Prayers to Sheos
Our advice column. If you'd like Sheos to compound your problems, e-mail sheos@susurrusmagazine.com

It was dark out.  The ride to the institution had been a long drive made longer by the Rev. Brian Worley, now undead, who smelled of the Ohio River and rotted flesh.  This, paired with the constant stream of questions that flowed from his mouth, and I could have sworn the blast in Marietta had sent me to Hell without my knowing it.

“So now that I’m beyond death,” said the Rev., “do you think I’ll live forever?”

I held the steering wheel with both hands, ten and two, ten and two, knuckles white.

The Rev cleared his throat.  “I said—”

“I fucking heard you,” I snapped.  “And no, you will not live forever.  You’re only going to last as long as that body of yours will hold out, which, judging by the smell of you, won’t be for very long.  Now, shut up.”

The Rev closed his mouth.  I counted four mile markers pass by before he started squirming in his seat.  Finally, he turned to me.

“Why do you need me to come with you to the Hills?”

“Eye witness account,” I said.  “You’re going to have to tell me who it is that has been effected by mine and Rabies’s interaction.”

“Oh.”  This was all he had to say in response, and where his silence began, the voices in my head returned.

Rusty,

The cats are trying to remind you how idiotic it is to bring a tree inside your home to celebrate a holiday that celebrates a zombie.  Trust me.  After spending time with one, I’ve found that Zombies are not to be celebrated, they are to be burned to ash.  If only the Romans had known then your problem would most likely be solved.

We pulled onto the main drive of the Cedar Hills mental asylum and made our way up to the now abandoned lot.  In the darkness it loomed up into the night sky like a gothic cathedral.  I didn’t remember it having the ability to loom.

The Rev must have noticed my confusion.

“Oh, this is just one of the many changes you’ll find,” he said.  “We’ve also acquired a dungeon since you were last with us, thanks primarily to the Garton boy.”

I put the car in park and the both of us stepped outside. 

A cloud lit up in the sky with a bold of lightening.  Somewhere in the distance I heard the echo of an organ.

“You sure you want to go inside here?” asked the Rev.

D.F. (figure out what I think the initials stand for…),

The reasons the big box companies have put such pressure on your favorite mom and pop shops are the same reasons that you feel scared when a large android from the future asks if you’d like to get rough.  You know that if it wanted to, the android could crush your skull like a Saltine and use your blood to mix a perfect catalogue of exotic cocktails. 

The only thing that small retail businesses can do now is bow down to the superior might and scheming of big box companies, that is until they start going underground after big box posts its lists of authoritarian rules on the outside of their sliding glass doors. 

“Hear ye!  Hear ye!  The board of directors have dubbed the following ideas and practices as illegal with regard to the Wal-Martian code of ethics.  The selling of seaweed and portable media devices that are not the Zune^m are hereby restricted.  Also, all copies of the books Jane Eyre and After Dark will be banned until we decide they’ve come back into style.  So sayeth the law!”

After that, I’m looking forward to heading up my own platoon of the rebellion.

We stepped slowly into the front lobby of the asylum.  The power was out, and so we were only able to see what the intervals of lightening allowed us to glimpse.  A few of the windows had been left open, so there were dry leaves covering the floor.  They cracked under our footsteps. 

“How about pain?” the Rev asked.  “Will I be able to feel pain?”

“Why?” I asked.  “I thought you said the place had been abandoned.”

“Practically,” he said.  “Practically abandoned.”

“Who are you worried about, then?”

“I already told you,” the Rev said.  He pointed to a large acrylic portrait of a boy dressed in 18^th century style, complete with a black hat.  Attached to his wrist was a leash, which was tied off to the collar of a large, red-eyed Rottweiler that sat obediently by his side.

“The Garton boy,” I said.  The Rev didn’t need to tell me that I’d hit the mouse with the cheese, or make use of some other ridiculous metaphor.

De La roach-a,

An abundance of insects is not a bad thing.  Think of all the amazing things they could do if they had the training.  With that in mind, I would set forth on the endeavor of starting an army of small assassins to bring the proletariat down to their knees.

Of course, if you’re entirely weak over this, you should do the right thing and pass over the ownership of your home to someone with a mind to help the people. 

Viva la revolucion!

Three hallways led away from the lobby in three different directions.  The Rev and I stood in the center of the tiled floor and considered our options.

“Where’s your office?” I asked.

“Beats me,” he said.  “This is all new.”

A scream tore through the silence that had built up all around us.  I started running in the direction of the scream. 

“Wait!  Where are you going?” shouted the Rev, hustling to keep up.  “That was a scream down that way, not a catcall.”

The screams started up again, I passed through the halls until the yelling had become louder than a fog horn at close range.  I tossed open the heavy, wooden door and entered the room where the screams were originating. 

Inside, was a face I knew too all well:  Rabies. 

As soon as I entered and recognized the god, I held my hands up in a What the Fuck gesture.  There was nothing in the room with him.  Just an old cot, a commode, and a water bottle.

“Hey,” he said, smiling.  “What’s going on?  Isn’t this place awesome!”

“Why were you screaming?” the Rev asked.

“Why?”  Rabies’ face went confused.  “There was a reason that I started screaming, but that was days ago.”  He trailed off, his eyes lost to wonder.  “Then I just started seeing how far my voice would carry down the hallway.”  He looked up at me again:  “Isn’t this place awesome?”

“You already asked me that.”

“You never answered.”

“I hate you,” I said.  “Is this all your fault?”

“I don’t think so,” he said.  “Not this time.”

“Well, what are you doing here?”

“I came looking for you, of course.”  He handed me a note.  “Luci-fur says to say hello and give you this.”

A loud crash of broken windows sounded from outside of the rooms.  I pocketed the note and turned toward the door. 

“What was that?” the Rev and I asked in harmony.

“Oh,” Rabies said.  “That’s what I was screaming about.”

The sound of flapping wings grew louder down the hall.  Before anything could get inside with us, the Rev and I shut the heavy wooden door.  The timing was perfect, as something started beating on the outside surface as soon as the latch clicked.

“The bats,” Rabies said.

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