Polk

Final draft: July 13, 2021

1 - Mr. Polk.

Behold, Mr. Polk. Do it quick for there isn't much time. As you will observe, Mr. Polk is sleeping. Hey, what's this? Did you see that? He got up to a sitting posture. And what is that look on his face?

Mr. Polk stares across his bedroom. That look is slowly replaced by severe disapproval. Something is vexing Mr. Polk. Normally, Mr. Polk does not look like this.

His eyes widen. He yawns and is recumbent again. He looks at the ceiling. He frowns. He breathes deeply. And dies in such a hurry, he forgets to close his eyes.

Told you there wasn't much time.

2 - Mrs. Polk

The Polk folks are all being vexed today. See, now it's Mrs. Polk. Of course, a woman in her position, someone with a right to hang a notice on the back of her car proclaiming "Just Widowed" is entitled to a bit of vexing.

But the matter of righteous vexing is not the trouble. The trouble is unrighteous vexing. That Mr. Polk is dead is sad, but it is also inevitable. Remember that bit about flesh and grass? Right.

What is truly vexing her is the look on Mr. Polk's face. If you recall, Mr. Polk died wearing a frown of severe disapproval. The sort of frown he usually reserved for his wife. That's right, his wife, Mrs. Polk.

Like most people being vexed, Mrs. Polk's reaction was rather predictable. She frowned.

Well at least she is alive. So far.

For reasons that are not clear, she is thinking of detectives.

3 - Mr. Polk, Jr.

Mr. Polk, Jr. is trying mightily to achieve a state of vexedness and doing a frightful job of it. If ol' pops had kicked it fifteen or even ten minutes prior, Junior might have managed.

This is because of an essential similarity of perspective between Junior and the universe outside him.

The universe believes that his life has gone to pot. He believes that is a good idea and regularly takes pot.  A young man of weedy build with a healthy quantity of self-love and a generous allowance can always justify traveling the weed road.

So due to currently being suspended a few miles up he finds it difficult to take the ground-level vexing reality of death and transport it to the high heavens where he prefers to spend his life.

But, hey, he is trying. What more can you ask of a son and heir? He is trying. Leave him alone.

4 - Ms. Polk

Oh, yes, she is here too. And, yes, she is vexed too. Sadly, she has no means of ascending the situation like Junior. She merely sits and fumes.

And looking rather pretty while doing it. Eyes sparkling with anger. Color high with choler. Blood pressure dangerous. Demeanor deadly.

After all, why not? She is young. She had plans. You heard, had. She actually had had the plans for days now but merely as in old plans not as in had-been plans which they were now become.

Then dad popped and her plans popped in sympathy. Not that she would have had them popped, but the world is not kind if you don't pop your plans when someone so close has just popped.

You are expected to do a lot of plan popping for some time and call it grief. And if you don't do it voluntarily, you will have it done to you. Invasively if needed. Many families have popped because of inadequate plan popping on part of some family members.

Ms. Polk was getting ready to go on a date. Woe is she that dad should have chosen this very moment to pop. That's just popping bad. She had needed only another 57 minutes and 9 seconds before stepping out and the plan popping might have been postponed.

Ah, well, pop it.

5 - The Polks

Mrs. Polk is still thinking about detectives. Junior walks in trying real hard to remember that this is not a right time to say "groovy" to anything. Ms. Polk walks in a bit late on account of having had to stop and put aside the paint job she had undergone for the boyfriend.

Mrs. Polk: "This is terrible."

Junior: "Groo… I mean, yes, complete agreement. I concur. Fully with you. Know just how you feel …"

Ms. Polk to Junior: "Shut it."

Mrs. Polk to Ms. Polk: "Did you call the police?"

Ms. Polk to Mrs. Polk: "You mean the priest."

Mrs. Polk: "I'm calling them. There is something crooked here."

Junior: "Man, everything is crooked here. Crooked but groo … good. It's all good. We are good. We are all so good. Well, apart from, like, you know ..."

"Will you shut it?" said Ms. Polk addressing him and then to Mrs. Polk, "Shall I call them, mom?"

Mrs. Polk: "Perhaps not just yet." She went on thinking about detectives.

6 - Some Time Later

Mr. Polk has been dispatched. That is to say, whatever the living had to do has been done. No way of telling where he will fetch up, but he has been dispatched. That is the main thing. So long, Mr. Polk.

Mrs. Polk, however, continues vexed. Still thinking about detectives. Except now she is thinking of ouija boards too. A very perplexing mind is hers.

Junior has finally reached terra firma and he walks around with distrustful steps as one who doubts the reliability of reality.

Ms. Polk is a little less miffed and, as a consequence, not as pretty as before, but still pretty pretty. She spent some quality time with the boyfriend during the funeral.

All in all the popping sound is beginning to fade into the background of the Polk family's life.

Well, besides Mrs. Polk. A perplexing mind indeed.

7 - The Detective

Mrs. Polk having endured all she could, decided on a forceful no-more-dammit policy and sent for a detective.

Detective: "I do beg your pardon, madam, but what the dickens is this?"

Mrs. Polk: "I just told you."

"Oh, I heard you just fine. The meaning remains elusive though."

"I told you my husband died. All you need to find out is what he was thinking before he moved. Moved on that is. It's very important."

"Madam, with all respect, I work with the physical world. How am I supposed to find out what a man was thinking a moment before he popped?"

"Don't say 'popped'! Junior is always saying 'Ol' pops popped too popping soon.' I detest the term."

"Beg pardon, but it is a common term. Anyway, I simply cannot see how I am to be of service in this case. There is nothing for me to work with. The poor bugg… Mr. Polk has po … er, passed away so perhaps you should just leave it. Doesn't really matter what he was thinking, does it? It is not as if he can do something about it. My suggestion is to let the thing go."

"But do you not see my position? He had this look of disapproval. It was my look. No one else had any right to it. How dare he go about distributing it? What does he take me for? Am I his wife or not? Something has to be done and you are doing it."

The detective started thinking in unkindly terms about Mrs. Polk, realized his error, and switched focus to Mr. Polk. It was all that bugger's fault. If he had popped with a straight face, there would have been no need for this woman to suffer like this.

Good heavens, thought the detective to himself, here is a man about to enter the hereafter and what does he do? He frowns. Damned irresponsible lout.

8 - The Board

Mrs. Polk, meanwhile, decided to live dangerously. She went to her room and took out the ouija equipment.

Having skimmed the instructions, she began. The chilly tingle in her bones she attributed to sitting too close to the air conditioning vent.

She twiddled a bit and shuffled a bit and jiggled a bit and finally started.

The planchette went to the G. She didn't have a ritual so she conveniently skipped it. She asked her obvious question.

The planchette moved.

"Eek!" Mrs. Polk squealed and parted ways with consciousness.

9 - Junior

Junior was confused. Waves of disappointment buffeted him. He could not decide if it had been long enough after the popping to go back to routine. He had ample respect for ol' pops, but respecting the dead could be taken too far.

He was disappointed because there was no one to ask. These potters lead lonely lives. He just sat there disappointed, alone, and unpotted.

Like mother like son, you might say. He too decided on a forceful no-more-dammit policy and got out his higher-spiritual-plane equipment.

