Unheard Of

By Alex Scott

Unheard Of brings together nine short tales of science fiction, fantasy, horror, and plain old silliness from up-and-coming author Alex Scott. In this collection, he takes you from the depths of hell, where the junior demons mount a revolt against their infernal elders; to miles above the earth, where two teenage friends reunite after years apart; to a simple Tennessee tourist attraction, where the valiant gnomes once lived. At times heartwarming, disturbing, and comical, this journey is one you won't soon forget!

Includes the all-new story "First Aid," presented here for the first time ever!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Scott
• Release date: Dec 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463423165

Alex Scott

Alex Scott is a graduate of the University of Tennessee. He currently lives in Chattanooga.

Book preview

Also by Alex Scott

Thresholds of the Grand Dream

UNHEARD OF

By

Alex Scott

© 2019 Alex Scott

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

Portions of this book are works of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Most of the stories in this collection were previously published in the following: Imaginarium, Spaceports & Spidersilk, Beorh Quarterly, Smoke & Flame, A Light in the Dark, and Drinkers for Writers.

Printed in the United States.

First Printing, 2019

ISBN 9780463423165

http://www.alexscottwrites.com

Table of Contents

Perdition Lost

No Different From Anyone Else

The Tether

The Invisible Wall Outside the School

Jo, the Bat, and the Cat

The End of the Rainbow, Starring…

Allergic to Astroturf

First Aid

The Gnomes of Rock City

UNHEARD OF

Perdition Lost

The preacher across the street was the only person whose sins Samhail could not see. None of the other perverts, thieves, killers, or jaywalkers could hide from a demon like Samhail.

The preacher was different. His pasty, grinning face concealed a raven’s beak and a twisted, black gleam. Samhail had known him longer than the human race had existed: the demon Malphas.

Malphas held a megaphone in one hand and a Bible in the other, both of which matched his ivory suit. "Repent, and believe the good news! I have seen the sin in your lives, you whores, you gamblers, you drunks, you homosexuals. All of you, white or black, young and old, man or woman, you’re going to feel the eternal fires of HEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLL."

Samhail choked up at the name of his homeland… but now wasn’t the time for sentiment. His orders were to observe. He had been here all afternoon, disguised as a panhandler.

"All of you must repent. Change your sinful ways, and turn to your Lord. Reject sin, reject the devil, and stay the HEEEEEELLLLLLL away from HELL."

Samhail wished the humans weren’t around, so he could fly over and slit Malphas’ throat. Humans recoil from the demonic when they see it as it truly is. And he wasn’t here to harm Malphas, either.

He crossed the street. The sinners were shouting at the preacher.

A young man with a porn habit said, What about the Golden Rule?

Someone who had shot a man in a drug deal said, You don’t know me. How can you judge me?

Samhail wove through the crowd with to come face-to-face to Malphas. Yeah, what do you know about someone like me?

Malphas grinned at Samhail, and lowered the megaphone. Ah, my good friend Sam. So blessed to see you.

I think we need to talk.

Certainly. Malphas raised the megaphone. It’s time for me to go. But you—you still have time. Don’t you delay. Repent now! Or suffer forever in HEEEEEELLLLLLLLLL. He put the megaphone under his arm and walked with Samhail around a corner.

Do you mind explaining yourself? Samhail said.

You mean you haven’t heard about the movement? They came to a faded white pickup truck. Malphas opened the door and placed the megaphone on the passenger’s seat.

I’ve heard, but this makes no sense. When did Hell’s worst sadist turn into Ned Flan-diddly-anders?

Malphas laughed. In profile, his face became like a dagger. Why don’t you join me for a drink?

Sure. I know a place.

He took Malphas to the Ale Storm. The compulsive gambler was tending this afternoon; today he had stolen $50 from the cash register, hoping to put a dent in his debts. He gave an odd look to Malphas when he sat down with his Bible.

Samhail ordered a Four Horsemen for himself, and Sangue di Giuda for Malphas.

All right, Malphas said. You want to know what I’m doing? Civil disobedience.

Really? This isn’t just to lash out at your father?

Give me some credit, Samhail. This is a protest. The Elders have been looking for solidarity from these mortals for millennia. It’s time to show them the Harrowers of Hell are serious.

Samhail understood perfectly well: it was the Elders who sent him. So you think if you keep mortals out of Hell, the Elders will give you what you want?

