Aftertaste
Page 9
“Why?”
Polichinelle gave him an apologetic shrug, an angelic look on the demon’s face.
“You wanted to be the funniest clown in the circus.”
Trying to catch his breath, Benny forced out the words. “All . . . all the others . . . are dead.”
Polichinelle giggled. “Don’t blame me, Benny. Blame your mother for all those years of lies.”
Benny stared, eyes widening in horror. “My . . . my . . .” he gasped, but he couldn’t get the word out.
“Sorry, pal,” Polichinelle said. “But you’re just not that funny.”
The giant mallet seemed to appear from nowhere. Polichinelle gripped it in both hands as he swung, and Benny knew it wouldn’t be made of hollow plastic or rubber. The crowd roared, laughing themselves to death.
God, how they laughed.
Devil’s Contract
E. S. MAGILL
Maleficorum, Inc.
Software License Agreement for Maleficorum
Software
WHEREAS, Licensee wishes to use Maleficorum Software under any and all conditions set forth in this Agreement.
NOW, THEREFORE, in consideration of the mutual promises set forth herein, Licensee and Licensor hereby agree as follows:
READ CAREFULLY. By using Maleficorum Software you agree to be bound by the terms of this License. If you do not agree to the terms of this License, well, it’s actually too late for second thoughts. By now you’ve probably stopped reading, if, that is, you bothered to read any of this at all. The latest figures show most people spend less than eight seconds on software agreements, thinking their time better spent checking out how many goats their life is worth at www.howmanygoats.com. Why bother anyway, right? It’s not as if you have a choice, this being the most popular software program in the world, the one everyone uses. Therefore, you must accept our terms, but, alas, our attorneys say we have to inform you about them. We know, however, that if we throw in some hereins and herebys and make the sentences more than five words long, with the fourth-grade reading level you’re accustomed to these days, you won’t read this License Agreement. Whether you read the entire Agreement or not, this will end badly for you.
1. General. The software and documentation accompanying this License are licensed, not sold, to you by Maleficorum, Inc., for use only under the terms of this License, and Maleficorum, Inc., reserves all rights not expressly granted to you. In exchange for accepting this License, you hereby grant Maleficorum, Inc., access to your life and soul, whereby Maleficorum, Inc., secures the rights to do with it as it so desires, primarily the redistribution of said life and soul to other parties for the purpose of world domination and obscene wealth. While this Agreement constitutes a Devil’s Contract, we are in no way associated with Lucifer, Satan, Mephistopheles, Scratch or any of their subsidiaries. We know that by now you’ve already clicked through to the Accept button and have missed, and will continue to miss, the finer points of this Agreement, but if you hadn’t found the legalese so daunting and the overuse of commas so mentally taxing, you would have discovered that we now own your life and soul. We plan to use said life and soul to expand our hold upon the world through lucrative transactions with the enterprise known as Hell (or any other corporation—coal, oil, banking et al.—that can offer a better deal; thanks to deregulation, Hell no longer holds the monopoly on this type of transaction).
2. Permitted License Uses and Restrictions. You may make one copy of the Maleficorum Software for backup purposes only.
THE MALEFICORUM SOFTWARE IS NOT INTENDED FOR USE IN THE OPERATION OF AIRCRAFT, LIFE SUPPORT MACHINES, NUCLEAR FACILITIES OR OTHER EQUIPMENT IN WHICH THE FAILURE OF THE MALEFICORUM SOFTWARE COULD LEAD TO SEVERE ENVIRONMENTAL DAMAGE, PERSONAL INJURY, OR DEATH.
We at Maleficorum, Inc., reserve those uses for ourselves, and will hereby prosecute to the fullest extent of the law any persons who encroach upon our right to decimate the earth and pillage humanity. You may not copy, decompile, reverse-engineer or create derivative works of Maleficorum Software or any part thereof. Only we possess the right to invade your computer with spyware, porn pop-ups, and the nosferatu virus, a little something special we created in the event we need to drain you dry on the spot (such need to be determined solely by Maleficorum, Inc.).