Ten minutes later he was above the material world when a strange experience befell him.

He saw ol' pops coming towards him. Ol' pops, sure and true, as if he had never popped.

"Pops?" said Junior.

"Hey, Junior," said ol' pops.

"Er… pops, this is, like, my private spot. Could you not, like, you know, invade and everything?"

"Hey, I was busy doing my thing when suddenly I got moved here. What did you do?"

"Pops, I didn't do anything. I wouldn't know how."

"Is that a joint, junior? God, what I'd give for something stimulating."

"Afterlife not so hot, pops?"

Before ol' pops could answer there was an unheard pop and ol' pops popped off again.

Junior didn't blink. At such giddy heights, strange phenomena were commonplace. He forgot the whole popping thing. Grasping matters is difficult when your brain is as potted as a conscientious potter's otter.

Gotcher!

10 - Ms. Polk

Ms. Polk sat at the edge of her bed. Her anger gone, she looks far less pretty, but, what the hell, you can't expect her to be angry all the bleeding time.

She sat on her bed, facing the mirror centered between the two columns of drawers of her vanity. The mirror almost reached the floor. Like many pretty girls, she liked these kinds of mirrors.

When young and pretty, really pretty at high mental temperatures, girls are sitting staring at mirrors no matter how tall, it is best not to pry into their thoughts. Then again, always going for the best can be exhausting. So let's relax a bit and settle for the mediocre.

Hey, what? You see her face? Look, suddenly she looks pretty sad, doesn't she?

"Oh, dad," she said sighing and hung her head.

"What is it, princess?" enquired ol' dad gently.

She looked up. Mental registration took place. Recognition followed after the necessary delay required for the shockwaves to dissipate.

Like mother like daughter, you might say.

"Eek!" Ms. Polk squeaked prettily and parted ways with her consciousness.

Mr. Polk stood there thinking if he was ever going to meet someone who was either not stoned or managed to stay with him long enough to render an explanation. And de-manifested.

His last thought before vanishing was that afterlife truly wasn't so hot.

11 - The Detective

He reached into his pocket and brought out a slim and elongated cylinder that gleamed with a metallic sheen. Placing this between the first two fingers of his right hand, he inserted one end into his mouth, and fetched himself a long drag. The other end glowed a deep electric red.

Whether the thing did him any good he didn't know, but he believed in keeping up with the mores.

Thus he sat, staring off into nothing, thinking of nothing, and imbibing nothingness.

Mr. Polk manifested behind the detective's back. Quite frankly, Mr. Polk was getting fed up with all this manifesting. It was not the process that irked but the lack of choice. Like being on a guided tour.

He frowned as he looked at the stranger sitting in his former living room. Steps needed to be taken and he took them. Those steps brought the two strangers face to face.

Mr. Polk: "You can't do that here. I forbid it."

The detective who had not yet had the displeasure of looking at a picture of Mr. Polk, had no clue who this specimen was.

Mr. Polk: "Who are you?"

The Detective: "Well, if it's like that, who are you?"

"I am the man whose name is on the front door."

"Mr. Polk? Ummm. This is a bit unusual. You are dead."

"Don't remind me, dang you. And why are you so calm about it? Where are the hysterics? As a dead man, show me some respect. Act out a bit."

"Well, well, now, Mr. Polk, where is the sense in that? What could you possibly do to me?"

The same thought had occurred to Mr. Polk and indignation arose with such fervor that a living human would have been suffering heartburn already. Then his eyes gleamed and he did a sort of jump.

"Hi …" began the detective and choked off with a gurgle.

The detective then stood up and ran to a mirror, surprised, for he didn't know he was about to do anything. He looked and found himself draped in a large grin and his eyes were lifeless.

"Like it?" a voice asked the detective.

The detective tried to speak but evidently his vocal cords were no longer under his control.

With a whooshing sound Mr. Polk exited the detective.

The detective shuddered a bit, looked at the mirror again, apparently found the reflection reassuring, and shuddered again with histrionic violence.

The Detective: "Don't do that again. Please."

Mr. Polk: "I didn't exactly enjoy it. Dang, the human psyche is weird when it's not your own."

The detective was a man of duty, ghost or no ghost.

"Look, Mr. Polk, I'm a detective your wife hired. I need to find out just one thing and my work is done. What was the last mortal thought you had?"

Mr. Polk opened his mouth to speak.

The detective turned on his mental recording machine. It was a habit of his.

Mr. Polk de-manifested.

The detective was annoyed and though he didn't know it, so was Mr. Polk.

12 - Mrs. Polk

She got up off the floor and sneaked a peek at the ouija board. As soon as her eyes rested on the planchette, it slid sideways, trembled, and settled down.

"Bah!" said Mrs. Polk.

She put away the board and straightened her back. Laying there on the floor had not been very refreshing.

She turned around and there was Mr. Polk.

"Well, how are you?" asked Mr. Polk, challenging her to say she was fine.

Mrs. Polk's eyelids retracted as if with imaginary lid speculums. She looked from him to the drawer containing the ouija board, going back and forth, getting good exercise for her stiffened neck muscles.

"Eek!" squealed Mrs. Polk and returned to ground level.

Mr. Polk tried to catch her but, alas, he was not material enough for catching purposes.

He stood over his prostrate wife. That look of severe disapproval was back on his face.

Red bleeding hell, he thought, would this never end?

It was all very bitter to him.

"For the love of …," he began and de-manifested. About time too.

13 - The Detective

He heard the thud that had ended Mrs. Polk's descent and decided this was where he put in a bit of detective work. Thuds always implied crime to his trained mind.

He passed an open door and looked inside. Ms. Polk was lying awkwardly across her bed. Half her body dangling gracelessly over the edge.

He passed another open door on his other side and saw Junior sprawled on a couch with a decidedly unhealthy smile on his face.

He came to a third door on the first side and knocked it. The door not the side. Sides cannot be knocked because they are to the side. You can take sides, but you cannot knock them. Besides, even if you do somehow manage to knock a side, you will simply knock it aside. Which is where sides are to begin with. Why bother?

He then smacked himself on the forehead, having remembered that bodies that fall with thuds are generally not capable of making adequate responses to knocks on doors. He turned the door handle.

Mr. Polk, who, for some reason whenever he did the manifesting thing, always did it behind people's backs, had returned.

"Listen, you," said Mr. Polk to the detective.

The detective, startled by the ghostly voice, bounded forward into the half open door, banged his nose, said something that sounded like "Nguch!", and turned around with his nose beginning to drip like one of those taps at night that won't let you sleep.

The pain had led him straight to his reservoir of rage. After quaffing deeply he said to Mr. Polk, "Don't sneak up like that. Now look what you have done you foul ghoul."

"No, please, don't," pleaded the detective after noting that familiar gleam in Mr. Polk's eyes.

"Why were you going into my wife's room?" asked Mr. Polk, looking every bit the ghoul he had been called.

"I heard a thud," said the detective.

"Oh, you think that's a good enough reason to go into people's wives' rooms?"

"I only wanted to see if she needed help."

"Believe me, she has needed help for a long time now. Dang, I am going to do this every chance I get. Literally, I am going to shock some sense into that woman, by God, I swear."

"There is also a young lady down the hall that needs help."

