Dark Carbuncle (2 page)

Conk started the engine while Kutfist and Dredd turned in their seats to stare at Thor, who was crammed into the third row seat with Longshanks. “Now he’s with his true fans!” She sniffed, then frowned. “Is he supposed to smell this bad?”

“I think that’s just an old pizza I forgot to deliver last week,” Conk said.

As the van careened out of the cemetery, Dredd leaned over the seat and said earnestly, “Dude, ‘Dark Carbuncle’ is an awesome song!” He extended his hand, then thought better of it and withdrew.

They jabbered excitedly as they headed off to Conk’s garage. “I’m gonna have him teach me guitar. We could do some killer riffs together!”

“I want him to sign some autographs—impress my girlfriend for sure,” Kutfist said. “Hmm, maybe even sell them online.”

Longshanks tentatively nudged one of the scraps dangling off Thor’s ruined face. “Hey, we could sell pieces of his skin. Talk about a real collector’s item!”

Kutfist returned to the sneer. “What are you thinking? Anybody who’d buy Thor’s skin could clone him—then we won’t have the only one.”

Longshanks dropped her gaze. “Well, we’d still have the original. A clone is no better than … a cover band.”

“How about we just sell locks of hair?” Conk suggested. He didn’t want them to argue during this ultimate moment of fannish glory.

As the van pulled up to the two-car garage, the undead legend seemed to be getting his bearings, croaking slightly more comprehensible words. “What … happened? Where am I?”

“You’re with us—your real fans!”

Parking in the dark garage, they opened the doors and helped Thor out of the van. Conk hit the button and closed the garage door, then triumphantly switched on the lights to reveal the setup waiting for them in the other parking space—a small stage, microphone, boom box, and guitar.

Herding Thor forward, Kutfist shouted, “We brought you back from the grave for this, dude!”

Thor automatically stepped onto the stage and into the light, then stared at them in confusion. Longshanks sprang onto the stage beside him and shoved the guitar into his hands. “Omigod, Thor—now you can sing “Dark Carbuncle” for us, night after night after night!”

Thorton Vebliss fell to his knees and screamed.

O O O

Surely this was Hell. Surely.

When he’d emerged from the darkness, he’d wondered what the fuck was going on. Why was he covered in dirt? Some super-extravagant part of the stage show he couldn’t recall?

Then he remembered, and now he knew exactly what had happened. This was truly
eternal punishment. Every bit of his Catholic upbringing rose in his throat—the priests’ lectures, the nuns’ scoldings, the fear of damnation. It was too much for any man, let alone a dead one.

Rotting ligaments snapped as he dropped to his knees and began to cry. For the first time in years he prayed, and for the first time in his life he really meant it. He confessed, he repented, he begged forgiveness. He reminded God of his years as an altar boy, how he’d been in the soprano choir until his voice had changed. He also pointed out that, technically—though God seemed to have overlooked the detail—he hadn’t committed suicide and didn’t deserve damnation. It was merely an unfortunate accident.

“Just please get me out of here! I want to go to Heaven. I’ll do whatever you say, you won’t regret it! Please!” He put more soul into the request than he’d ever spent on one of his stage performances, but even Thor was surprised when the cluttered garage and tiny group of fans swirled away into mist.

O O O

The new place was bright and shining, filled with sunlight and rainbows. He saw smiling beings in white robes with wings gathered on a nearby cloud, and an impressive, bearded man on a gleaming golden throne in front of him.

Holy shit, exactly the pictures the priests had painted, down to the last cliché! Choking back tears, Thor knelt before Him.

“Welcome Thorton Vebliss, my wayward son.” The Almighty, smiled with a warmth that made Thor tremble. “I am so glad you are finally among us. We have prepared a heavenly reception for you.”

Thor could only stammer “Thank you, thank you, Lord!” He didn’t know what else to say. Everything was so … clean. So … cheerful.

“Rise, my son. Rise, and greet your Father.”

Thor rose and moved toward the throne.

“Later, there will be manna, and angel-food cake,” God promised, patting him on the shoulder. “But first, I have a small request.”

God seemed almost shy as he said it, and Thor thought
I could really like this guy.
“Anything, Your Omnipotence. Um, Your Magnificence. Anything you want, just name it!”

Taking him by both shoulders, the Lord turned him toward the nearby cloud, where the choir of angels suddenly pulled back their wings, revealing the electric guitars they wore. One sat behind a drum kit.

Snapping His fingers, God materialized a 1959 custom Les Paul and held it out to Thor. “Play ‘Dark Carbuncle’ for us, my son. I have always loved that song.”

Thor fell to his knees, screaming.

***

About the Authors

Kevin J. Anderson is a bestselling science fiction author of over 125 novels, including numerous books in the Dune, Star Wars, X-Files, Superman and Batman universes. His original work includes the Saga of Seven Suns series, the Dan Shamble, Zombie PI series, the Terra Incognita trilogy, the Hellhole trilogy (with Brian Herbert), and the Saga of Shadows. He has written comics for Marvel, DC, IDW, Dark Horse, BOOM! Studios, and others. His first novel,
Resurrection, Inc
., was inspired by the Rush album
Grace Under Pressure
.

Janis Ian has won multiple Grammy Awards since her first nomination at the age of 15. Her songs have been recorded by artists as diverse as Joan Baez, Willie Nelson, and Spooky Tooth. Her autobiography, "Society's Child,” was an O Magazine summer must-read. She enjoys her day job, but would prefer to write science fiction.

janisian.com

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