Nightside 07 - Hell to Pay

prayers could buy you the very best divine intervention money could buy, at knockdown prices. The guy’s halo looked fake, too, more like a CGI effect. And the jaunty angle was particularly off-putting. In my experience, the real thing tends to be much more impressive, and downright disturbing to be around. Pure good and pure evil are equally unsettling and unfathomable to the everyday human mind.
    “Hi there, sir and Sister! Good to meet you both! I am Chuck Adamson, the god of Creationism. Blessed be!”
    I hefted Paul’s body into a more comfortable position and considered Chuck thoughtfully. “Creationism has its own god now?”
    The new god smiled easily and struck an impressive pose. “Hey, if enough people believe in a thing…sooner or later, it will appear somewhere on the Street of the Gods. Though I have to say, if I see one more Church of Elvis materialise from the aether, complete with blazing neon and stereophonic cherubs, I may puke. A great singer, to be sure, but a fornicator and drug abuser nonetheless. We are a proudly old-fashioned, traditional Church, sir, and there’s no room in it for a sinner, no matter how talented.”
    “Cut to the chase, Chuck,” I said, and something in my voice made his big wide smile waver just a little.
    “Well, sir, it seems to me that I am in a position to do you some good. I see that you carry in your arms the mortal remains of a dear departed friend. Cute little thing, wasn’t she? You mourn her loss, sir. I see it clearly, but I am here to tell you that I can raise her from the dead! I can raise her up, make her walk and talk and praise Creationism in a loud and carrying voice. Yes, sir! All you have to do in return…is bear witness. Tell everyone you meet who did this wonderful thing, and then send them here to learn the glory of Creationism! Oh yeah! Can I hear a Halleluiah?”
    “Probably not,” I said.
    Chuck stepped in a little closer, and lowered his voice confidentially. “Come now, sir, you must understand that every new church needs a few good old-fashioned miracles to get it off the ground? You just spread the word, and the worshippers will come running like there’s a sale on. And before you know it, my humble establishment will be leap-frogging up this Street to better and better positions. Praise Creationism!”
    “You can bring my friend back from the dead?” I said, fixing him with my coldest stare. “You can repair Paul’s body and return his soul to the vale of the living?”
    “Ah,” said Chuck. “Repair the body, yes. The soul…is a different matter. A bit out of my reach, you might say.”
    “So what you’re proposing,” I said,” is to turn Paul into a zombie and have him lurch about shouting Brains! Brains! while he slowly but inevitably decays?”
    “Well, not as such…Look, I’m new,” said Chuck, a little desperately. “We’ve all got to start somewhere!”
    “You don’t even know who I am, do you?” I said. “I’m John Taylor.”
    “Oh Christ.”
    “Bit late to be invoking him, Chuck. You’re the god of Creationism…That means you don’t believe in evolution, right?”
    “Yes, but…”
    “Your belief started out as Creationism, but has now become Intelligent Design, right?”
    “Yes, but…”
    “So your argument has evolved, thus disproving your own argument.”
    “Oh bugger,” said Chuck, as he disappeared in a puff of logic.
    “Nice one,” said Sister Josephine. “I would have just shoved a holy hand-grenade up his arse and pulled the pin. Heretics! Worse than fleas on a dog. His church has disappeared, too, and I have to say I find the pile of rubble that has replaced it rather more aesthetically satisfying.”
    “He’ll be back,” I said. “Or something like him. If enough people believe in a thing…”
    “If a million people believe a stupid thing, it is still a stupid thing,” Sister Josephine said firmly. “I am getting really tired of having to explain that a parable is just a parable.”
    We walked on, down the Street of the Gods. Past the Churches of Tesla and Crowley and Clapton, and an odd silvery structure that apparently represented a strange faith that originated in the small town of Roswell. Big-eyed Grey aliens lurked around the ever-open door, watching the people go by. They were the only church that didn’t bother trying to attract worshippers; they simply abducted them right off the Street. Luckily, they mostly stuck to picking on the tourists, so no-one