Mr. Polk went and looked. "Dang it," he said. "Junior," he yelled.

Junior came out of his room accompanied by that peculiar odor affected by potters.

"Hey, pops! 'sup?" he asked genially. He was at his most genial under conditions like the present.

"Your mother and sister have both fainted. Bring them around."

"Around what?"

Mr. Polk's eyes gleamed. The detective saw it and started having palpitations.

They carried no message to Junior. He stood there with creased cheeks, waiting for ol' pops to respond. Ol' pops did a sort of jump.

Junior went on standing crease-cheeked as before.

The Detective: "Er, how are you feeling, Mr. Polk, Jr.?"

Junior: "Hey, fella, call me Juns, and I feel as groovy as a peach. I'm in the groove, fella."

14 - Mr. Polk

Mr. Polk landed in Junior's Central Command with the intention of teaching him a lesson about making jokes at a time when his, Mr. Polk's, soul was in agony. He looked around Central Command and blinked his surprise. There was no equipment in the room.

"How in the name of God does this boy run his life?" barked Mr. Polk.

A voice came from far away after having traveled through a really long hollow pipe.

"Pops, that you?" asked Junior, a little surprised at ol' pops for communicating telepathically, but only a little. He wasn't capable of more.

"Junior, why is your wretched mind so bloody empty?"

"Say what, pops?" asked Junior, more genial than ever, and took a deep invigorating breath of higher-spiritual-plane gas.

Ol' pops was engulfed in the fumes and through some odd chemistry discovered himself looking down at his ghost.

"Good Lord," said Mr. Polk, astonished at realizing he was now a ghost of his own ghost. Once, felt Mr. Polk, and quite rightly, had been enough. No one sane wants to make a habit out of such an experience.

The gloom of Junior's Central Command gave way to sunshine of a quality that makes you want to hug the sun even when you know that will turn you into a ghost.

Mr. Polk found Relief and shook its hand. Damn, it was a relief, said Mr. Polk to Relief, to know that he was not a ghost of his own ghost. Silly idea. The sort of ideas Junior usually had when in the groove. Everything was clear now.

Tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner, said Mr. Polk to Relief.

There was never any harm in that said Relief and left exiting right.

Mr. Polk stayed relieved even after Relief left because he understood this was how Junior's mind was when Junior was in the groove. Junior took Central Command equipment with him when he traveled. A wise boy in his own way.

Rising on the vapors swirling out of Junior's empty Central Command, eventually Mr. Polk reached Junior who was overjoyed to meet his father, yet again, but also a little censorious.

"Say, pops, groovy man, but, like, private place and all that, you know?" he said to ol' pops.

Mr. Polk's eyes gleamed and he did a sort of jump, landed in a functional Command Center, mostly wonky but functional, and got busy.

15 - The Detective

That poor man fighting for what seemed like a lost cause, unless Mr. Polk could control his manifestations, had managed to revive the female members of the Polk gang.

Having no idea what havoc Mr. Polk was wreaking in Junior's already mostly-wrecked Central Command during this time, he left that young man with his fixated smile where he lay. Outwardly, Junior looked so severely peaceful that he could have made a substantial chunk of the citizenry envious.

The Detective: "Please tell me it was a coincidence that you both were found unconscious simultaneously. Because I am not buying any nonsense about family traditions."

No answer. Not because there wasn't one, but how do you tell relative strangers that you go about seeing ghosts? Well, okay, perhaps you could come candid all over and simply say it.

But the thing is, you can't do it immediately. This why when, if someone really sees a ghost and their face still shows it, there is no point in saying things like, "What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost."

That actually is the matter. The matter of having seen and not yet gotten over it.

Both the ladies had by some link of their own worked out what the other had seen. They could see it in their mutual faces. And when you see that look on someone else's face and know you are wearing it too, vocabulary gets slippery and words start playing hide and seek. Basically, the mind is reduced to a parallel but dissimilar state to that of Junior's when he is in the groove.

The detective puffed a bit more, looked with distaste at what he was holding, and left the room shaking his head sorrowfully. It pained him to think of what was happening to the Modern Family.

Just look at the Polks. Seemed like such decent respectable folk and then went about losing their silly consciousnesses. Sad, very sad. As if it was a family activity. We won't go on picnics like regular people. No board games. No movies. What do we do for a family activity? We faint. Bloody 'ell, thought the detective.

He thought a bit more.

Mr. Polk that degenerate lout, sneaking up on people and giving them cracked noses.

Mrs. Polk, God knows how she ended up with a mind like hers, goes about haranguing honest detectives by asking them to investigate things beyond the veil.

Mr. Polk, that damned uncooperative lout. Always there behind your back but ask a simple question and off he goes.

And Mr. Polk, Jr., a truly exaggerated case of Alertly Comatose. "Call me Juns," he says, the confounded tick.

Mr. Polk, that foul ghoul. What kind of a ghoul is one that can't control its comings and goings? The damned incompetence of it. Can't even be a properly functioning ghoul.

Not to forget Ms. Polk. Pretty even when just returned from neverland and not recovered from whatever shock sent her there, but what price beauty when beauty behaves like an oaf? Still, gotta admit, she's pretty pretty.

Something else registered in his mind, a bit late, but extenuating circumstances, etc. Both the Polk females had identical expressions on their faces. Of course, Ms. Polk's was prettier. Never mind that, he admonished himself, there is a connection. He just knew it. It was a habit for him, just knowing it.

He went past the mirror in which Mr. Polk had demonstrated the reason why exorcists exist.

If only he had had the courage to take another look into that same mirror, the connection was spread all over his face.

But just as we cannot always be striving for the best, we cannot always go on being brave. Eventually we have to stop to rest and be the other thing.

16 - Mrs. Polk, Ms. Polk, and Junior (with chauffeur)

Mrs. Polk: "I think I saw your father."

Ms. Polk: "I think I saw my father, too."

A fairly broad stretch of silence.

Mrs. Polk shivered and said: "You think this is like a haunting?"

Ms. Polk: "I don't know. I've never been in one, let alone watch one start. And if it is a haunting, why didn't dad get going right away. It's not like he was busy with the funeral. Why come back after so many weeks? I'll tell you one thing mom, if it is a haunting, you leave the priests to me. I'll show them." She flared up and got prettier.

Mrs. Polk shivered, something obviously amiss with her thermostat, and suggested, "Maybe, maybe he was, oh, you know, called …"

"Called? Called how? I don't think they have phones or email on the other side."

Ms. Polk had an image of angels texting each other instead of talking, colliding in mid air despite notices posted about avoiding texting and flying at the same time, and nefarious entrants into heaven bootlegging the latest devices, accessories, and what nots. God with a frown on that divine forehead and the Devil guffawing to no end while sending malware to every device he could.

Mrs. Polk: "Through other less technically oriented ways. Like the occult or something."

Ms. Polk: "Oh, mom. Why would anyone call dad back using the occult? And if someone did, they are an idiot. We go to all the trouble of giving him a proper send off and they fetch him right back."

"Unfinished business?"

"Dad was retired and …"

"Could be personal ..."