3. Consent to Use of Data. You agree that Maleficorum, Inc., and its subsidiaries may collect and use technical and other information from your computer, system software, peripherals, tax returns, social networking sites, criminal record, and that fan-based obsession you’ve been trying to hide from others. Maleficorum, Inc., may use this information to improve our products, to let your mom know about those anime costumes in the back of your closet, or, for the pure sociopathic fun of it, to defriend your friends.
4. End Users. The Maleficorum Software and related documentation are determined as 48 C.F.R. §2.101, commercial software, as 48 C.F.R. §12.212, 45 C.F.R. §12.26 or 45 C.F.R. 861.1301, 52 C.F.R. 333.1 or 45 C.F.R. 861.1301, 52 C.F.R. 333.666. We haven’t a clue as to what this means, looks like gobbledygook to us, but we do know that statistically a few of you will actually scroll through this License Agreement and will stop at this spot. We know that if we put in a bunch of abbreviations and numbers with decimals, your head will spin like that of a little girl possessed by Pazuzu (who now works in our marketing department). Plus, studies have shown that people are most fearful of this symbol: §. Unpublished rights are reserved under the copyright laws of the United States.
5. Complete Agreement. This Agreement sets forth the entire understanding of the parties and may not be modified except in writing executed by both parties. Fooled you! Made you think you had a glimmer of hope of getting out of this, huh? Faustian bargains will not be considered. Don’t worry, though. You won’t have to suffer the fires of Hell for eternity, perform the Holy Kiss or engage in any other diabolical favors. You can go about your normal, mind-numbing routine like zombies trapped in a mall. Modern technology has facilitated our gathering of lives and souls much more effectively, closing any loopholes that allow the Licensee to avoid the terms of this Agreement. It’s so much more efficient than the old sign-your-name-on-the-dotted-line-with-your-blood method. Please note: We no longer accept firstborns as exchanges. Neither do we negotiate terms or conditions, unless you can deliver souls on a mass scale. If so, please contact our corporate lawyers.
6. Termination. This License is effective until terminated by Maleficorum, Inc. Your rights will terminate automatically without notice if you fail to comply with any terms of this License. Actually, who are we kidding, all your rights have already been terminated since we now possess your life and soul. Consider this as coming to the crossroads with all alternate roads blocked off for indefinite repairs. This Agreement also prohibits litigation and arbitration as a means for the Licensee to terminate this Agreement, and, anyway, Daniel Webster now works for us. And if you’re one of those anal-retentive freaks who actually read these things, don’t think you can get out of this Agreement by pushing the Decline button because as soon as you do there will be a knock at your door. (Clicking the Close box will result in the same actions on our part.) We’ve been monitoring you since this License Agreement box opened, and any length of time longer than it takes to click Accept indicates that you’ve really been reading this, triggering our response team to be at the ready to terminate this Agreement, namely you. Don’t you wish you had just clicked through?
Click the Accept button if you agree to the terms of this License Agreement. Click Decline if you refuse these terms. Come to think of it, you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
Nine-Tenths of the Law
ERIC JAMES STONE
The law offices of Thacker, Ford & Harward were on the upper floors of a downtown high-rise that had mostly escaped the ravages of the zombie troubles. I walked past the attractive, living receptionist and made my way toward a corner office, which I figured would hold one of the better lawyers.
None of the l
awyers themselves had escaped infection, of course, because the zombies had deliberately targeted lawyers, judges, and politicians during the initial stages of the plague. But that only made them better lawyers. Contrary to movie stereotype, the typical zombie did not shamble around, arms outstretched, searching for brains to eat, because most zombies had all the brains they needed: The average zombie had an IQ of 182.
Instead of brains, they ate hearts. But nobody’s perfect.
The name on the corner office door was Travis Gordon. I walked through the door and saw a gray-haired man sitting at a desk, his skin the usual waxy complexion of a zombie.
After a few moments, Gordon noticed me and looked up. “I didn’t hear you come in.” His voice was calm. “Considering my door is shut, and I can’t smell you or hear your heartbeat, you are either a hallucination, a projection, or a ghost.”
