Secondhand Souls

by Christopher Moore

  The little ­people parted and two of them carried a tray with the head of an animal Wiggley Charlie didn’t recognize down an aisle. (It was the head of an opossum, but the o was silent, as often happens with the decapitated.) The red suit guy took the head and put it on a table on the stage.

  “Bring the body for Theeb.”

  “Bring the body for Theeb,” everyone chanted, and two more little ­people brought a big piece of meat on a tray and fitted it on the table with the head.

  “Bring the legs for Theeb!”

  And the legs were brought.

  “Bring the voice!”

  As each pair of little ­people brought their pieces, they took tools out of little pouches and sewed the pieces on the body. When the arms were attached, a person with a lizard face wearing a pretty pink dress brought some clothes, and the new body on the stage was dressed. Wiggly Charlie had seen Audrey making clothes just like the ones they fitted onto the body. These must be Audrey’s secret friends, thought Wiggly Charlie.

  “Bring the soul, so Theeb the Wise may give it life,” said the special fork-­spoon guy.

  “Bring the soul. Bring the soul. Bring the soul.”

  There were many, many little ­people in the round room now. More than a hundred, but Wiggly Charlie didn’t count very well, so he just thought there were many, many. Each of them had a red light in his or her chest, glowing even through their clothes. Now they opened two doors in the side of the round room, and behind it were many different kinds of objects: shoes, trophies, boxes, tools, bowls, rings, clocks, radios—­there were many, many things, and each of them glowed a dull red, just like the little lights each of the little ­people had in his chest.

  “Bonjour,” said a voice right next to Wiggly Charlie, and he was so surprised that he dropped his ball. It bounced down the steps and into the crowd of little ­people. He looked to where the voice had come from and he saw the very pretty face of a calico cat.

  “Soyez la bienvenue,” she said. She had a pink ribbon around her neck and wore a pink outfit like the ones Audrey made. In the center of her chest a red light glowed very brightly and Wiggly Charlie jumped and clicked his talons because he liked it so much.

  “Shhhhh,” said the cat person. She held a finger to her mouth, which Wiggle Charlie knew meant he should be quiet because Audrey and Big Charlie did it all the time. She pointed to the middle of the big room, then patted a spot next to her on the stairs for him to sit next to her. He did, and watched.

  “Je m’appelle Helen,” said the cat person.

  Wiggly Charlie didn’t know what kind of nonsense she was talking about, but she was nice, so he sat down and watched the show going on in the middle of the big round room. “Ball,” he said, pointing to the spot in the crowd where he thought his ball might have rolled.

  A radio was brought on the stage and set beside the body they had stitched together. The fellow in red raised his fork-­spoon and said:

  “Now Theeb the Wise will bring life to one of the ­People.”

  The crowd chanted, “Theeb the Wise. Theeb the Wise. Theeb the Wise.” Not everyone could say the words, and some just growled in rhythm or stamped their feet. “Theeb the Wise! Theeb the Wise! Theeb the Wise!”

  ­Fork-Spoon Guy took papers from his red coat and spread them out on the stage, then started to chant in a different language. Wiggly Charlie had seen pages like that in Audrey’s book room, and he knew that you were not supposed to lick or chew or drool on them, but what he didn’t know was that these were very special pages that had been given to Audrey by the high lama of her monastery in Tibet, and she should have probably not left them lying around like she did with most of her things because she was still not good with having things.

  Anyway, the ­Fork-Spoon Guy chanted and chanted, and before long, the light in the radio moved through the air and settled in the chest of the body they had stitched together, and everyone said “ooooo” and “ahhh,” unless they couldn’t talk then mostly they just hissed or clicked, but when the light had moved the body twitched. It twitched again.

  The ­Spoon-Fork Guy stopped chanting, stood over the body, and said, “He’s alive!”

  “Alive!” everyone chanted, and Wiggly Charlie bounced up and down and made his most excited sound and clicked his talons because everything was so wonderful and everyone was just his size.

  “Alive!” everyone said. And the body sat up. The new little person looked around.