Ms. Polk narrowed her pretty eyes and looked keenly at ol' mom who was normally as sharp and quick as a newly minted knife. This evasiveness was not in her makeup. Neither was leaving her statements incomplete. When ol' mom spoke she usually didn't stop until she had said a lot more than was needed.

Miss Polk: "Did you do something, mom?"

Mrs. Polk: "I'm not sure. It could just be a coincidence but then …"

"What did you do, mom?"

"Well, you see, I thought what was the harm in trying. So after the funeral I went and bought …"

Enter Junior.

The sight of Junior under the influence was not new. In fact, it was a gauge indicating how deep, or high if you prefer, he was. However, this was something new. The grin on his face was of a little beyond the regular higher-spiritual-plane quality.

"Eek!" Mrs. Polk squealed but stayed upright.

"Eek!" Ms. Polk squeaked prettily and followed her mother's lead like the good girl she was.

The grin vanished.

Junior (in a voice not his own): "Either of you drop and you are not getting up. Dang, I am fed up with you people. What's wrong with you? Dang it all, first I'm here against my will and then I can't stay put in one place and am always being shifted randomly by I don't know whose wish. Half the people who see me drop and the other half think it's perfectly normal. You have any idea how dang annoying it is?" said Mr. Polk and explained the situation further.

That Junior spoke in an English not involving a single "groovy" or "like" or "you know" was evidence enough that there was another presence here.

Mrs. Polk looked guilty. She remembered she had skipped the ritual on the ouija board. That might be causing Mr. Polk's manifestation instability.

Ms. Polk's adrenals and blood pressure had gone into overdrive and she got prettier by the moment. Afraid, of course, but that was a small price to pay. She too understood. She knew only one individual who used "dang" in his dialogues.

It is sad to report, however, that both of them could only go as far as tout comprendre. They just couldn't reach the tout pardonner phase. Not that they can be blamed. You simply cannot go about tout pardonner-ing ghosts that have recently begun to haunt you. After a while perhaps but not so soon and only if they behave.

Since Junior was still on higher-spiritual-plane fuel, he was able to contribute too.

Junior: "Hey, pops. Groovy, man, keep it, like, you know, cool, pops, keep it cool."

That he was able to do so was because he was still up there. The devastation Mr. Polk had caused would be noted when Junior plugged into the regular Central Command used by ground-level humans. If he ever did.

Mr. Polk, continuing the backseat driving, pointed a commanding finger at his wife.

"You, why are you going about hiring detectives? Dang it, woman, speak, dang you."

Junior: "Pops, man, that's like, no way, you know, to speak to your ex-wife. Ouch! Aw, not groovy, pops."

Mr. Polk: "You stay out of this you danged potter. And don't call her my ex-wife."

Junior: "Oh, man, pops, that's just … ouch! Totally uncool, pops, tota… Ow."

Junior had only one response to pain, any kind of pain. He inhaled deeply.

With a whooshing sound Mr. Polk exited Junior.

The female Polk folk were surprised. Not because they saw Mr. Polk, but because Mr. Polk was coughing. Both were thinking the same thing: Why would a ghost cough?

Junior could have explained to them the potency of higher-spiritual-plane gas, but he was in no condition to do that. Whatever small quantity of sanity that Mr. Polk had induced into Junior exited with Mr. Polk, restoring Junior to his potted and genial self.

Mr. Polk to Junior: "You danged idiot. Do you even know what actually happens inside you when you do that?"

Junior to Mr. Polk: "Pops, whatever it is, it's groovy. That's like, you know, groovy enough for me."

Mr. Polk's eyes gleamed. Unfortunately, he de-manifested before he could do a sort of jump. He had felt the symptoms coming and his parting words were addressed to an unknown party. "If you don't quit ...," and he was gone one more time, no doubt to manifest behind some other unfortunate back.

17 - The Polk Folks and The Detective

The detective came into the room as Mr. Polk's ghost was in its final stages of departure.

Junior was his normal potted self.

The Polk female folk were sitting wide-eyed and looked as if they had been scrubbed with a new and improved industrial-strength bleaching agent.

So deep were they in their thoughts that when the detective spoke, they assumed Mr. Polk had returned.

"Eek!" Mrs. Polk squealed.

"Eek!" Ms. Polk squeaked prettily and seriously got down to getting prettier.

They looked up and saw who it was. It was a busy day for Relief at the Polk residence that day.

Mrs. Polk to the Detective: "You goofy mutt! You call yourself a detective? Can't you see the condition we are in? What do you mean by speaking like that? What? What exactly do you mean by speaking like that? My God, the man calls himself a detective and cannot even tell when women should and should not be spoken to suddenly. Here we are, sitting and thinking matters of the utmost seriousness, and an idiot of a detective comes in and frightens the life out of us. Do you have any sense at all? Why are men such utter fools? What do you want anyway? You have a job to do. Go find him and finish what you must. And be fast about it. I am running out of patience with you. Go on. Move."

The detective was thankful for his married state. He knew from experience what had happened when his wife had given him the First Treatment and the following intermittent Treatments. All the practice paid off now. The assault came, was faced, and he survived. Nothing, he thought, like marriage to toughen up a man's fortitude.

He had just begun thinking about taking flowers or chocolates for the wife after work, but then thought all that could wait till after work. His duty-bound mind omitted to remind him that it was precisely this devotion to duty that had resulted in the First Treatment.

The Detective: "Why are your faces drained of blood? Next family activity? Playing vampires?"

Mrs. and Ms. Polk looked at each other with a new yet common thought: What if Mr. Polk had died and then un-died.

Their respective draining systems ran faster, causing their faces to become whiter than ever. If vampires looked like Ms. Polk looked right now, the world might have taken to them more kindly, canines and everything.

Mrs. Polk's thermostat was nearly history and she was vibrating as if competing in the Mothers of Pretty Girls World Shivering Championship.

Ms. Polk opened her pretty mouth and drew in a pretty sharp breath.

The Detective to Junior: "You have anything to say about this?"

Junior to the Detective: "Hey, fella, pops was here and he was, like, totally not groovy. Raising hell he was, although, like, you know, why he couldn't have done that in hell beats me."

"How do you know your father is in hell?"

"Fella, think about it. If you were, like, in heaven, you know, why would you be in such a bad mood? If you were in heaven, you'd be groovy, wouldn't you, fella? You wouldn't be, you know, like, so not groovy. Pops was totally uncool."

The detective who had very little sympathy for Mr. Polk after recent events agreed that hell was a well-deserved destination for that lout's ghost and wished the day was over so he could leave this household.

Junior to the female Polk folk: "Groovy mom, groovy sis, you should, like, see your faces."

The female Polk folk to Junior: "Oh, shut it."

Junior smiled a genial smile and walked to a chair in utter violation of the "shortest distance between two points" concept, walking as if following a hopelessly twisted noodle.

18 - God

At the very last moment of Mr. Polk's de-manifestation, God arrived. Of course, God does not have to because God is already there, or rather here, or, umm, this is confusing. Never mind.

God was puzzled as God was not here by God's will. Being here was forbidden for God by God.

As is typical, no one noticed that divine presence.

God saw Mr. Polk in the last stages of de-manifestation and God said, "Galumphing groundhogs."

Unfortunately in a moment of annoyance God did it on a mortal-compatible frequency.