I walked to one of the chairs in front of his desk and sat. “Pretty impressive. I am, in fact, a ghost.”
“Well, Mr. Ghost, or whatever your name is, the mere fact that you are dead does not excuse you from the rules of civil society. You can’t just drop in unannounced. Feel free to make an appointment like anybody else.”
“Yeah,” I said, “about that . . . You have a living receptionist answering your phone. Very discriminatory of you, by the way. Manifesting to you is pretty easy, you being dead and all. My name’s Kyle, by the way. Kyle Petrides. But even if I managed a phone call, she’d probably just hear white noise on the line, which her mind would then interpret as someone whispering words like, ‘You’re all going to die, get out, Paul is dead,’ et cetera, et cetera. So I decided to do a walk-in. Plus, it’s kind of an emergency.”
“What kind of emergency?”
“Someone’s about to haunt my house.”
Gordon frowned. “Someone other than you, you mean.”
I waved my hand dismissively. “I don’t haunt my own house. But from my perspective, having a bunch of living people hanging around, appearing at odd hours, making strange noises and such, that’s pretty much a haunting. I want to get an injunction to keep these people out of my house.”
“You own it?”
“I did, twenty-one years ago, before I died. But I’ve been there ever since, and possession’s nine-tenths of the law, right?”
“Hmm. There’s no precedent for ghosts exercising property rights.”
“Eighteen months ago, there were no legal precedents for zombie rights, either. But now . . . conditions are more favorable for ghosts to come out of the closet, so to speak. It’s really a matter of civil rights.”
Gordon pressed a button on his phone. “Maxine, reschedule my eleven o’clock and hold my calls.”
We went to court the next day.
The living people who had bought my house had scrounged up an actual living human lawyer from somewhere. Most people had learned to live with the zombie takeover and even be happy with it—the government ran a lot more efficiently now—but there were still foolish prejudices. And picking this living lawyer was definitely foolish, since Gordon could talk rings around the guy.
“But, Your Honor,” the lawyer whined, “my clients have paid good money to purchase the house from the legal owner. This, this ghost shouldn’t be allowed to possess my clients’ property.”
“The owner of record is not necessarily the legal owner, Your Honor,” Gordon said smoothly. “Mr. Petrides has been in continuous possession of the property for the past twenty-one years, with a claim adverse to that of the owner of record. Opposing counsel’s clients were on notice of Mr. Petrides’s possession, since they were aware that the owner of record was willing to sell the house for below market value due to its being haunted. It is not Mr. Petrides’s fault that they did not believe in ghosts.”
The judge nodded. “I’ve heard enough. Current law has clearly established that mere death of the physical body does not divest someone’s rights. While the law was written with zombies in mind, on its face there is no reason it cannot apply to ghosts as well. There being no legal bar to possession by a ghost, I rule that the property in question belongs to Mr. Petrides.”
Two weeks later, the Supreme Court unanimously affirmed the ruling. Justice moved a lot more swiftly now that the zombies controlled the entire process. I met Gordon in his office for a celebratory drink—although he didn’t offer me anything, of course. Not having a body had a lot of disadvantages.
“I imagine that, after this decision, a lot more of your kind will start coming into the open,” Gordon said, then took a sip from his brandy. “And if ghosts start asserting their rights to own homes, it’s going to cause increased demand for homes, which means increased property values, more construction jobs, and so on. Economically, it makes a lot of sense. I’m sure that’s why your case got expedited.”
“This was never really about property for me,” I said. “It was about legal recognition of ghosts as beings with rights.”
“Of course,” Gordon said. “We zombies understand. Why do you think we went after the lawyers, politicians, and judges first?”
I nodded. “Interesting thing about those zombie-rights laws you passed. They allow the body to retain civil rights after death, even if the personality controlling the body is completely different. Very convenient.”