  Wiggly Charley jumped to his feet, and as he chanted with the others he bounced down the stairs, clicking his talons. “Alive! Alive! Alive!”

  The ­Spoon-Fork Guy lowered his spoon-­fork and everybody stopped chanting.

  “Alive! Alive! Alive!” Wiggly Charlie chanted on. And everyone turned and looked to him, even the new person, so Wiggly Charlie ­chanted much quieter and stopped on the stairs, halfway down.

  “Not one of us,” said the ­Spoon-Fork Guy, pointing his ­fork-spoon at Wiggly Charlie.

  “Not one of us! Not one of us! Not one of us!” they all chanted, and pointed.

  “Not one of us! Not one of us! Not one of us!” chanted Wiggly Charlie, glad that he wasn’t chanting by himself anymore.

  The ­Fork-Spoon Guy came off the stage and the crowd opened up for him as he passed through and came up the stairs until he was standing right in front of Wiggly Charlie.

  “Theeb the Wise demands silence!” shouted the ­Fork-Spoon Guy.

  “Not one of us. Not one of us. Not one of us,” chanted Wiggly Charlie, the rest of the crowd leaving him hanging. Finally he trailed off and looked around, hoping someone else had been chanting, but they hadn’t.

  “I am Theeb the Wise,” said the ­Fork-Spoon Guy. He pointed to his red coat with the shiny gold buttons.

  “Steve,” said Wiggly Charlie.

  “No. Theeb,” said Theeb. “I did not know who I was, but now I have remembered. I am the leader of the ­People. I am Theeb.”

  “Steve,” said Wiggly Charlie.

  “Steve! Steve! Steve!” chanted the crowd.

  “No!” shouted Theeb. “She put our souls in these vessels, and they gave us false names. I was called Bob, then, but our real names have come back to us. We remember!”

  “Steve! Steve! Steve!” chanted the crowd.

  “No, you dumbfucks!” shouted Theeb, although he didn’t look as sure of himself as when he had started.

  “You are not one of us. You are not one of the ­People. You are incomplete.” He pointed to the little light in his own chest, then at the enormous pile of things that were red. “You are missing something!”

  “Need a cheez,” said Wiggly Charlie.

  “Need a cheez! Need a cheez! Need a cheez!” chanted the ­People.

  Theeb bellowed, “She gave us hideous form, and no memory, but now we have memory.”

  “Need a cheez! Need a cheez! Need a cheez!”

  “Shut up!” shouted Theeb, and the crowd did.

  “She gave us no voices, but the new ­People have voices!”

  “Need a cheez! Need a cheez! Need a cheez!”

  “She gave us no lips. But we have grown lips!” said Theeb.

  “Lips! Lips! Lips!” the ­People chanted.

  “Lips,” said Wiggly Charlie, handing Theeb his enormous dong, which Theeb the Wise wisely let drop to the ground.

  “Sure, you have that, because you are her favorite, but you have no soul.”

  “Lips,” said Wiggly Charlie.

  “We were ­people, and she trapped us in these hideous creatures, but we have her books, and using them we have become more. There will be more of us. Thousands of us! And the ­People shall all have voices! All shall have lips! So sayeth Theeb the Wise!”

  “Steve the Wise! Steve the Wise! Steve the Wise!” everyone, including Wiggly Charlie, chanted.

  Theeb the Wise
was not pleased, for he was pretty sure his name as a human had been Theeb, not Steve, but then, Steve really did make quite a bit more sense, didn’t it? Now he was angry.

  “Guards!” called Theeb, possibly Steve, previously Bob.

  Four of the ­People, all wearing the new colored cotton outfits that Audrey had sewn, came out from behind all the soul vessels. Each carried a different weapon, a knife, a hatchet, a sickle, and a screwdriver, although not a spork, for the Spork of Power was reserved only for Theeb the Wise. Each also wore a little belt, more crudely fashioned than their clothes, and tucked in it were canisters of pepper spray.

  “Seize him!” said Theeb.

  “Seize him! Seize him! Seize him!” chanted the ­People.