Mrs. Polk to the Detective: "Did you speak again?"

The Detective replied: "No, madam, I did not speak."

Junior: "Say, fella, shouldn't, like, swear at the dead, you know? You'll be in trouble if they don't like it."

God (same frequency): "Rampaging rabbits, why do you lot always want me dead?"

Enough confusion ensued to reduce a thoroughly disciplined regiment to a gaggle, and the people involved were far from thoroughly disciplined..

God: "For Me's sake, stop that," and merged with the dimension that mortals call reality.

Mrs. Polk: "Eek!"

Ms. Polk (prettily): "Eek!"

Junior who had just inhaled deeply: "Man, this is really groovy stuff."

The Detective: Nothing. His trained and practical mind unable to handle miracles.

God: "What? You lot never seen Me before? Oh, right, you haven't. Sorry about that."

Then to Mrs. Polk, "Mrs. Polk, Mr. Polk is giving me a hell of a time. I already have a full-time employee charged with that task. The other guy is starting to give me hell about Mr. Polk giving me hell. Just where does he go? That is what I want to know, where?"

Mrs. Polk: "But, but, but aren't you supposed to know?"

"Nope," said God with divine finality.

"Nope?" said all the mortals.

"Nope," said God, "What's the point? I did once. Knowing everything is a bother. Eternity is Me damned boring when you know everything. So I chose to forget. More interesting this way. Never know what's coming next."

Ms. Polk, "So if you are asked something there is no guarantee of an answer?"

God: "Nope. That's why I don't answer prayers anymore. No one understands that doing so fixes the future and that leads to me being bored. Last time I was bored an energy cluster almost went ultra-supernova."

Ms. Polk: "Energy cluster?"

God: "God-speak for star. All those beautiful nuclear reactors I made that you can see in the night sky. If a bigger one of those puppies ever goes ultra-supernova, it might wipe out the galaxy or even the universe. Can't risk that sort of thing. Don't want to redo the Big Bang and all the rest."

The Detective to God: "You … you accept the Big Bang?"

God to the Detective: "Attend to me, you investigator of mortal mysteries and cause of many divorces, I am the one who set the match to that firecracker, me."

"Why?"

"Er, you see, I was bored. I thought a loud explosion with neat visual effects might cheer me up."

Ms. Polk: "How would there be a loud when the universe doesn't even exist yet?"

God: "I am supremely imaginative."

Mr. Polk manifested behind God.

Mr. Polk to God, "Hey, listen."

God gave a divine start and regretted not being the know-it-all humanity assumed God was.

God to Mr. Polk: "Sizzling scorpions, you startled me. Can't you stay where you are? My place not good enough for you? I haven't had a moment's peace with you coming and leaving as and when you please. No one could find you. Where were you?"

Mr. Polk to God: "Listen, you think I like it? You are supposed to be in charge. Make it stop. It is very danged annoying. Are you doing this? It can't be anyone else."

"Doing what?"

"Plucking me out of one place and landing me in another random one."

"I have been called many things but never have I been accused of being an airport."

"Oh, no, not ag …, " and Mr. Polk de-manifested.

God's divine eyes bulged and God said, "Bless a random soul, he's gone again."

#

There is a big city. A farmer from a poor family, after having abandoned the village life out of hopelessness was working at disgraceful wages as a cobbler in this city.

A drunk and particularly miserly customer had left a lottery ticket as payment for a shoeshine, mistakenly believing that the ticket had expired.

This cobbler won.

#

God works in mysterious ways.

19 - Laboratory

Mr. Polk recognized neither the place where he had manifested nor the back he was facing. As far as he could make out, the back seemed covered with a lab coat. Mr. Polk knew no one who worked in a lab coat.

Mr. Polk: "Listen, you."

The lab-coated back rotated to face him. Two bespectacled eyes looked into his. Pretty eyes. Not as pretty as Ms. Polk's but still pretty pretty.

Mr. Polk looked down to read her name tag.

He only read as far as "Dr." when she spoke.

"Hey, what the hell are you looking at? Look up," she said.

"Dang it, if you are so sensitive can't you attach your danged name tag a bit closer to your shoulder. That collar goes all the way around it to the other danged side."

She looked down and said, "Oh God! So that's why they all kept staring when I had just started working here."

God appeared between them. Facing the doctor.

Evidently if someone manifested in Mr. Polk's presence they had to do it while showing Mr. Polk their back. Even God.

"Er, hi, I am Me" said God.

"God?" she said.

"Er, yes," said God, most impressed with God at having made such a good-looking scientist, remembered who God was, and felt divinely silly.

Mr. Polk: "Well, if this isn't the dangest thing."

God gave another divine start and whirled around.

God to Mr. Polk: "Stop doing that. Do you realize if I do what I have to do to avoid doing what you make me do, the galaxy might get wiped out?"

Mr. Polk: "People keep calling you all the danged time and you never show up. She didn't even call you, just kind of generally exclaimed, and here you are. God!"

"You don't have to tell me. I know. It happens all the time. The things I see people doing …" God realized what Mr. Polk meant and turned a divine shade of deep embarrassment.

God: "I didn't want to Me dammit. Something strange is going on in this dimension."

The Doctor: "Oh God!"

God: "Yes, my chil… dear."

"You are God. You can't be here at the lab."

"Oh?" said God somewhat peevishly. These scientist types think they are everybody. "Why not?"

"You will upset everyone. There is hardly anyone here who believes in you. Work might get delayed indefinitely while people come to terms with all this. Thank You it's the night shift and I am alone here."

"I see. Are you an atheist?"

"How can I be one now? All that junk about free will and the one who is guaranteeing it didn't leave me any," and she broke down into sobs.

God to Mr. Polk: "This is why I don't show up. Showing up upsets everything. If someone doesn't believe in Me, they feel they have been conned. If someone does believe in Me, they lose their heads and go about proclaiming how right they were all along."

Mr. Polk: "You could explain it to everyone at the same danged time."

"The galaxy, you ex-mortal fool, the galaxy will blow and might take this universe with it. You live in it. Er, used to anyway."

"This universe?"

"I made a lot of them. Lots and lots and lots and lots."

"Why?"

"Er, you see the problem with eternity is that it is a bit on the longish side. You get bored eventually. Have to keep busy."

God to the Doctor: "Oh, come now, there is no need for that. Want to see a neat trick?"

A moment later she had cheered up considerably. It is not everyday you see a universe being born.

Something beeped and she ran to it.

"Blast," she said, "always the same runaround about who will stabilize the stabilizers."

God and Mr. Polk de-manifested.

The doctor was pleased. Must have been a temporary neurosis, she thought, that had induced the hallucination. She happily put aside all thoughts of God and went back to being an atheist. 

20 - God and Mr. Polk

God: "Where are we?"

Mr. Polk: "You know, for God you are breaking a lot of danged beliefs people generally have about God."

"Not my problem. I don't tell anyone to go about believing all the rubbish they are told. This is me and I am Me. WYSIWYG."

"Oh, that's just danged great, even God has the acronym affliction."

"Why? You lot have a copyright on them? Anyway, where are we? I know all the universes, parallel and intersecting, but not this place."

Mr. Polk's eyes gleamed but he did not do a sort of jump. It was the gleam-of-understanding. The sort of gleam detectives get when they solve knotty cases.

