“Good Intentions"
by Elliot Richard Dorfman
“I think there are some men following me,” Stanley R. Whitaker nervously said to himself. The short, balding middle-aged bachelor was taking a short stroll around the block with his two little white Chinese crested powder puff dogs, Crispy and Chomps. He had heard footsteps behind him ever since leaving his house. However, every time he turned and looked back, no one was there.
“I distinctly heard them,” he repeated and resumed walking.
Again, the footsteps commenced. He ignored it for a while, then quickly turned around a corner. For a moment he thought he saw two tall figures, but then they were gone. Stanley shook his head. “ I wonder if those guys intended to rob me?” Within five minutes he was back to the safety of his home.
Stanley felt himself getting a headache, so he laid down on the living room sofa. Falling asleep, he soon dreamed that he was sitting with Crispy and Chomps in a beautiful English garden on a sunny spring day. A large variety of multicolored flowers surrounded him. In the center of the grounds was a large stone fountain with crystal clear water spouting from the mouth of carved lion heads. He took a deep breath of air filled with sweet fragrances.
In the distance two people were conversing.
“If this makes him happy, I’m going to make it real.”
"Don’t be ridiculous. It’s only a momentary thing for him.”
“We’ll see.”
Crispy and Chomps jumped on Stanley's lap. He could feel the weight of their little bodies; this wasn’t just a vision in his mind anymore! Panicking, he put the dogs down and rose.
“What in blazes is going on?” Looking for an exit, he began running alongside the path near a large red brick wall that surrounded the garden. Stumbling, he fell and scraped his hands. The dogs ran up to him and began licking his face.
“I told you it was a stupid thing to do,” he heard someone say.
“Well, I gave it a good try,” replied another.
Next thing he knew, Stanley was back on the living room sofa. “I certainly let my imagination get carried away with that one, “ he thought. Then he noticed his hands were actually scraped. Puzzled, he got up and went into the bathroom to put some ointment on.
“Sorry about the hands,” someone said behind him. “I told my brother not to do it, but he always thinks he knows more than me.”
Stanley swung around. There stood two thin identical looking men, probably the ones that had been following him in the street. They were dressed in white cotton suits and had long thick curly brown hair that framed their thin youthful faces. Both men looked at him with dark, expressive green eyes.
“I’m Griffin Trumble,” one of them said, “and that’s my twin brother, Phoenix.”
“I don’t understand...How you got into my house and what do you want from me?” Stanley apprehensively asked.
“Oh, it’s not what we want from you, it’s what we can do for you,” Phoenix energetically answered, bending down and scratching the heads of the dogs.
“Take it easy, Stan,” Griffin continued. “We’ve both been assigned to try and make you a happier and more satisfied person. Whoever of us best succeeds will become a full-fledged angel first.”
“Are you being serious?” Stanley asked.
“One hundred percent,” Phoenix answered. “My brother and I have always been competing with each other. In fact, the last thing we did on earth was to try and see who could get to the top of a high mountain first. Well, there was a strong wind that day, and half way up, we both lost our balance and fell.”
Stanley could feel his headache returning. “Oh, gosh, I’m finally losing it,” he thought. “Next I’ll be seeing tinker bell or little green leprechauns.”
Griffin affectionately patted him on the back. “Well, we’ll leave you alone with your thoughts, pal. See you later.”
The twins vanished.
“I’d better take another nap,” Stanley thought, and went to his bedroom. Crispy and Chomps followed and laid down next to him.
Awakening, he felt refreshed. “What nonsense I conjured up,” Stanley rationalized, then went to the kitchen and made some dinner for himself and the dogs.
The following week, Stan was working in his hardware store in Green Oakes, New York, a picturesque town his family had settled in over a century ago.
Mrs. McLean, one of his regular customers, had just left with her cute little boy.
“Gee", he thought, "I wonder how it would have turned out had I married and raised a family. I remember having that big crush on Adrianna Powell when I was twenty-one. The darn trouble was that I was too shy with girls and never gave myself a chance to get familiar with her.”
Bang, the next thing he knew was standing in front of his yard, surrounded by two boys, who were running around him, totally out of control. The oldest one hit the younger one in the back of the head, causing the little one to start crying.
“Stop it,” Stan managed to stammer out. “Don’t cry, he didn’t really hurt you, just gave you a little tap.” But the little boy ignored him, and continued to wail loudly.
