The Book of Revelation, Live Onstage and Four Other Stories

By Douglas Kolacki

The Book of Revelation, Live Onstage
~What if the end times didn't want to stay in the future?

St. Elmo's Torch
~Help could come in ways above and beyond all you could ask or think.

The Never-People
~How do you tell someone about heaven when they'll never die?

Set and the Software Engineer's Son
~Arguing about religion was a lot simpler before it all went virtual-reality.

The Triumph of Beauty
~A daring scheme to bring something wonderful out of history's darkest hour.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Douglas Kolacki
• Release date: Mar 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476241661

Douglas Kolacki

Douglas Kolacki began writing while stationed with the Navy in Naples, Italy. His story credits include Weird Tales, Dragons Knights & Angels and Big Pulp. He is an unrelenting fan of urban fantasy, science fiction and all things imaginative. He currently lives and writes in Providence, Rhode Island.

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The Book of Revelation, Live Onstage

and Four Other Stories

Smashwords edition

Copyright ©2012 by Douglas Kolacki

Cover design by Rayne Hall

All rights reserved. This publication is for your enjoyment only. It may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, without written permission from the author.

The Book of Revelation, Live Onstage and Set and the Software Engineer's Son first published in Dragons, Knights & Angels; St. Elmo's Torch in Dreams & Visions; The Never-People in Mindflights; and The Triumph Of Beauty in Gateway Science Fiction.

Any resemblance between characters portrayed and persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

The Book of Revelation, Live Onstage

St. Elmo’s Torch

The Never-People

Set and the Software Engineer’s Son

The Triumph of Beauty

The Book of Revelation, Live Onstage

Picture the grand finale of the Holy Bible coming to your town. Picture it shaking the old thousand-seat auditorium in the city park with thunder, lightning-flashes, and more pyrotechnics than the Kiss concert you attended at age thirteen; or at least that's what you heard.

Wonderful show!

Incredible show!

I didn't hear this in church. I heard it from a guy I work with at the hotel, who arranged illegal codeine prescriptions to feed the growing addiction of our employer. And from my supervisor, whose colorful language surpassed even my own during my Navy days—and that takes some doing.

The show was well advertised, but not in the papers. The Four Horsemen themselves spread the word, galloping around town, slapping flyers onto telephone poles and bus stop shelters as they flashed by. The 8 and 1/2 X 11 sheets stuck at all angles so you had to tilt your head this way and that to read them, as the rumble of the hooves faded into the distance.

THE BOOK OF REVELATION, LIVE ONSTAGE!

The final salvation of mankind, brought thrillingly to life for selected audiences.

Showtimes 6:00PM daily. Admission $10, seniors and children free.

I'd seen the red and black stallions, flying at racetrack-speeds up streets and across intersections, weaving through traffic, somehow not trampling anyone. It's a wonder they didn't get arrested.

My co-worker said, If you see the ashen horse, run for it! You'll catch your death if he gets too close. I decided this probably wasn't true.

I got off at four-thirty, stopped for a burger, and set out for the park.

The theater was part of an array of white Spanish mission architecture nestled among palm trees. I'd been there twice before, when a local junior troupe staged Nancy Drew and The Miracle Worker.

Outside the theater I found a wiry man at a table selling tee shirts. He leaned back in lawn chair and wore a flowery shirt from Hawaii. He needed a shave and was at least ten pounds underweight. I looked over some of his wares: dragons and angels, swords and bursts of flame.

Of course he pounced on me, fixing me with the smarmy grin of a street hawker who sees you, ambles up to you, and throws open his coat to reveal a row of glittering watches. You look like a man who knows a bargain—

No thanks. Backing away, I diverted my attention to the box office window. A slab of cardboard was taped over it. About a dozen earlybirds stood in line.

Earlybirds? My watch said 5:45.

What's up with that? I asked. Are they selling tickets inside?

Ain't the half of it. The man cleaned under his fingernails with a Swiss Army knife. Watch.

The door was guarded by a clean-cut teenager in a shirt and tie. He admitted one patron, then another. Then, with a shake of his head, he dismissed the next one, who left after a quiet exchange of words. Another admission, another person turned away.

I scratched my head. What's that all about?

How should I know? I just work for the theater. But the flyers did say 'selected audiences.'

I remembered. "Will they let me in?"

Only one way to find out, isn't there?

Standing in line a minute later, I craned my neck to see what the teenager was doing. He was holding a penlight with a wire attached, pointing it at each hopeful audience member in turn. When my turn came, I asked him how to get a ticket.

No tickets. He trained the light on my forehead.

I flinched back. What's this, a gimmick?

Hold still, please—ah! There. He switched off the light and motioned inside, smiling. All set.

Just like that?

Sure. Welcome!

I slunk around him, giving him a wide berth.

The theater was about three-quarters full of chattering and murmuring people. A plain black curtain hung in front of the stage. I found a seat in the back row—these were all hardwood seats, no cushions—and eased myself down, wondering what to expect.

At precisely six o'clock, the auditorium faded to black. The crowd hushed. The curtain parted with a faint squeaking of rollers. Fog boiled up onstage; spotlights streamed down, and a low synthesizer drone sounded over the house speakers. The stage lay bare, no props or sets at all, only a great black backdrop stretched wing to wing.

Shrouded in the fog, a man began to appear, wearing tattered clothes, sitting cross-legged on center stage.

I smiled. Ah. There he is, St. John on the isle of Patmos --

The man rose and faced the audience, fists clenched. At long last—the time has arrived!

His voice rang clear in the auditorium. He turned around, this man did, and beckoned with a sweep of his arm.

Come!

A whinnying and a clomping of hooves, and the red horseman appeared.

Another wave of his arm. Come!

The black horseman made his entrance, yellow eyes burning bright.

Come!

The ashen horse, green and skeletal with its ribs showing through, clopped out onstage. I scrunched my eyebrows.

Finally...

Come!

And out charged a snowy stallion worthy to have borne Gandalf or Baron Münchhausen, decked out in battle array. It lacked only a rider.

Beginning to get the message, I moved my