Transient Tales Volume 4

By Michelle Ann King

The fourth in the Transient Tales series collects 11 short stories of science fiction, fantasy and horror, totalling 20,000 words and ranging from light to dark and all shades in-between.

Volume 4 features a life coach to the Gods, a ghost-disposal expert, a time gambler, a singing slug, a cunningly-disguised space teleport device, a girl who can eat anything, an inter-dimensional auction, a suburban demon infestation, a Garden of Eden where everyone can be God, a long-suffering Memory Transfer Manager, and a life-saving zombie.

Congratulations on Your Apotheosis: Being an all-powerful superbeing might be better than working retail, but Sharon’s still bored. All she wants is an arch-enemy, so that they can fight an epic, eternal battle across space and time. Is that so much to ask?

The Visiphorical Art: All of life is art and no one wants to die. Not even the ghosts.

You Pay Your Money and You Take Your Chance: Some people (and insurance companies) think going into the Time Pocket is reckless, but maybe it’s worth the risk.

Black Thumb: Debra thinks there’s nothing for a slug to feed on, in her blighted garden. She’s wrong.

Out Shopping in Hyperspace: It seems like Mia’s the only one who recognises her father’s genius. But she’s not giving up.

Jeanette's Feast: Gavin’s heard that cockroaches can survive anything. Maybe even his family.

Free to Loving Home (Donation Required): Interdimensional travel can be time-consuming, physically debilitating and sometimes illegal, but the auctions at the Hugh Everett Rehoming Centre always make it worthwhile.

Not the Pizza Girl: In the battle of man’s stomach versus his immortal soul, the stomach wins every time.

Garden of Fog and Monsters: They pitch it to the volunteers as a contest that can be won, but there’s no such thing as a free paradise.

Re: Corrections to Consciousness Module 14 (Memories: Age 41-60): Upgrade Ltd, and its Memory Transfer Managers, are very committed to making sure customer complaints are resolved, whatever it takes.

The World Doesn't End, Even When it Should: Since the government won’t make zombies available on the NHS, Lucy will have to make her own arrangements.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michelle Ann King
• Release date: Dec 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311835994

Michelle Ann King

Michelle Ann King writes science fiction, fantasy, and horror from her kitchen table in Essex, England. Her stories have appeared/are forthcoming in over seventy different venues, including Strange Horizons, Interzone, and Daily Science Fiction.She loves zombies, Las Vegas, and good Scotch whisky — not necessarily in that order — and her favourite author is Stephen King (sadly, no relation). She's been a mortgage underwriter, supermarket cashier, makeup artist, tarot reader, and insurance claims handler before having the good fortune to be able to write full-time.Her first short story collection Transient Tales is available as an ebook and paperback now, and she is currently working on her second. See www.transientcactus.co.uk for full details and links.

Book preview

TRANSIENT TALES VOLUME 4

11 stories of science fiction, fantasy and horror

by

Michelle Ann King

The fourth in the Transient Tales series features a life coach to the Gods, a ghost-disposal expert, a time gambler, a singing slug, a cunningly-disguised space teleport device, a girl who can eat anything, an inter-dimensional auction, a suburban demon infestation, a Garden of Eden where everyone can be God, a long-suffering Memory Transfer Manager, and a life-saving zombie.

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Published by Transient Cactus Publications at Smashwords

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www.transientcactus.co.uk

Copyright © Michelle Ann King 2014

Congratulations on Your Apotheosis

AS A LIFE coach, Abby Fowler strongly discouraged magical thinking. It was better for people to take responsibility for improving their lives, rather than wait and hope for supernatural assistance. Better, and a lot more reliable.

So Abby would never advise anyone to use a spell, even one that came with impeccable provenance and the crackle of real power in every square inch of the ancient parchment it was inscribed on. Even one that was purely for divination, nothing more than a harmless bit of information-gathering that might, say, help someone with preparing a five-year business plan for their coaching practice in order to apply for a bank loan. She would never advise it because she knew that kind of thing never ended well.

‘So it’s do as I say rather than do as I do, is it?’ said the figure that appeared in her client chair between one blink and the next. ‘Hi. I’m Sharon, and I’ll be your omniscient supernatural assistant today.’