A tired looking woman, about Stan’s age, came out of the house and grabbed the two youths.
“She looks like an older version of Adrianna,” he mused.
“Oh, Stanley, can’t you control your own kids, for heaven sakes?”
“My own kids? Well, I . . . ”
“Don’t try and give excuses. The sad truth is you’re totally ineffectual. I’m the one that lands up doing everything.”
On and on Adrianna went, spouting all kinds of faults with him, until he felt like taking a handful of earth and stuffing it in her big mouth to shut her up. In the meantime, some people who were passing the house, stopped to watch when they saw all the commotion.
Totally humiliated, Stanley opened the gate and shouted at them. “Don’t you people have something more to do than gawk at us like a bunch of loose turkeys?”
Then zap, Stanley was back in his store.
Phoenix was shaking his head at Griffin. "Guess you flubbed that one, all right. You didn’t do any better than me in trying to make Stan happier.”
“Oh, not you two again!” Stanley moaned as he leaned against the counter. “I was sure you two were just something I had made up in my mind.”
“We’re real, all right,” Phoenix said, smiling from ear to ear. “And if one of us can make you happy by giving you a better life . . . ”
“Yes, I remember. You’ll become a full-fledged angel.”
“Exactly,” Griffin replied. “Say you know this store is kinda’ small. I’ll bet you would like it more if it were much bigger and fancier.”
“I’m not . . . ” But Stanley did get a chance to say another thing. The next thing he knew was standing in a beautiful office. The room was well appointed with a carved mahogany desk, a leather couch, a bar, bookcase, and an entertainment center. Opening the door, he could see the vast interior of a hardware store.
“Not bad,” Stanley thought to himself. “I could probably adjust to this.”
A message flashed on the monitor of the desk computer.
Urgent reply needed from you. New store fixtures that you requested have arrived. Shall we bring them over now and install them?
At the same time, his phone rang. A frantic voice spoke. “Mr.Whitaker, there’s a flood in the cellar. You’d better call the plumber.”
A salesperson suddenly came rushing in. “Mr. Whitaker, you’ve got to go to the electronics section. A box fell from a top shelf and hit a customer in the head. She is threatening to sue the store.”
Stanley felt himself getting frustrated. He wasn’t use to dealing with so many things at one time.
Another salesperson appeared. “Mr. Whitaker, we need you at the front right away. A man is complaining that he wants his money back because the lawn mower he bought here is broken.”
Stanley put his head down on the desk.
When he looked up, he was back at the counter of his old, familiar hardware store.
“Guess managing such a large store is too much for you, Stan. Sorry for making you go through a rough time,” Griffin sheepishly said.
Phoenix, seemed to be deep in thought. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “I bet I know what would make Stan happy. Stan, remember when you were a young man how you wanted to dab into politics? How would you like to do that and achieve the ultimate position?”
“Ultimate position?” Stanley asked with trepidation.
“Sure. How would you like it if I make you the president of the United States?”
Stanley's eyes widened in horror. “No, please! I would be totally out of my league. That would be a travesty for the country and me!”
“Okay, take it easy, I won’t do it", Phoenix assured him. "It was just a thought."
“Look, guys,” Stanley explained after collecting his thoughts, “the truth is that I’m actually very happy with my life. After all, I own a little store that I really enjoy working in. I live in a nice house with two great pets, and belong to groups that have many events that keep me socially active. While there’s really nothing that either of you can do for me, I wish whoever is in charge of you would promote the both of you for all of your efforts.”
Suddenly a gold light focused on the twins and two wings spouted from each of their shoulders.
Griffin and Phoenix were ecstatic
“It seems out boss heard you, Stan,” Griffin happily exclaimed.
Phoenix touched his wings with delight.
“We’ll be going now," he said. "There’s lots of dignitaries in heaven that both of us must meet. "Bye Stanley. It was great meeting you.”
“The same here,” his brother added, as the two disappeared for the final time.
Stanley gave a sigh of relief. That evening he looked at the sky while walking Crispy and Chomps.
“Whoever is in charge of Griffin and Phoenix up there, thank you for taking my suggestion and making both of them full-fledged angels. I don’t think I could have handled any more of their shenanigans, no matter how good their intentions were.”
