Kingdom Come, Kingdom Go Page 2
Elvis nodded at me, grinnin’. “Ever hear the name Kali?” he says.
I smiled back. “Bud Rollins has a collie dog,” I says.
“I don’t mean Lassie, woman!” he bellered, in a voice like summer thunder. Chills went up and down my spine.
But he never stopped smilin’. “Not collie,” he says. “Kali. The Hindu death goddess. At one time, that was the most feared name in all India. A whole tribe called the Thuggs worshipped her, and so did a lot of other folks besides.”
The King stepped into the shadows, so he was just a big black shape. His voice sounded like it was right by my ear when he started speakin’ again.
“They sacrificed people to her out in the desert. They’d dig the graves first, then go out and find somebody.” I could hear Elvis breathin’. “They’d end up with their throat cut ear to ear.”
There was this big long pause. I was shakin’ like a chihuahua. Earl had stopped his gruntin’ and was whindelin’ under his breath instead. Finally, the King spoke. “No one’s scared of her anymore,” he says. “Heck, she even showed up in a Beatle movie, back when Johnny was still mortal. Gods change, Effie. But they don’t always go from fierce to funny. Sometimes it happens in just the opposite fashion.”
He was suddenly right in front of me. He pointed at the jumbo-sized poster of himself on the powder room door. It was the one I used to like so well, with Elvis in his white karate suit and sweat all over his sideburns.
The King had this big old sneer on his face.
“That,” he says, “Is dead. I left it on the toilet at Graceland.” He reached out and touched my face, Billy James. His skin was hot as fire. “That’s dead,” he said. “But I will never die.”
That poster suddenly burst into flames, and so did Elvis himself. Then, just like that, he was gone. Vanished like a sucklin’ pig at Easter. There was nothin’ left of the poster but ashes. As they floated to the floor, real easy-like, I realized I understood everything he said.
It took Earl a mite longer, but he got it after a fashion.
Billy James, when I saw your show at the Golden Oldies Saloon, the buttons near to popped off my shirt with pride. My very own nephew, up there on the stage singin’ “Teddy Bear.” I do love you, boy. I hope you understand this is for the best.
Fetch the meat cleaver, Earl.
This has been an excerpt from the collection Vermifuge, and Other Toxic Cocktails, by Lorelei Shannon. Visit www.scorpiusdigital.com for information on purchasing Vermifuge and other Scorpius titles.
Lorelei Shannon writes and edits dark fantasy and even darker horror. She co-edited Scorpius’ horror anthology Hours of Darkness. Her previous career as a game designer produced (among others) A Puzzle of Flesh (a groundbreaking horror game that saw her interviewed by Cosmopolitan Magazine and banned in Sears stores everywhere). She lives in the woods of western Washington with her husband, Daniel Carver, sons Fenris and Orion, and three big, hairy dogs.
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Stories to make you shudder, weep, and laugh out loud, by one of today’s best new talents.
Meet a dark God of rock ‘n’ roll, a were-retriever in a tuxedo, a troop of lost Brownie scouts, a brave and royal rat, and the patron saint of roadkill. Find out about the dark side of sushi, and what certain residents of Georgia do for thrills on a Saturday night. See how far love will go when it must. Lorelei Shannon’s Vermifuge has a little dose of something for every reader of the fantastic.
“The dawn of a real writer.” -John Shirley
“Shannon is the best writer of American vernacular out there today. She could probably stand up to ol’ Mark Twain in a spittin’ match, too.” -Constant Reader
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