Too Late for April Fool's in the Field Museum

in

Kenneth Angielczyk almost dropped his pen when his office door slammed shut behind Lance. Lance, usually a deliberate soul who treasured his role as mentor to the museum's curators, looked at Ken with wild eyes. "The dead are coming to life."

A corner of Ken's mouth quirked up under his rakish mustache. "That's a convincing acting job, my dude, but you're too late for April Fool's and too early for Halloween. What is this, practice for a play?"

Lance ran a hand down his trimmed grey beard and jumped as another door slammed elsewhere in the building. "I... No. Check the news." He tossed his phone onto Ken's desk. That, more than anything else, convinced Ken of Lance's earnesty. He was never so cavalier with his tools. Ken picked it up and looked at dozens of reports of ghosts manifesting around their corpses and disturbing the living. "But... What's doing this?"

Lance fell into a chair. "We don't know. No one knows." Another door slammed. "But it's happening everywhere."

Kenneth blinked. "Everywhere?" He looked in the direction of the museum's paleontology hall, where the slams came from. Where a general ruckus was getting louder. "Then we should run," he said.

To Seek Silence

in

Gorgzol II, upgrade and successor to Gorgzol I and ruler of the First Machine Emperor, desired nothing so much as silence, complete, utter, and spectrum-wide.

"You could disconnect your inputs," advised his Network.

"Why should I blind myself for the ease of others?" he asked.

A craftunit presented him with a Solitude Chamber, which permitted no radiations  to enter and would absorb all his own.

"Why should I imprison myself for the peace that I seek? Better I should imprison the universe." So this he sought to do.

He designed and commanded built an enclosure for every star, every planet, every moon, each asteroid and even the tiniest passing comet. From his throneworld, he timed the projects so that their multitudinous completions would appear synchronous from his throne room, so the last flickers of light from each enwrapped star or albedinous planet would all vanish at once. He arranged a concert of his favorite music, timed to conclude in synchrony with the disappearance of the stars, and he commanded all his subjects to be forever silent and unlit.

He watched as all fell completely silent, as he had arranged. "It is beautiful," he said.

The Network had disconnected his inputs.

Ginger and Something

in

"Is... is everything supposed to go black?" The fizzy taste of the beverage was still on her tongue. Ginger and... something.

"Yup," said Linsey. It lasts about five minutes per sip."

"Five minutes! You didn't say—" Her heart rate leaped upward, she began to sweat, and she sat up with jerk.

Linsey's hand caught her shoulder and gently pushed her back down into the seat. "Relax, this is normal. You can stop it at any time. Well, any five minutes or so. Just don't take another sip. See how you feel like this."

She gulped, thick and hard, leaving an ache in her throat. "I don't like it."

"I know. Give it a minute."

She did.

"Am I supposed to be seeing things?"

"Yeah, the brain starts making stuff up after a while."

"Woahhh..."

"Yeah." She could hear Linsey's grin. "Kinda neat, right?"

"Kinda... yeah, it's neat. Where..." She groped for the can.

"Here." Linsey put it in her hand and she took another sip. Ginger and something filled her mouth, fizzed down her throat. Tamarind. Was that a taste she knew?

"You'll stay with me, right?"

"Yeah," Linsey said.

A grin crept onto her face, and it stayed there.

Demons of the Past

in

Professor Lewis drew on her pipe and held the smoke for a considered moment, weighing Vernon with her eyes. When she spoke, it was in a cloud of smoke. "If demons are real, why on earth do you think I should know something about them?"

Vernon looked at the aged academician with disbelief. "You're the best-known scholar of demons and evil spirits in mythology. Breathing in the Demons of the Past sold more copies than Chicken Soup for the Soul. If anyone knows, it's you."

Lewis held the pipe to speak clearly. "Kid, those are folkloric and metaphoric demons, riding the cultural subconscious from our historic pasts into the morally stained future. Don't make shit up because you're sad and lonely."

"I'm not—!" Vernon reined in his anger. He put a hand on the professor's arm. "They're real, and I need your help." Pause. "I can make you help me." Lewis tried to pull her arm away, but Vernon's casual-appearing grip was iron-hard. "I ate one. It gave me powers."

"Perhaps I can help you." Lewis sounded unafraid, and she returned the pipe to her mouth before lazily backhanding Vernon across the room. "But they're much more potent when smoked."