"You’re welcome, Stanley,” a deep voice from the above answered, “I know just what you mean.”
Good Intentions by Elliot Richard Dorfman
Apple in Your Teeth by Abby Rustad
God's Website by Lee Gimenez
His Word Made Flesh by Matt Larsen
Due to the large amount of stories that have been submitted to us of a spiritual nature,yet still in keeping with our speculative theme, we opted to add a section to our magazine dedicated to that aspect of writing.
The stories in this section vary from mildly secular musings, to deeper-more intense and occasionally religious experiences. We hope that you enjoy this new addition to our magazine, and that if you indeed enjoy it- please tell us in our guest book. They are not meant to be interpretated as anything other than entertainment...unless you see it in another light.
Editorial comment at bottom of story section.
BIO
Abby "Merc" Rustad lives and writes in Minnesota, where she lacks any gardens in the confines of an apartment.
(There is also a sad lack of snakes.) She's had fiction published in Alternative Coordinates, M-BRANE SF, Fusion Fragment, AlienSkin Magazine, Sorcerous Signals, and Every Day Fiction.
Visitors are welcome at her blog: http://merc-rants.blogspot
APPLE IN YOUR TEETH
by Abby "Merc" Rustad
The Garden of Eden--a really long time ago B.C.
Eve flipped her hair over her shoulder and arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
The huge, emerald green boa coiled lazily down the trunk. “One bite and you’ll know it all. Good, evil, that murky gray moral ambiguity.”
“Uh huh. And the fact we aren’t supposed to?”
“Here’s a freebie--don’t end your sentences with a preposition.” The serpent’s tongue flicked out. “Now don’t get me wrong. It’s admirable that you’re obeying and all, but come on. Wouldn’t you really just like to know what it is to be a god?”
“I don’t know.” Eve tapped a nail against her lower lip. “Shouldn’t it be ‘goddess’ in that case?”
“Either way, you know you want to eat from the tree, don’t deny it.”
Eve looked at the huge, golden-leafed tree sprouting luscious fruits in all colors of the light spectrum. It was tempting. But that warning about “you will surely die” kept nagging at her.
“No thanks. I’m good.”
The serpent’s muscles bunched and he straightened his neck, reaching forward until his nose was a hand’s breadth from Eve’s. His eyes swirled with shades of gold and silver. “You want to eat.”
No, I don’t.”
"Yes, you do!” Fangs flashed in the serpent’s red maw and venom dripped and sizzled the grass below him. “Just eat the damning fruit already!”
Eve did a graceful back flip and faced him with hands out in an aggressive stance. “I don’t think so.”
The snake launched out of the tree. He whipped his body into a zigzag and snapped his tail at Eve’s face.
“Hiiiiiiyaaaaaah!” Eve flew into the air and kicked. Her foot impacted the serpent’s tail. Shockwaves rippled out between them and they sailed in opposite directions.
Eve landed and went into the Crane Stance, which she had just invented. “No one hits the first lady.”
“Watch me.” The serpent balanced on his tail tip, swaying hypnotically. “You don’t know half as much as I do, you innocent piece of rib.”
Eve flattened her hand, palm up, and flicked the tips of her fingers at the snake.
He surged into the air. His body twisted into a whirlwind blur.
Eve ran to the nearest tree and scampered up the trunk. She flung herself vertically thirty feet through the air. They clashed high above creation. Eve chopped one fist into the snake’s neck. He bent and absorbed the blow, then lashed his coils at Eve’s ankles. She blocked, somersaulted, and back-kicked the serpent under the jaw.
"Oooffffsssss!”
They parried, swatted, and battered each other on the way down to earth, then bounded apart.
Eve spun, warped her hands into talons, mimicking eagle’s claws, and stood on guard. “Is that all you got? Pathetic.”
Hissing, the serpent scooped a coil-full of dirt and flung it at Eve.
She whipped her head down and sideways. Her hair spread out in a glossy net, snaring the grains of dirt. Another toss of her head ricocheted the dirt into the nearby foliage. Grains of soil ripped through the leaves, shredding a hedge of rhododendrons.
Shaking hair out of her face, Eve smirked. Then she blinked. The serpent wasn’t in sight.
"Had enough, have you?” Eve called.
Leaves in a glorious eucalyptus tree rustled.
