Shimmer Number 20, July 2014 by Jenn Grunigen Eden Robins Sam J. Miller Laura Pearlman

Author:Jenn Grunigen, Eden Robins, Sam J. Miller, Laura Pearlman [Shimmer_20_7_2014]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: science fiction, fantasy, fiction, stories
Publisher: Shimmer
Published: 2014-06-29T04:00:00+00:00

"Five seconds," I say. "You've got to squirt mustard in your mouth for five seconds and then swallow or it doesn't count."

He makes a face. "Couldn't we start with the ketchup? I can't just go from zero to mustard."

"Sorry Charlie. You lose the bet, you do the time."

We're soaking wet. Drenched. Our fingers wrinkled like prunes. That seems to be the punishment for what we've done, for rending space and time and bending it to our will. It feels wicked, the way I imagine Einstein must have felt. It's also a fairly minor punishment for the crime, which makes me think maybe we've gained The Nose's respect, just a little. It keeps the waitresses busy too, always wiping up the droplets of water we leak onto the table.

We get our table back, and we make a big show of saying how lucky we are to get the best table in the house. It pays to be polite around here. And on the bulletin board, now, is a single piece of paper, with the heading Rules of the Afterlife Automat.

You give a little, you get a little. That's Rule #3.

Jim chugs the mustard. I count to five. He chokes and sputters. His face purples, then goes back to normal. He wipes yellow from his mouth. I give him a small round of applause.

"New bet," he says, grinning. "My turn."

"Oh yeah? What are the stakes?" I ask.

He puts on his thinking face, but I interrupt. "Wait," I say. "If you win, I'll go exploring with you." I point down the long disappearing corridor.

He frowns. "But…the table," he says. "We might lose it." He's not talking about the table; we both know that. We have a fragile truce with the mysteries of the beyond. He looks down the long hallway, then back at me. "And what about Rule #1?" he asks. "'Don't stick your nose into other people's business?'"

I grab his wrinkled, wet hand. "Fuck it," I say.

Heavy footsteps behind us. Mouth breathing. We look up to see the broad, lumpy face of The Nose, cinched at the neck with a shiny white tie.

His nostrils are fathomless, swirling black holes.

"If you get lost, just give us a ring," The Nose says. "Plenty of payphones." He tosses a quarter onto the table. It spins, spins, spins.

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