Mr. Polk: "Obviously, we are outside all of them."

"We can't be. There is nothing outside them."

"Obviously, then, we are in nothing."

God's eyes gleamed with a divine light. "Don't you get philosophical with me. Ah, let's not waste time. Where …"

Mr. Polk interrupted, "What do you mean waste time?"

"The obvious of course."

"So time passes for you too? But you are eternal."

"What's that got to do with anything?."

"But, dang it, time passing and eternity together?"

"I am with you and time is passing for you, so how can it not do for me?"

"How can time pass for me? I am a ghost."

"Look at it this way. Right now you are a sort of fresh ghost but you won't stay like that forever. A year from now, ten years, a hundred ... get it? The human concept of time is completely wrong. It's not about physics but about memory."

"Uh-huh, so people with dementia go back in time? That what you mean?"

God's eyes gleamed. "Don't you get technical with me."

"Alright, but tell me, how come when I was at your place there wasn't a single clock anywhere. If time passes, there should be something to look at and say right now it is such and such."

"You silly goat of a ghost. Why make a clock that needs to be wound for eternity. Batteries are no good. You can't make a battery to keep a car running for a year and you expect me to make a battery that will last eternity? Good Me."

Mr. Polk attempted to speak but was preempted.

"Solar power is no good either. All the suns will eventually die out. Besides, clocks are needed only for cyclical purposes. Think how peaceful human life would be without clocks. In fact, I can tell you from personal knowledge that it was."

Mr. Polk stood thinking and God finally got a chance to ask the big one.

"Where do you keep disappearing? I mean, I don't know where you go. That hell-giving employee of mine I told you about, he doesn't know where you go, so you are obviously not playing hooky to go to his place and be naughty, so where do you go?"

"Danged if I know. It's like between leaving and returning there is no time lapse, nothing happens, no memory. Alright, alright, alright … forget the time bit."

"Why do you do it?"

"I don't do it, it is done to me. Why don't you know?"

"Galaxy, boom. Universe, poof."

Mr. Polk looked at God with deepening suspicion and said, "I am getting danged suspicious about you being God. There is simply too much you don't know. Tell me, if you are God then how come you were sitting outside the front gate instead of a nice office inside? I think people should know that the danged security guard sitting outside heaven's gate is not God."

God's eyes gleamed and God did a sort of jump.

A mere moment later Mr. Polk de-manifested, taking God with him.

21 - Laboratory

Mr. Polk looked at the doctor's back and said nothing. Something was different.

The doctor was fiddling with some scientific paraphernalia. Frustrated, she said, "Just stay stable, will you? You are a stabilizer for God's sake."

The different in Mr. Polk that was God came rushing out, tripped, and fell to the floor - God's back to Mr. Polk - with a divinely beautiful thud.

The doctor turned around and gasped, removed her glasses, rubbed her eyes, put the glasses back on, hotted up, pushed a finger upwards the bridge of her nose, got prettier, and said, "Damn."

God stood up on divine legs and Mr. Polk said with disgust, "Who possesses a ghost?"

God, who had completely forgotten about Mr. Polk after seeing the doctor gave a third divine start and again whirled around.

God to Mr. Polk: "Gambolling giraffes, does it even bother you that you are bringing the galaxy closer to destruction every time you do that? Don't you care about the galaxy? Your body might be dead but your family still has theirs. Think of them if nothing else. Also, when I do it, it isn't possession, it's enlightenment.

Mr. Polk: "I am enlightened?"

God: "Not anymore. Do either of you smell sulfur?"

The Doctor to God: "What's wrong with the galaxy?"

God (sheepishly), "Er, nothing, nothing, nothing. Seriously, do you smell sulfur?"

The Doctor (sulking and pouting), "You just don't want to tell."

God felt bad and explained about eternity, boredom, energy cluster ultra-supernova, galaxy boom, universe poof, etc., and again asked if she smelled sulfur.

The Doctor to Mr. Polk: "You'd better quit it."  Then to God, "Why don't you fix it or him or whatever?"

God: "Er, well, once you are at my place there is not much I can do about you. Do you smell sulfur my I-can't-help-vanishing ex-mortal?"

Mr. Polk: "Yes. Smelly sulfur."

A new voice said, "Occupational hazard."

The doctor stared.

Mr. Polk said, "Good God."

The new voice said, "No, bad God. Hello God."

God said, "Frollicking frogs" Then to the Doctor: "I guess you haven't met. He is the Devil."

The doctor fainted. Mr. Polk tried to catch her but history, repeat, etc.

God to the Devil: "I very clearly forbade you from physically being in this dimension."

The Devil: "And I did too abide by your forbidding. There I was, tending to my fires, pitchforks, scream recording studios, torture equipment manufacturing units, boiler rooms, desert makers, temptation generators, multilevel marketing ideas, contract scam philosophies, how to break hearts and ruin lives strategies, recession catalysts, aberrant artificial intelligence personalities, nightmare simulators, bone crushers, flesh cutters ...."

"Hey, what makes you think anyone is interested in all that?"

"I was merely trying to indicate that I was engrossed in my work and something happened and here I am, I don't know how. Speaking of which, you had also forbidden yourself from showing yourself in this dimension. Can I say, 'hypocrite'?"

"Watch it, or I'll do something. I too was tending to my awesome angels, heavenly harps, delicious delicacies, above-average appetite, wonderful weather, amazing atmosphere, splendid service, salubrious sunrises, superb sunshine, melodious music, topping trees, fresh flowers, lovely leafage, scintillating shrubs, ideal islands, magnificent mountains, gorgeous glaciers, dear doves, cute clouds, soft slippers, neat napkins, ..."

"Hey! What do you think you are doing? Stop reading your bloody promotional material. Do I look like a tourist to you?"

"Er, well, anyway something happened and here I am too."

Mr. Polk: "Why don't the two of you just go back?"

God and the Devil shook their respective heads. God shrugged and the air was redolent. The Devil shrugged and the air was rotten.

The Devil: "How can we go back when we don't know how we got here?"

God: "Hey, I was going to say that."

The Devil smiled a wicked one and said, "And now you'll have to say you agree with me."

God: "Wobbling woodpeckers, never."

Something beeped. The three of them looked towards a large display panel adorned with a bunch of scrolling equations and numbers, a bunch of icons, a large bunch of light spots in various stages of illumination, and a bunch of error messages. It was one of those panels that just had to be more bunched than thou.

A disembodied voice read out the largest error message while adding in comments of its own: "Stabilizer #3 destabilization imminent (or something). Disengage for diagnostics and repair (or whatever). Press and hold Disengage icon (if you can find it in this mess ... it's the largest one and it's flashing, dummy).  "Time to waveform collapse …" A countdown appeared on the screen.

The voice continued: "Almost there, almost there. There. Waveform collapse complete (seriously. Lazy human no hold button, inevitably). Field integrity failing (speedily). Field integrity 95%. Field integrity 90%. Field integrity 85%. Field integrity  ... tell you what, I'll just let you know when it's done."  A new counter went into reverse.