Eve pushed off with one foot, the other leading, and hurtled towards the movement. Her heel impacted something soft and squishy.
"Eeeeeeeee!”
The koala went sailing out the other side of the tree.
“Sorry about that!” Eve shouted. She ran across the tips of the leaves before she cartwheeled back to earth. A stretch of green whizzed past Eve’s peripheral vision. She spun, her hair lashing out to intercept. The serpent flexed his whole body in mid lunge.
Eve’s hair whooshed a fraction of an inch past the scaly body. With a drawn out hisssssss, the serpent curled into a loop as he flew past Eve. She saw a flicker of red-yellow. The snake had catapulted a single fruit at Eve. She landed and bent backwards. The fruit sailed at her face. Quicker than sight, she snatched it in her teeth, ready to rebound it at the serpent. Her teeth sunk through the pale, smooth skin and into the sweet, forbidden meat. Eve mumbled the first swearwords in realization. She’d just munched the fruit from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.
She swallowed, righted herself, and the fruit plopped into her hand. Great. She couldn’t spit out. And it did taste exceptionally good.
The serpent laughed. “Gotcha.”
Fury blazed up Eve. She pushed off and aimed a vicious, sailing kick at the sniggering snake.
He dodged.
She turned in mid-aid and drove her foot with shattering force into his jaw.
The serpent arched into the sky, venom and spittle showering from the side of his mouth.
Eve landed and watched the serpent disappear into the horizon.
“Nice one,” Adam said, stepping out from hiding.
“You were watching?”
“Sure.”
Eve glared at him. “You should have done something!”
“And interfere?” Adam shook his head. “This is feminism in action. I don’t want to be on the receiving end--“
Eve threw the fruit at him and it hit him in the mouth. It splattered, mostly mush by now. Pulp spread over his face. His eyes bulged and he swallowed. She smirked. “That should teach you.”
Adam glowered. “Oh yeah? Watch this.” He ate the rest.
Eve rolled her eyes.
Realization spread over his face. “This is all your fault, woman.”
Eve smirked again, then she flew up and sprinted across the treetops.
A ( not so) Quick note from the Editors:
Belief is a personal thing. Faith is something that can not be seen, measured or completely understood...Religion is what many wars are fought over...people can't agree on one. Stories about religion are sure to cause some controversy...so consider this. If an author can get you think about the subject matter in a way the helps to broaden your mind- then he has achieved his goal. The stories are not meant to sway you towards any particular belief..
If you do not believe- that is your choice. We have many freedoms in this world- and what we chose to believe and how we chose to express that belief, is a freedom many of us have. In America- we can express ours by being Christians (with a vast assortment of various forms offered- Catholic, Protestant, Methodist, Baptist...etc...etc...etc) and each variation in spite of it's difference has one common theme- God-...or we can opt for Judaism, Buddhism, Islamic or even L. Ron Hubbard's 'Scientology' to believe in, among the voluminous factions of religions that find their way into ur daily lives. Then there are agnostics and atheists to fill in the gap from all ends of the religious spectrum.
Faith is the common factor in all religions....if you believe (no matter what your religious affiliations), then you have faith. And a faith that can not be tested, is not a strong faith.
No matter what your religion...your belief system, or what your inner faith clings to....we all wonder about God. Why shouldn't there be stories that express this wonder? We asked ourselves the same thing...why not? We've had so many submissions, we know that many of you feel the same.
These stories are not to meant to be anything more than entertainment...yet perhaps we can learn something from them. About ourselves and what our beliefs truly mean to us....how others might view them...perceive us through our faith....see another side of how religion impacts us all.
It is our sincere hope that we do not offend- but we do feel that God doesn't care how you learn about him...or how you opt to express your faith or religious inner being....just that you do so. True faith is the ability to show love and compassion to your fellow human being....to let the part of God that lives within each of us to be shared with each other.
The Golden Rule 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.' should be something that follows us all in our daily lives.
This is not meant to endorse or condemn any particular religion- in fact- it our sincere hope that all of our readers, no matter what they believe, will learn something about how others might perceive any given belief system. We hope that you enjoy these stories....perhaps see something that makes you appreciate this fantastic freedom that we have, and that it may even help you achieve a sense of spiritual growth.
