the kitchen. “What the hell are you watching?”
It had to be something special to get Gladys’s attention. Earl guessed this qualified. He waved the remote towards the set.
“It’s one of those infomercials – probably for one of those dot-com things.”
His wife’s bitter expression grew more sour still. “Now you’re watching infomercials while I’m out slaving in the kitchen? It’s not like you do anything around here.”
Earl wasn’t going to get into a fight over something like this. “Well, I think I’ve had enough of it, too.” He raised the remote and pressed the “off” button.
“Ow!” His thumb leaped from the remote as the shock almost jolted him off the couch.
“We won’t do that again, now will we?” Don Ameche asked happily. “Not until you’ve heard the rest of our amazing offer!”
Gladys stared at the screen. “Is the TV talking to us?”
“You, and everybody else in your miserable excuse for an existence,” Don replied with a laugh. “But I digress.” He pointed directly at Earl. “So you aren’t ready to give your all for Hell? Perhaps you need a bit more . . . persuasion. And, rest assured, long, slow persuasion is our specialty. We’ll find a way to get you to open your wallets and give till it hurts – because that won’t hurt as much as this.” Don looked off-screen. “Hey, Beeze! What have we got for these nice folks?”
“A real charmer today,” the announcer’s voice replied. “Disco pig calling.”
“I’m not going to watch this!” Gladys announced. But she didn’t move. It was as if her feet were nailed to the floor. Earl thought he saw a trace of panic on her frowning face.
A very fat individual in a broad-brimmed hat appeared on-screen.
“Soooooweeeee!” Thump thump thump. “Sooooweeeee!” Thump thump thumpity thump. And so on. The fat fellow would scream, followed by disco drums. It went on for quite some time. Earl thought about turning it off. Not that the devils would let him. But he couldn’t tear his gaze from the screen. “Sooweeee!” Thumpity thump thump. It was like watching an automobile accident – you know you shouldn’t watch it, but your head just won’t turn away.
Don Ameche took the fat fellow’s place. Earl breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thanks to our first contestant,” Don said. “Only 4,682 more disco pig callers to go!”
Another, perhaps even more obese individual in an even larger hat appeared on-screen.
“Dad!” Brian crashed down the stairs. “Something’s really wrong. All my stereo will play is music with accordions!”
Earl glared back at the TV.
“We adjust to the circumstances,” the announcer’s voice replied proudly.
Gladys actually smiled at this. “But our musical tastes are so different. How could they possibly find something that – unusual – for all of us?”
The announcer only hesitated for a second before announcing: “Disco pig calling with a polka accompaniment!”
A chorus was added to the repetitive noise issuing from the TV. “In Heaven, there is no beer . . . Soooweeeeee!” Thump thump thump thumpity thump.
This seemed to go on even longer than before. The entire family was transfixed.
“That’s why we drink it here . . . Sooooweeeeee!”
“For the love of God, turn it off!” Gladys shrieked. But she didn’t look away.
Thumpity thump. Oompahpah. Thump.
Brian covered his ears. “Okay, Dad! You win! This time I really will go upstairs and do my homework!” But he stared at the screen, open-mouthed.
Earl couldn’t take any more. He didn’t care about the consequences. He thumbed the power switch.
This time, the shock hit all three of them. The whole family screamed as one.
“We can stop this,” Don said softly.
“How—” Gladys gasped, clutching at her chest.
“By giving you control of the Hades network. And for a special low price! How much would you pay for this fine programming—” As he spoke, the screen flashed on the boulder-rolling, the pig-calling, the people screaming and falling, and lots and lots of flame. “—Or even better. How much would you pay to be able to turn it off?”
Don’s grin grew even wider. “Think about it. The power of Hades at your command, for only $19.95 a month. That’s right! Only $19.95! And we won’t change that price until we decide to make it higher!”
Earl shook his head. This wasn’t the time for some extra expense. They were pretty maxed out already. “But our credit cards—”
“Now, now,” Don chided. “There’s still some room on your Discover, isn’t there?”
Earl glanced to his wife. She nodded her head all too eagerly.
“So you agree?” Don nodded. “Done! If only everything was as simple as a devil’s bargain!
“You’ve just made Hell a happier place that hopefully, you’ll never have to visit. We now return control of your television – well, you know the routine. But now you can see the best of Hell every single day! And, so long as you keep up your payments, you’ll never hear from us again – at least until our next financial difficulty. You have the word of the devil on that one!” Don glanced downwards. “But, if you ever need us, you now know where to find us!”
A logo appeared on the bottom corner of the screen – Channel 666.
The whole family breathed a collective sigh of relief as Earl changed the channel.
“Well,” Gladys said as Earl flipped past another dozen cable offerings. “That was certainly – different.”
“Yeah,” Brian agreed. “Disco pig calling – wild!”
Earl realized the family wasn’t screaming at each other for a change. His thumb paused before he could click the remote one more time.
What was this?
The room was filled with golden light. The light was coming from the TV. Earl was surprised the set could give off that much i
llumination.
The room was filled with the sound of an angelic choir.
Images of blue skies, with perfect white clouds, appeared upon the screen. Then that dissolved to a new view, showing row upon row of perfect angels, all with their wings spread, all lifting their voices in song.
Well, Earl thought, this was certainly a more peaceful image than the last channel. Of course, anything would look peaceful after what they’d been through.
The choir continued to sing. Earl sat there, waiting for something to happen.
“We just thought you’d like to get a little look at Heaven,” a soothing voice said at last. The angelic choir kept it up in the background. “But even Heaven has its problems. Like everything these days, our expenses have increased dramatically.”
Maybe they’d lower their expenses if they didn’t hire so many singers. Earl glanced down at the remote.
“So we’ve come up with a whole range of programming that’s just – heavenly. A special package, especially for you. Just see what Heaven has to offer. Here’s a little bit of our uplifting drama series, ‘A Slice of Heaven’.”
The scene shifted to three people – all in heavenly robes – glowering at each other, their fists raised.
The person on the left frowned, and lowered his hands. “You know what? I don’t want to argue any more.”
The other two looked at each other, and put down their fists as well.
“No, you’re right,” the second fellow said with a smile. “Let’s talk, and solve our problems.
“We’ll be friends for ever!” the third agreed.
The soothing voice returned: “Or how about a bit of ‘Heavenly Messages’, our topical talk show that raises all the important issues we have up here.”
A man in heavenly garb stood before half a dozen others in similar attire. The first man – Earl guessed he was the host – spoke into his microphone.
“I don’t know when I’ve felt this good. How about you?”
The words PEOPLE WHO FEEL REALLY GOOD were superimposed over the bottom of the screen.