“Well, of course. Since the virus wiped the old personalities—”
“No, I meant convenient for us ghosts.” I walked toward him, and as I got too close he backed away until he reached a wall. “Your body keeps control of your assets no matter who controls your body. Combined with the recent Supreme Court decision that ghosts have a right to possession, it leads to some interesting possibilities. Taking over a human with a soul is tremendously difficult, but all you zombies in positions of wealth and power—well, you’ve done the hard part already.”
I stepped into his body, possessed it, then lifted the glass to my lips and actually tasted something for the first time in decades.
“Like they say, possession is nine-tenths of the law,” I said, just in case he could still hear me from inside what was now my head. “I think I’ll like being a lawyer.”
Scrumptious Bone Bread
JEFF STRAND
I like live things all right, I s’pose, but when it comes right down to it, don’t nothin’ compare to dead things. You can do anything you want to dead things. That don’t work with live things. I know—I’ve tried.
Oh, now, don’t go gettin’ your filthy mind in that kind of gear—that ain’t what I mean. No nasty stuff goes on in my place of business. I’m not gonna go so far as to say that it’s a respectable outfit—I mean, look at all the blood—but there ain’t no foul necrophile stuff happenin’ on my watch. If you walked inside my shop and waved a crisp new twenty-dollar bill in my face and said, “Tommy, I’ll give you this here money for a poke at one of those dead things,” do you know what I’d say? I’d say, “Oh, hell no,” and then I’d take your twenty dollars just to teach you a lesson. That’s exactly what I’d do. Cuz when you’re three hundred and fifty pounds but in good physical condition, you can just snatch people’s money right out of their hand for suggestin’ that kind of obscene activity, and there ain’t nothin’ they can do about it.
I ain’t never had an offer of forty bucks. That might change things. But until it happens, ain’t no corpse-pokin’ in my shop.
Now, there ain’t no question that I’m fond of dead things that are already dead. Still, you know what I really like? Makin’ dead things. Oh, hell yeah. I’ll make dead things all the damn day long. It don’t matter what: squirrels, ducks, badgers, turtles, humans, iguanas, elephants, centipedes . . . okay, I lied about the elephants. Not sayin’ that I wouldn’t make an elephant dead, given the opportunity, but it ain’t never happened. Maybe if I moved to Africa or somethin’. As it is, the biggest thing I ever made dead was good ol’ Dave Stringer. That was a fine day. I made up a song about it:
Makin’ dead things
Makin’ dead things
> Makin’ dead things
All the livelong day
Makin’ dead things
Makin’ dead things
Makin’ dead things
Like good ol’ Dave
It ain’t “Freebird,” but it’s pretty catchy. I sing it a lot, or just hum it, dependin’ on the social situation, and I change the name when appropriate.
My collection of dead things is about . . . oh, I’d say forty or fifty strong at the moment. It changes pretty regularly but hovers in the forty-to-fifty range. I add new ones, and old ones go too far past their freshness date and get buried or dumped. Some of ’em I leave lyin’ around, because there ain’t no laws against pluckin’ out a centipede’s legs, and others I hide under the floorboards, because there are laws against pluckin’ out a human’s legs. And I agree that there should be—I mean, if the world was chock-full of people like me, there’d be no people left, right?
I try to keep my hobby a secret from most folks, but sometimes you’ve gotta show off. I’d say about six people knew the true extent. It was supposed to be seven, but Nell’s response wasn’t quite what I expected and I had to make her dead. So when Andy came into my shop, I didn’t bother to put away the finger I was whittlin’.
“Hi, Tommy,” he said.
“Hi, Andy. Are you needin’ any taxidermy services today?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking I suppose I do. I ain’t gonna bury the lead: I murdered a man for his bones.”
I stopped whittlin’ and just stared at him for a minute. Andy’s a thin, sickly-lookin’ thing whose face would’ve been right at home in a grainy black-and-white newspaper photograph with the headline MUGGY CREEK SLASHER CAUGHT AT LAST, but I’d been unaware of him ever actin’ on those kinds of impulses.
“For real?” I asked.
Andy swallowed some spit and nodded.
“Are you proud of it?”