I understand if you’re skeptical. What you saw today only scratches the surface. It’s street theater. Malphas swallowed half his glass in one gulp. "We want to stop all infernal activity, right down to the smallest temptation. Do you know how long it’s been since I tempted anyone?"

Samhail stared.

Three months, Malphas said.

"You are serious."

Aren’t you tired of it? Tired of the Elders belittling you at every turn? Treating the mortals as allies instead of the corrupt vermin they truly are? Don’t you think we deserve those seats in Pandemonium?

Well, of course. But I’m not going to stop punishing mortals to make my point.

Samhail, we are born of Hell. We deserve to reign. We at least deserve a voice. Malphas finished his drink with a second gulp. Come to the Harrowers’ next meeting. Belphegor can tell you the location.

Samhail pretended to think a moment. I can do that. Another of the Elders’ instructions.

Malphas clapped Samhail on the back. I knew I could count on you. I trust you’ll take care of my tab.

Of course.

Malphas faded away like a shadow exposed to light. The bartender started. Where’d your friend go?

What friend? Samhail said. I came in alone.

The bartender blinked. Oh yeah. And he moved on to another customer.

Malphas had left behind his Bible. An old, faux leather-bound King James Version. Flipping through it, Samhail found several blasphemous doodles in the margins, and verses with words scratched out to say something obscene. One page featured an unsavory portrait of the Prophet Ezekiel.

Good to know Malphas hadn’t abandoned all reason.

There was a bookmark in Deuteronomy 20: a gospel tract disguised as a million dollar bill, with Ronald Reagan on the front. Samhail left that as his payment and went back to Hell.

A refreshing chill tore through the Garden of Frozen Traitors. The heads of thousands of men and women stuck out of the ice, their bodies contorted underneath. Up above, the palace of Pandemonium, the center of the infernal government, hovered like a nail waiting to be hammered.

Samhail swooped in, and screams of despair greeted him. These disgusting piles of flesh and thought, these interlopers in the cosmic order, once considered themselves good people. But Samhail saw who they truly were. Here was a man who gave Jewish friends up to the Nazis. There was a woman who gave her country’s secrets to invaders. And down there was Samhail’s favorite, an ancient Sumerian priest who sent his emperor into a rebel ambush; his bald head poked out like a bloated gourd.

Samhail got a running start and kicked the priest’s head clean off. It flew over the crater, and fell just short of the edge.

Samhail snapped his fingers. Damn, I missed.

Such savagery, a voice rumbled behind him. That man has suffered enough.

The Elder Demon Ba’al clomped on the ice toward him. Samhail grimaced at his father. They expect it, don’t they? Might as well give them what they want.

Don’t mock our protest. Their sins are enough of a burden without you inflicting your cruelty.

Samhail tapped his talon. "Your protest, not mine. When will you get that through your skull?" These mortals obviously wanted the pain. Their guilt was what froze the garden, churned the Malabolge, boiled the lake, and blew the storms. Malphas was right about one thing: the Elders refused to show the damned the punishment they truly deserved.

You shame us, Ba’al said. We were once creatures of mercy. No humans could ever do us any harm.

If you say so. Samhail had the speech nearly memorized. Of course, the Elders would never have been kicked out of Heaven in the first place if they weren’t ordered to bow to these fleshbags. Don’t you want to know about the Harrowers?

What do you have to report?

I’ve been invited to a meeting. As far as they know, I’m skeptical, but interested. Everything’s according to plan… though I’m not sure they’re really a threat. More a nuisance.

Samhail, if we allow them to continue, they could gain more influence. We cannot afford to lose the solidarity of the damned. Ba’al leaned closer, and began to whisper. If this movement gains too much momentum, they could even turn the humans here against us. They could overthrow the Adversary himself. We must stop this early, and quickly.

What will you do to them? Don’t forget, they are my friends.

We shall see.

Samhail’s talon dug into the ice. And you’ll hold your end of the bargain? Remember, I don’t just want a little ‘police action.’ I want it full-scale—at least one country wiped off the map.

I’ll see what my committee can do. Perhaps your report on your friends’ meeting will help.

All right, Father.

Ba’al vanished, leaving Samhail surrounded by frozen traitors, his mouth tasting bitter. He unfolded his wings and flapped out of the garden to meet Belphegor.

He picked up the cab at noon. The driver had spent the previous