There is an old saying. "More than one way to skin a cat."....a rather crude interpretation of saying that you have options in life on how to do just about anything. The same thing applies to God. He has given us so many paths to find him...it would be a shame to waste our energies on hating each other for what we do or do not believe....to condemn one belief over another...or to tell someone that how or what they believe is wrong. Believe....and show others the value of your own faith by being the best you can be.
You can not force faith, or belief upon another being...but you can show them what true inner peace can be achieved by following a path that leads us to a better world.
New! Just added genre- spiritual stories in keeping with our speculative theme.
Speculative Spiritual Stories
GOD’s WEBSITE
by
LEE GIMENEZ
Sunday
April 15, 2018
Michael logs on and types in the web address. GOD’s home page pops up, the 3D image of the Father looking down at him. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”
Father makes the sign of the cross and speaks, his voice deep and soothing. “Bless you, my son. How can I help?”
“It’s been a month since my last confession, and I’ve done something terrible.”
Father’s face shows concern, his tanned brow wrinkling. “I see. Go on, Michael. Tell me what you’ve done.”
“I’ve…I’ve…at work, I embezzled some money…”
Father purses his lips then runs his hand through his thick white hair. “I see. And what made you do this?”
“My mortgage, my car payments, all our other bills, it’s all just too much…”
“I understand. You were strapped for cash.”
“Yes…that’s right. I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t want to do it.”
“Are you repentant, Michael?”
“Yes, I am. Please forgive me for my sins.”
Father makes the sign of the cross again. “Bless you, my son. You are forgiven. You need to pray 5 Our Father’s…And you’ll need to make a donation of 100 Euros today. I’ll just need your credit card number, my son.”
“Of course, Father.”
Sunday
April 22, 2018
The Church’s logo dissolves and Father’s 3D image appears. Michael notices that Father’s flowing white robe looks a bit wrinkled today, but he doesn’t comment on it. He has enough of his own problems.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been a week since my last confession.”
“Bless you, my son. How are things today?”
“Not good Father.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. How can I help?”
“I know you get a lot of traffic, but you remember last week, I was having a problem…”
“Yes, yes, of course, the embezzlement thing. I am God, after all. I remember everything.” Father checks his watch, and looks a little impatient.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“Ok, Michael, get on with it…”
“Well, it’s like this. My money problems have gotten worse. The bank’s going to foreclose on my house unless I come up with the last three payments I’ve missed.”
Father rubs his chin with his hand and looks deep in thought. “I see.”
“So, the bottom line is, I had to embezzle more money.”
Father frowns. “I see.”
“In fact, I had to embezzle quite a bit. Now my wife’s suspicious of what’s going on…”
“Well, Michael, are you repentant?”
“Absolutely. I promise I won’t do it again.”
“In that case, you are forgiven. But, since this is a bigger sin, it’s going to cost you. You’ll have to pray 10 Our Father’s and you’ll need to donate 200 Euros to cleanse your soul.”
“Thank you Father.”
Wednesday
April 25, 2018
Father looks out to Michael, a questioning look on his face. “Weren’t you just here a few days ago?”
“Yes, Father, I’m afraid so.”
“This can’t be good, young man.”
“It’s not. In fact it’s very bad. Please forgive me, for I have sinned.”
Father arches his brows. “Go on…”
Michael wipes the perspiration from his forehead. “I told you my wife was getting suspicious…we’ll, she found out I was taking money from my employer. She said she was going to turn me into to the police…”
Father fidgets in his golden throne. “Stop right there,” he says, his voice booming. “Don’t tell me you harmed her in some way?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Michael, you’ve crossed the line this time. It’s one thing to steal a bit, but quite another to harm your wife.”
“Father, it’s worse than you think. She’s dead.”
“Oh my!” he yells, rising from his throne. “You’ve done it this time. How can you expect me to forgive you for this?”
“Please Father. It’s a horrible, horrible thing I’ve done. But, I beg you, please forgive me. Please don’t banish my soul to hell.”
Father sits down and rubs his chin again, deep in thought. “Against my better judgment, I will take pity on your soul and forgive you. On two conditions.”
“Anything…”
“First, you turn yourself into the police as soon as we’re done here. And second, I’ll need your credit card number again. This is going to take a serious donation this time.”
Thursday
April 26, 2018
Michael logs on and types in the web address. GOD’s home page pops up, the 3D image of the Father looking down at him, a puzzled look on his face.