The second counter reached zero and the voice narrated: "Field integrity 0.00% (whatcha 'spec?) Initiating diagnostics and repair (huh, lazy human automate everything and go to sleep. I don't know why I even bother to inform anyone what is going on). Commencing diagnostics and repair (blah)."

None of the three witnesses knew what was happening, nevertheless they watched on.

The error messages began clearing up and a new notice went up. The voice spoke: "Stabilizer #3 stabilized (I'm the best)." Then: "Waveforms synchronizing (oh yeah)." Then: "Waveforms synchronized (high five)." Then: "Engage field manually (or whatever. I'm not kidding. This is a manual step. Don't expect me to do it)." Then nothing.

The doctor got up a bit shakily and looked around. She saw the other three and resigned herself that this is how things would be now onwards. She went to the equipment and took a look at the readings.

She said, "I really don't like that blasted stabilizer." She tapped a few icons.

The status on screen changed and the voice said: "Field integrity 100%. (Wowza! Finally woke up, hey?)"

"Tooting tarantulas …," God began.

"Dang it …," Mr. Polk began. 

"What in my place …," the Devil began. 

And all three de-manifested.

22 - Back at the Polks'

Mrs. Polk, Ms. Polk, Junior, and the detective gave their usual responses when the party of three manifested at the Polk residence.

Mrs. Polk went past a point in her shivering for which there is no word.

Ms. Polk went past a point where she was pretty enough to make angels defect.

Junior was having a wonderful time with new visions one after another.

The detective's mind went numb again at the sight of the Devil. These trained minds are not very flexible.

"Er, hi" said God.

"This is just danged great," said Mr. Polk.

"What the my place?" said the Devil. "What's this place now?"

Junior replied: "Hey fella, this is, like, home, sort of a place of residence, you know. Hey pops, you come back to apologize to your ex-wife?"

Mr. Polk: "Dang it, don't call her my ex-wife."

God to Mr. Polk: "Er, it is sort of true, in a way."

Mrs. Polk (with too much satisfaction): "I agree with God."

Mr. Polk to Mrs. Polk: "Of course you agree with God. You would agree even with this malodorous creature if he disagreed with me."

The Devil (annoyed): "The smell is God's fault. Too much hydrogen in the universe and too much sulfur and heat in my place. They keep combining to form hydrogen sulfide. Hell, dude, you've any idea how much sulfur there is in my place? Let me know if you ever run short. Make ya the sweetest deal ever."

God: "Yeah right and I know everything."

Mr. Polk to the Devil: "Hey, listen. Is this really God or just a security guard?"

Mrs. Polk and Ms. Polk gasped and mouthed the word "blasphemy" without sounding it.

Junior: "Hey, pops, not cool, you know, like, doubting God and all."

The detective's eyes gleamed with the gleam-of-understanding. If heaven had security guards, detectives were probably needed too. He decided to go to one of those holy places and make his application ASAP, but only after his trained mind had put itself back together.

The Devil smiled a second wicked one and said to Mr. Polk, "Interesting you should say that. Why didn't anyone else think of this? You have a remarkable mind. Come work for me."

Mr. Polk: "Just answer the dang question. And stop moving so much. Hydrogen sulfide isn't exactly a perfume ingredient."

The Devil: "Go to my place. Or rather, come to my place."

God: "He can't. He is at my place."

The Devil gave God a look and said to Mr. Polk: "Fine, fine. This is God. Happy now?"

God to Mr. Polk: "I take you into my place and you want evidence? Didn't I tell you I am Me?"

Mr. Polk : "That's circular logic."

The Devil: "Really, someone with your talents would do well in my place. Come work for me. I need competent people in my Human Subversion Through Circular Logic Division."

God eyes gleamed and God said: "Argle bargle gargle. Fish, wish, dish. Jumble, fumble, tumble. Chicken, egg, yolk. Bird, fly, chirp. Fake, false, hoke. Car, vroom, beep. Dark, broken, deep ..."

The Devil to God: "What the me do you think you are doing?"

Mr. Polk: "Yes, what are you doing?"

God: "Stay with me. Stay with me."

Junior: "Groovy, God, but all that isn't, like, making sense, you know? What are you doing?"

God: "Will you all let me finish? Nitty, gritty, pretty. Impunge, harpoon, lampoon. Savage, cabbage, baggage. Ping, ding, King. Intrinsic, extrinsic, quick ..."

Ms. Polk: "Dad, I think the smelly guy is pulling your leg. This cannot be God."

God: "Ah gosh, forget it."

God made a gesture and dispatched the Devil back to the Devil's place.

Mrs. Polk to God: "Were you casting a spell?"

God to Mrs. Polk: "Never need to."

"Then what was all that argle bargle?"

"Er, well, I just thought I'd make something up. Once I tried to make something really tricky. Back then I used to answer prayers and there were so many interruptions that the thing got properly mucked. You lot call it the Bermuda Triangle."

The Detective to God: "You did that too?"

God: "Er, yes. It's because of all you mortals it ended up a mess. Never leaving me in peace to enjoy myself. Always something. Always something. Figure it out on your own for once, why don't you? That approach works fine for me."

"We are not God."

"Always something."

God and Mr. Polk exchanged an alarmed (divinely alarmed in God's case) look.

"Darwinian …," began God.

"Dang …," began Mr. Polk.

Both de-manifested.

23 - Laboratory

Back at the lab, the doctor was still fiddling with whatever the stabilizer thing was.

God: "Er, hi. We are back. Not that we wanted to but all the same we are."

The Doctor: "Where is the bad 'un?"

"Oh, him I sent back where he belongs. That much I can still do. And he's not really bad, just has some issues and needs therapy. Well, ok, a lot of therapy."

"Whatever. Wait, you are God. Can't you fix this blasted stabilizer for me? Or do I have to perform a ritual of some kind just to get your attention?"

"Na, na, na. All that is hokum. Er, what is a stabilizer?"

"Anything that stabilizes, I guess. In this case, it's the third stabilizer in a sequence of nine."

"Umm, what is it supposed to stabilize?"

"Hold on, aren't you supposed to know things?"

Mr. Polk: "Yeah right. God doesn't know much, lady."

God to Mr. Polk: "Watch it or I'll argle bargle you too. Anyway, I know more than you."

Mr. Polk: "Big deal. Most people know more than I do. Should all of them declare themselves God?"

"Argle bargle gargle. Fish, wish, dish, " God began and the doctor's eyebrows ascended towards God's place.

God continued, "Jumble, fumble, tumble. Chicken, egg, yolk. Bird, fly, chirp. Fake, false, hoke. Car, vroom, beep. Dark, broken, deep. Nitty, gritty, pretty. Impunge, harpoon, lampoon. Savage, cabbage, baggage. Ping, ding, King. Intrinsic, extrinsic, quick. Harangue, batarang, parasang. Rye, fry, pie. Air, fare, mare. Secretory, operatory, olfactory. Fang, sang, pang. Over under, stitch asunder, booty plunder. Whenever, wherever, forever. Frighten, brighten, Crichton. Charming, alarming, darning … you are not going to stop me are you?"

Mr. Polk: "Uh, no. I've seen what you do when you are stopped."

God: "In that case I will stop myself."

The Doctor to God: "What was that?"

Mr. Polk: "Lady, you don't want to know."

