Phantasmagoria
Space split from time, the future began pulling away from the present, and tents appeared.
The BBC muttered ‘incredible…’ and went off the air. Across the ocean, American reporters didn’t get beyond news flash.
The Vatican managed only a few words, something about a visitation.
Terrified people packed the streets yelling, “Terrorist Tents! HIDE!” while pushing forward to get a closer look. For wherever humans lived, black tents materialised on their doorsteps, and the entire population of Planet Earth stood outside and stared at them.
Nothing could account for them: nothing could be done about them. For all their apparent fragility, the tents proved unapproachable and impregnable. They simply were. No attempt to rationalise them, bomb them, shift them or in any way interfere with them made the slightest difference. Planet Earth faced its incredible visitors, and acknowledged that they would not go away.
It was a grim moment. Even the doomsday groups found the tents
unexpectedly forbidding. Tents? This didn’t fit any scenario they’d expected, or hoped for. Yet tents it was. Already the cities of the world were in uproar. The unapproachable black tents went on blocking traffic and pedestrians with a fine disregard for the rush and mayhem of modern life.
But worse was to come.
Day Two saw the front flaps of the tents part to reveal a single, elegant black cat. Within minutes the tents, every one of them, faded and disappeared. In their place sat the cats, yawning and washing their faces, displaying no curiosity at all about their surroundings or, really, anything.
It was something of a turning point. The world’s population, faced with a more familiar phenomenon, hurled itself en masse at the cats, armed with whatever came to hand, to absolutely no avail. The cats simply went on with their toilet. They proved to be as immaterial as the tents but somehow far more irritating. The world’s armies, in particular, were mortified to discover that they couldn’t even lob a stick (let alone a hand grenade) at the cats. The mysterious barrier simply wouldn’t allow it. Planet Earth was forced to duck, dodge and divert round the impassive cats. In a way, it was worse than the tents.
Then, on Day Three, the cats ceased cleaning their faces. As one, they gave a shudder, vanished, and were instantly replaced by an army of black rats. By now the peoples of the world were moving towards hysteria. Whole countries went mad.
(Others started throwing parties). Consumption of alcohol broke all records. The
death rate soared as a great feeling of helplessness set in.
The rats enjoyed their immateriality, and freedom. Unlike the cats, however, they spent their time chasing each other’s tails, a spectacle unbalancing for even the most level-headed observer. The nations edged closer to despair. Individuals who were in the habit of praying, kept on praying. There was a rush to the local place of worship. A few ventured inside. Some stayed.
Day Four was even worse. The rats disappeared and to everyone’s horror were replaced by piles of droppings. By now people were locking themselves inside, trying their hardest not to see what confronted them on every street, every corner, every single place where humans had congregated.
Day Five brought a change, and for a while the optimists spoke of a turn for the better when the droppings vanished, and in their place bloomed a species of black trumpet-shaped flower, unknown to botanists. With large, purple-black, glossy throats, the flowers were utterly beautiful, but just as immaterial as their predecessors.
By now the traffic jams had started to accommodate themselves to the apparitions. Life, in a way, was trying its hardest to get back to normal.
‘They’re doing no harm,” people reminded themselves. “Surely.” But others, facing facts, simply shook their heads and feared the worst.
And it came.
Day Six dawned. On Planet Earth, wherever there were humans, bunches of the beautiful, black flowers bloomed ... until, in the morning sun, out of each glossy
throat crawled a black centipede-like creature. The instant they’d disgorged these creatures, the flowers disappeared. What was left of the human race gazed in horror as the black creatures, unfurling gossamer-thin wings, took to the air and flew at breakneck speed towards them, delivering instant death with a single bite.
By day’s end, every human being had been bitten. Their bodies lay where they fell, and a profound silence settled over areas once populated by mankind.
On the 7th Day the remaining animals, birds and any fish that surfaced saw a strange sight. From the rapidly deteriorating bodies rose clouds of winged, translucent creatures not before seen by mankind. The animals could make neither head nor tail of it. Here and there a more adventurous pet tried to get closer, but all they could do was watch as the winged creatures spun and danced in the morning light. In seconds, without even a backward glance, they vanished.
It was then, in the spirit world, that the incredible visitors presented themselves in a different form before the throne of God to confirm that Planet Earth had been cleansed, souls sifted and weighed, in advance of the judgement. Lights out. (A gesture of emotion). Surely you know all things. We confirm, autonomy was given to those who insisted on keeping it, even as darkness fell. Those who gave it up are even now (listen!) clamouring for your presence, and ready to party.
The Lord God considered this reply.
Or perhaps accepted, finally, that there were those who had never wanted him. At the same time, decided against any further creation of matter.
Gave the spirit world its head. Gave eternity the green light, as the incredible party kicked in.
About the Author
Brenda Anderson's fiction has appeared in various places, including Daily Science Fiction. She lives in Adelaide, South Australia and tweets irregularly @CinnamonShops.