‘Shit,’ Abby said. ‘I mean—’ she cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry. I think there’s been a mistake.’

Sharon leaned forward and peered at the spell sitting on the desk. ‘Paperwork looks in order to me.’

‘That?’ Abby said. She slid the parchment under a client file. ‘I thought that was a recipe for moisturising cream.’

Sharon rubbed her thumb over the ring in her lower lip. ‘You do know the meaning of the word omniscient, don’t you?’ She shook her head. ‘You, of all people, trying to get a sneak peek. Tut, tut.’

A copy of Abby’s book flew from the stack on the display stand and landed in Sharon’s hand. She turned it over and read from the back cover. ‘Abby Fowler will teach you to stop worrying about the future and have faith in your ability to cope with whatever may happen.’

Abby sighed. ‘Thank you, yes. I know the meaning of the word irony, too.’

‘Okay, let’s crack on, then, shall we?’ Sharon closed her eyes. ‘Joe Callaghan is going to ring up in a minute and ask if you can fit him in this afternoon. He’s distraught because despite being genuinely good at his job and having doubled his efficiency using your time management techniques, he’s been passed over for promotion again.’

‘Er—’

‘He’s starting to think it must be personal, that his boss resents him. And he’s absolutely right, because subconsciously Joe reminds her of a cousin who used to piss in her bed when they were kids. So it honestly doesn’t matter how good Joe is, it’s never going to happen, and he’d be better off cutting his losses and getting another job.’ She leaned back in the chair. ‘How was that? Pretty good, right? You don’t get that sort of granular detail with goat entrails and tarot cards.’

In the outer office, the phone rang. A few seconds later, the door opened and Donna poked her head around it. ‘That was Joe Callaghan, Abby, he wants to know if — oh, sorry, I didn’t realise you had a client with you. I’ll tell him you’re busy.’

She withdrew, and Abby laid her hands flat on the desk. ‘I’m sorry, I really think this was a mistake.’

‘Don’t you mean learning experience?’ Sharon opened the book. ‘It says here—’

Abby pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Right, yes. Absolutely. And what I have learned from this experience is that I should take my own advice. So let’s just forget all about it. I release you from any obligation. You can go. Sorry for any inconvenience.’

‘No inconvenience, no obligation. I like having something to do.’ Sharon put her hands behind her head and grinned. ‘You have no idea how hard it can be, as an immortal, omnipotent being, to occupy your time after the first few billion millennia. Everything starts to get a bit samey, you know? Creation, destruction, wars, lovers, children, pets—’ she paused and held up a finger. ‘You haven’t got any pets, have you? I’ll sort that out for you — every sentient being ought to have a pet of some kind. I’ve got just the thing, you’ll love it. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, so all the big spectacle stuff starts to wear a bit thin after a while. That’s why I thought I’d try a more intimate approach. Like I said, it’s the granular detail that makes the difference.’ She looked around. ‘You could do with a bigger window in here, don’t you think? Get a bit more light.’

The left-hand wall of the office shimmered, faded and became glass. ‘Although it’s a bit low to the ground. A higher elevation would be better. Hold on to something, we’re going up.’

Abby grabbed her desk as the building instantaneously gained thirty floors.

‘Maybe a few more,’ Sharon said, and they shot up again. The wall behind Abby became glass, too.

Sharon pointed over her shoulder. ‘There. You can see the London Eye, now. See it? Over there? That’s much—’

‘Stop,’ Abby said, her voice muffled as she clamped her palm over her mouth. She didn’t turn around. ‘Stop.’

‘Okay, maybe that’ll do for now, then.’ Sharon patted Abby’s shoulder. ‘You take it easy for a bit, sort out poor old Joe Callaghan. I’ll go and see what else needs doing.’

‘What? No. Wait, I don’t—’

But Sharon was gone.

‘Shit,’ Abby said, and let her head drop. After a while she grabbed a packet of aspirin from her desk drawer and reached for her water glass. Between lifting it from the desk and putting it to her lips, the liquid turned red and the aroma of a full-bodied Shiraz caught in her nostrils. She put it down