“Michael, what are you doing here? I told you to turn yourself in to the police.”
“I just had to talk with you one last time.”
“There’s not much else I can do for you, my son.”
“Father, if I could just tell you again, from the beginning, how this whole thing got started, what we discussed…it would make me feel a lot better.”
Father looks at his watch, then starts drumming his fingers on the arm of his throne. “All right, get on with it…”
Michael goes on to describe in detail the embezzlement, Father’s reaction, the donations. Ten minutes later, he stops. “So, would you say that’s a pretty accurate account of what happened?”
Father looks at his watch again. “Yes, yes, of course, now if there’s nothing else, I have more clients, I mean parishioners, to talk with…”
“I’m sorry, Father. But there is one last thing. You see, I did turn myself into the police yesterday, just like you asked. I told them everything, including my visits with you. It appears the FBI and IRS have been looking into your Church for some time. They suspect you of fraud and tax evasion. They told me they would help me with the DA if I turned in state’s evidence on you. By the way, this whole conversation has been recorded.”
Father looks down at him and bursts out in laughter. “Do they think it would be that easy? Do they think I’d allow you to record our conversations? I’ve been electronically scrambling them – there’s nothing left of them.”
“But how did you know I would do it?” Michael asks.
Father smiles. “I am God, after all.”
Lee tells us: I. am a science fiction writer, with over twenty published stories, and a member of SFWA. My stories have appeared in the following magazines: Cosmos ; Nature ; Afterburn SF ; Bewildering Stories ; Fifth Dimension ; Concept Sci Fi ; Escape Velocity ; AlienSkin ; Aphelion ; Morpheus Tales ; The Cynic ; Abandoned Towers ; Calliope ; Arcane Twilight ; Antipodean SF ; New Voices in Fiction ; Expressions ; Skive Quarterly ; Skiveflash ; Green Wave. Several of my stories are also available on Amazon.com. For additional information about me, please visit my website at www.leegimenez.com.
His Word Made Flesh
by Matt Larsen
"I see why you called me," Nick said. He wiggled the safety goggles into a more comfortable crease of his bald head. Drawing a nail across his red furry belly, he asked, "When did it start?"
Father Connors clenched his jaw and looked down at the broken feathers and leaden framework, still raining from the stained glass above them as the Seraph struggled to unwedge itself from a mullion. Another one wheeled through the transept, throwing fire.
"Two months ago. We were renovating the stonework and the architect was a poor speller who insisted on being quite literal," he said, moving to sidestep Sister Paula in the center of the aisle, legs stretched at odd angles beneath her habit. He produced a blueprint and allowed his careworn hands to unfold it on the altar.
"For instance," he said, pointing to the wooden pews stacked in an anarchic jumble next to a partially-exploded wooden box, "this is his interpretation of the Confusional."
Nick turned back to Father Connors. "Hard to spellcheck a blueprint."
"Yes, well, and you know which path is paved with good intentions. So you can imagine our regret when we specified a number of new ANGLES. A common transposition, I suppose."
Nick put his hands on his hips, scratching himself idly. "...and now you've got angels in the architecture."
The priest nodded. His gaze wandered to a chapel where a Raphael waited above the door, vials of holy water concealed in eleven of his thirty-six wings. He let loose just as a Remiel, flying at the head of a small company of Virtues, passed through, soaking them.
Father Connor covered his ears as a chorus of tinny angelic voices rattled the panes above them. The chaos mounted as a group of Dominations marched into the fight, their flaming swords cleaving noses from stone grotesques. The virtues fled the heavenly enforcers, only to be rounded up by the fat cherubim, its thousand eyes blinking in concert.
The priest took the opportunity to pull a fresh compress from a pocket and apply it to Sister Paula's head. He grimaced as she muttered to herself.
The exterminator gestured. "What's her story?"
"Skin! Skin!" Sister Paula said. Flecks of spittle danced at the edges of her meaty lips.
"Phencyclidine," Father Connors corrected. "PCP. We really should be wearing safety glasses."
He indicated a direction with his nose and together they carried the nun to the sacristy. Father Connors ran her compress under the sink while she clawed at the air.