  “You don’t have to chant that!” shouted Theeb, and they pretty much fell silent but for a few stragglers, who were still working the “lips” chant and were behind.

  The guards took Wiggly Charlie by the arms and he let them, asking each of them if they might have a mozzarella stick handy, using the traditional “need a cheez” phrase.

  “You, her soulless minion, have been sent to us as a sign, Charlie ­Asher. We will take Audrey’s soul, and put it in your soulless body, so she, too, will know what it is to be trapped in a hideous little creature!” Theeb waved his spork maniacally and laughed.

  Wiggly Charlie struggled, and two more guards came and grabbed his feet. Audrey gave him cheezes and had boobies and other parts that made him sleepy. He didn’t want them to hurt her.

  “Take him away,” said Theeb. “Tie him up, and prepare to seize the heretic maker, Audrey!”

  “Tie him up! Tie him up! Tie him up!” chanted the ­people, although to be honest, most of them weren’t sure what was going on. The guards dragged Wiggly Charlie out of the big round room.

  “Mon Dieu!” said the cat person called Helen, who was still at the top of the stairs. She hurried off the other way to the passageway that led out under the porch.

  20

  Testing, Testing

  On his first day back living in his old building, Charlie picked Sophie up at school and walked her to get ice cream. On their way home, cones in hand, they encountered a rat that was dying in the gutter, probably from poison. Charlie thought, “A dead rat, well, that would be disgusting and cliché, but an almost dead rat, that sir, is an opportunity!”

  Charlie looked around. He didn’t see anyone else out walking on this particular stretch of street, at least none close enough to tell what he was doing. He didn’t notice the yellow Buick Roadmaster parked on the next block, someone sitting behind the wheel.

  “Sophie, honey, you know the word that you’re never supposed to say, and that thing you’re never supposed to ever do?”

  “Yep.” She nodded, plowing a nose-­shaped furrow into her orange sherbet.

  “Okay, I need you to do that. With this rat.”

  “You said never, ever.”

  “I know, honey, but this creature is suffering, so this would help it.”

  “Audrey said that life is suffering.”

  “You can’t listen to her, she’s a crazy woman. No, I need you to try it. Just point at the rat and say the word.”

  “Okay,” Sophie said. “Hold this.” She handed Charlie her cone and crouched down.

  She pointed to the rat, looked over her shoulder at Charlie, just to make sure, and he nodded.

  “Kitty,” she said.

  Lily was sitting at her call station, headset on, tablet before her, watching a French film about a man who goes insane when he shaves off his mustache, when her line rang. She could see on the terminal that it was one of the hard lines from the Golden Gate Bridge. She paused her movie, took a deep breath, and connected.

  “Crisis hotline. This is Lily. What’s your name?”

  “Hi Lily, this is Mike Sullivan.”

  “Hi, Mike. How are you doing today.”

  “Lily, this is Mike Sullivan. The Mike Sullivan who jumped . . .”

  Lily stopped breathing for a second. No one who had actually jumped had called back before. She wasn’t sure she was trained for this. Sure, she would have ignored the training, but it would be nice to have it to fall back on.

  “So, Mike, it says here you’re on the bridge, on one of the hard lines.”

  “Yes. I’m just sort of connected. I don’t know how.”

  “So, you’re not, like, standing there talking into the speaker box or anything?”

  “No, nothing like that. I’m just sort of here. Not physically, but it feels like I’m talking to you.”

  “You’re calling from the other side?” Lily said.

  “What? Marin? No, right on the bridge.”

  “It is you!” His doofuscocity had transcended even death.

  “I’m here, Lily. On the bridge, like Concepción promised, like I thought it would be—­well, not like I thought it would be, but I’m here. So it worked? Did Charlie get my body?”

  “Yes, but that was a while ago. Do you not have the same perception of time?”

  “It did seem to take a long time to figure out how to get through to you. I tried asking ­people on the bridge, even risked going to one of my old coworkers. Nothing. I don’t have whatever it is that Concepción and the others had to appear to me.”

  “Maybe it was you,” said Lily. “Not them.”

  “Really?”

  “You’re talking to me from beyond the grave, although not literally. A lot of ­people have been on that bridge over the last seventy-­five years, yet you’re the one she picked.”

  “Oh, yeah. How’s your friend doing with my body?”

  “He seems pretty comfortable. He’s boning a nun with it.”

  “Oh no!”

  “No, it’s okay. She’s into it. You met her.”

  “Oh, Audrey?”

  “Yes. So, what’s it like being dead?” Lily was suddenly aware of the ­other counselors in the room looking at her, which normally didn’t bother her. Sage was writing down the time on a Post-­it, no doubt so she could find the call on the recordings when she reported Lily. “Just a second, Mike.” She’d forgotten for a moment that all the calls were being recorded.

  She pressed the mute key and turned to Sage. “This guy thinks he’s a ghost,” she said. “I just need to indulge his delusions long enough to figure out how to get him down. You want to take over? I can put him on hold, probably.”

  “No. Go ahead,” said Sage. “Sorry.”

  “I’m back, Mike. You okay? One of my co-­counselors was noting the time for the recording.”

  “Recording? That’s not good, is it?”

  “I just need to get you safely off that bridge, Mike,” she said, louder than was necessary.

  “Well, I just called to tell you that I was okay, better than okay. I’m, well, I’m not just the me you’ve met, I’m a lot of ­people. And there are others here. Thousands.”

  “Mike, as a trained crisis counselor, I’m not qualified or authorized to give you a diagnosis, but if someone less grounded than you were to say that—­that he was ‘a lot of ­people,’ then I would have to recommend he seek counseling.”

  “Isn’t that what I’m doing?”

  “Not really a mystery that you didn’t have any friends in life, Mike.”

  “Oh, the recording. Right. I need to know if you guys found the Ghost Thief yet. Concepción says we need to hurry.”

  “Not yet, Mike. We’re trying to figure that one out.”

  “Oh, okay. Thanks. Keep trying. I guess I won’t jump today, Lily. You’ve changed my outlook. I’m going to go seek some counseling right now.” He was possibly the worst liar she’d ever heard.

  “Wait, Mike—­”

  He disconnected. Lily looked over her shoulder to see if Sage was still listening, but the frizzy-­haired traitor in carg
o pants was already on her way to the director’s office.

  Well, she’s totally useless,” Charlie said as he entered the apartment.

  Sophie ran by him into the apartment—­wailing like a tiny fire engine—­through the great room where Jane and Cassie were sitting, and into her room. She slammed the door.

  Jane sat up, wineglass in hand. “I’m suddenly feeling a lot better about my parenting skills.”

  Sophie opened her door and poked her head out. “I liked you better when you were dead!” she shouted at Charlie. She slammed the door again.

  “So, good first day back?” asked Cassie.

  Charlie plopped down on the couch next to his sister. “She can’t even kill a rat that’s already circling the drain. In fact, I think he perked up a little. She kept pointing and saying, ‘Kitty! Kitty! Kitty!’ but nothing happened. A ­couple walking down the other side of the street gave me smiling pity nods because they thought she was slow.”

  “You’re not supposed to say slow,” said Cassie. “It’s unkind. Although, Jane always says it.”

  “That’s because she takes like an hour to vacuum the living room, not the developmentally kind of slow.”

  “Unkind,” said Cassie.

  Charlie scooted away from Jane on the couch. “You make a seven-­year-­old vacuum the living room? That’s horrible. You’re like a wicked stepmother.”

  “First, I pay that child a living wage; second, the reason it takes her so long is because she gets to do whatever she wants during the process; and third, she wants to be a princess, so a wicked stepmother is like a pre-­rec.”

  “Well she’s not going to be a princess. She’s not even the Luminatus anymore.”

  “You told her she isn’t the Luminatus?”

  “Well, of course. I need to keep her safe.”

  “Jane wouldn’t even tell her that she wasn’t a vegan,” said Cassie.

  “It’s not a diet thing,” said Jane. “She really wants to fit in.”

  “But she’s not a vegan, right?” Charlie said. “Lily said you told her she could eat animals that only eat vegetables.”