"All of God's creatures have skin, even his most Heavenly ones," he said in a low voice, pausing to dodge a vengeful Sariel. Sister Paula whooped and threw her arms in the air and froze, distracted by her wriggling fingertips. Another angel flew down from the transept and attempted to alight on her wrist. The exterminator shooed him away before he could set fire to Sister Paula's rosary.
Father Connors lowered her arms. "And what does old angel skin turn to? Dust. Angel dust."
The exterminator snorted. "This isn't my first infestation. How'd she catch it?"
A flush of color crept into Sister Paula's cheeks as she reached to either side, propping herself up with her arms. "Looked up..."
"I blame myself, really. I should have warned her before she came into the sanctuary to witness our... MIRACLE..." Father Connors spat the word. "That's when she got angel dust in her eyes."
"Could have been worse," said Nick.
"Oh, it was. Ask me about her Sunday school class. No, don't. I think the parents are planning a lawsuit."
Nick put an arm under Sister Paula, careful to avoid the heavy gold cross swinging from her neck, helping the priest carry her past the pipe organ to shelter in the north chapel.
"We have a program, inner city drug counseling. The archdiocese placed it on permanent suspension, but word gets around. We've had to bolt the doors, force ourselves to wear masks. I must confess I've built up somewhat of a tolerance. Still, what can be done?"
Nick smiled, pulling a red handkerchief from his overalls and wiping his eyes and forehead. The cloth caught on a point, tearing a small hole. The exterminator placed it back in his pocket. "Let me give you the low down. I've been handling this kind of thing pretty much my whole life.
"First, it's going to take some effort on your part. You have to take down some of this..." he gestured at the crucifix "...stuff to make my guys more comfortable. Collateral damage is a fact of war, man. Of course, I promise they will be on their best behavior, but you should probably keep the caution tape up and hide your virgins.
"Next, it's going to cost you." From a pocket, Nick produced a small book, bound in iron and greasy, mottled leather. Both hands held it open for Father Connors while his tail brought the sharp-tipped quill to hover inches from the priest's face. The priest took it, bending forward to squint at the black-on-black text though the heavy lenses of his glasses. "Your signature, if you don't mind."
The priest chuckled mildly to himself, glancing up as shards of stone rained down from the angelic Thrones crashing into stone buttresses.
His pen began a long looping scratch. Steam jetted out from the lines, filling the air with an acrid scent. With his other hand, Father Connors pinched his nose and completed the line. Nick leaned in, breathing heavily. The priest gently pushed him away with the spine of the book.
"Oh, Nick," he said. "For a tempter you're surprisingly naïve. It’s not exactly the iconoclastic controversy."
Nick took the book, kissing and returning it to his overalls. "Yeah, father? Here, I came down thinking I might get some side work, but what you’re saying... Well, damn me if this isn't the first time the church made a deal with the Devil."
Bio: Matt Larsen is a network administrator, writer and actor in Chicago. His work can be seen in Flashshot, Sonar 4, Negative Burn and onstage with the improvisational ensemble International Stinger and the Lindbergh Babies 2.0. His science fiction musical for children, "The Paper Spaceship," co-written with Jeffrey L. Shivar, was recommended by the Chicago Reader, and he has had the pleasure of working with comedy legends Martin de Maat, Del Close and Stephen Colbert. He does not believe angels walk among us.
Brief Bio:
Elliot Richard Dorfman taught in the New York City School System for more than three decades, as well as giving private vocal and piano lessons. He founded Suma Play Productions, Inc., and was artistic director of the American Youth Repertory Company, Off Broadway. After retiring, he moved with his family from the borough of Brooklyn to Johnstown, New York. Among his successful former students are American tenor, Daniel Rodriguez, and character actress, Kelly Wolf. Mr. Dorfman, a former member of the NY Dramatist Guild and Associated Music teachers League, has appeared and written for radio and television. His plays (dramas and musicals) have been presented on the professional stage, schools and centers. Forty-eight recent short stories have or will be published in the following magazines: Delivered, Twisted Dreams, Bewildering Stories Static Movement, NVH, The Tiny Globule, Perpetual, Black Petals, Blood Moon Rising, Demonic Tome, Short Story Library Magazine,StoriesThatLift.com, M-Brane Sicence Fiction, Coffee Cramp eZine. Poems have appeared in Falling Star, Orange Room Review, Debris, and Golden Visions.
For specifics go to: elrite.webs.com