The Doctor to Mr. Polk: "Stop calling me that. Do I look like a lady to you? I am a fully qualified physicist. If you can't think of anything else, just call me Doctor. That will do. Thank you."

God to the Doctor: "What is that thing you keep fiddling with?"

The Doctor: "It's a field generator that can fold space and time to create tunnels that make moving around the universe a lot faster. A sort of cheat code for that speed-of-light trick you played on us."

"That was neat, eh? Why are you lot always in a hurry? Relax, slow down. What does the stabilizer do?"

"It is supposed to keep the field matrix uniform. If the field is not uniform, random factors influence it and cause objects passing through to end up at unintended locations."

Mr. Polk: "What? I've been ending up in unintended locations ever since I came here."

God: "What?"

The Doctor: "What?"

Mr. Polk: "You heard."

No one noticed the error messages piling up on the 77-inch display. The disembodied voice was either taking a break or had been muted. The stabilizer destabilized.

God and Mr. Polk de-manifested.

The Doctor did the whole stabilizing thing, muttering under her breath about performing acts of gratuitous violence on stabilizer #3, and field integrity was restored.

God and Mr. Polk returned.

The Doctor: "Huh?"

God: "Er … hi."

Mr. Polk: "Is that thing responsible for this thing, doc?"

The Doctor: "Don't call me that. Use the full form, properly."

God: "Er … hi."

The Doctor: "What?"

God: "I need to understand what that thing is."

The Doctor: "Sure. You just spend thirteen years after grad school in researching physics at a sub-sub-sub-really-deep level where physics does not apply to physics. That should get you started."

God: "No need," and God's eyes gleamed with that divine light.

The Doctor: "What ..." followed by a startled look. She felt a strange tingle somewhere not very specific.

God: "Good my places! When will you lot stop messing about with the universe? Just look what you have done to this beautiful world. I give you the scientific faculty so you may do science and you go about creating idiocies like incendiary mushroom clouds and now this. Sheesh."

The Doctor: "What did you do to me?"

God: "Nothing. I downloaded scientific knowledge."

"Oh God, God is a plagiarist."

"Watch it. You don't know what happens when I argle bargle. Didn't anyone ever tell you knowledge is meant to be shared."

"Yes they did. They also told me that does not mean being an idiot and sharing my banking credentials. I worked over two decades to gather all that and you just downloaded it? You just made me violate my NDA. What the hell!"

"Language, language. Never mind the NDA. No one is going to believe you anyway. The good news is that now I can fix the stabilizer."

"Really?"

"Yup. Have to. Do you realize the tunnels you are creating are echoing to non-physical dimensions? This sort of thing won't do."

"What dimensions?"

"The ones you don't know about."

"You mean you can be detected?"

"No. And now to fix this," said God and proceeded thus, "Butter, flutter, stutter, Rotor, motor, floater. Shingle, jingle, mingle. Albatross, motocross, floss. Summerhouse, farmhouse, Wodehouse. Butcher, future, suture. Flamingoes, tippy toes, anything goes. Kaleidoscope, periscope, telescope. Humongous, tremendous …"

Mr. Polk: "Just fix the dang thing before it sends us off again."

God: "Oh alright. Never let Me have any fun."

God made a gesture and the stabilizer was fixed.

God: "Now for another detail. I cannot have this existing and always interrupting me..."

The Doctor: "You can't muzzle scientific research, you can't."

"I don't intend to. Merely to, er, contain so it can go on without bothering me."

God made a gesture.

The Doctor: "What did you do?"

God: "Altered the fundamentals of existence ever so subtly. Now your incessant probing into the fabric of the universe will only go as far as the physical multiverse, not beyond."

"That's cheating."

"So? You were using a cheat code anyway."

God to Mr. Polk: "Let's go."

The Doctor to God: "You are leaving?"

God: "By all that is quantum and below, my dear, how do you know I am even here? Another one of my neater ones, eh? You lot keep probing. There is plenty more to probe. The most recent entertaining news for me was when you lot declared you had found the, ha-ha-ha, God particle. Hoooo."

God winked at the doctor, made a gesture, and blinked out along with Mr. Polk.

God made one last gesture before that.

The doctor felt a sense of loss that began fading immediately but never did so entirely.

24 - Diversion

God (divinely surprised): "WHAT?"

Mr. Polk: "Wow. I thought we were going to your place."

"We were."

"Then why are we back at my place?"

God gave Mr. Polk a look and said, "I. Do. Not. Know."

Mr. Polk gave God a look completely lacking in the respect due to divinity and said, "Hpmf!"

Mrs. Polk who had just about returned to being static, resumed her vibrations and said, "Can't you stay put?"

Ms. Polk who had returned to regular pretty, started getting prettier, and said, "Yeah, what is it with you?"

Junior shook all over and said to himself in a small voice, "Shit, knew I'd overdo it one day."

The detective felt a migraine germinate in his mind.

Mr. Polk: "So much for downloading scientific information and changing the fundamentals of the universe."

God: "Hey, I fixed that, totally. It can't be that. Hmm. Ha, calibrate."

Mr. Polk: "What does that mean?"

"The answer. There is a multi-dimensional self-diagnostic calibration routine that constantly monitors all existence for hiccups."

"You made a flawed reality?"

"It does not have flaws. It just has hiccups."

"What's the difference?"

"Seriously? You think just because someone has an occasional hiccup they are flawed? Full of yourself, aren't you?"

"Oh, alright, never mind. If this calibration thing is constant then why isn't the dang problem already indicated? Why did we, uh, waste time?"

"Er, it is in manual mode."

"Why? No, let me guess, the danged BPS."

"Eh?"

"Boom-Poof Situation. How do you like them acronyms now? Avoid is my advice."

"Don't advise me. And now hush. Let me check the calibration."

God went to perhaps a few decibels above sotto voce and began humming, "Argle, ba-ar-gle, ga-aaar-gle. Fish-ee, wish-ee, de-ee-shee.  Hm, hm, hm, hmm, hmmm, hm.  Mm, mm, mm, mmm, mmmm, mm..."

Mr. Polk: "You went from a three-group to a five-group. You can't simply switch like that just because you are singing."

God (normal voice): "You know, sometimes I think you forget who you are talking to." (Sotto voce): "Um, um, um, umm, ummm, um..."

Ms. Polk to God: "Does that go on all the time in your place?"

God (normal voice): "Na, na. Sometimes it is some stuff and at other times other stuff."

Ms. Polk: "Thank You."

God: "Welcome." Sotto voce: "Na, na, na, naa, naaa, na."

Ms. Polk: "I meant to say 'Thank God.'"

God (you get idea): "Oh. Well, not much difference, is there?" (Of course you do). "La, la, la, laa, laaa, la."

And a lot more of that.

After some time God said, "Doddering ducks, this calibrator thing needs fixing. The time window for coming online is ridiculous."

Ms. Polk: "Uh, God, did you just make a Windows joke?"

God: "What in My name is a window's joke?"

Mr. Polk to God: "You know WYSIWYG but you don't know what a Windows joke is? God, you are unbelievable."

God: "For a lot of people, yes, I am. I know. So what is a window's joke? How is a window going to make a joke anyway? You lot make some very odd statements."

Ms. Polk: "It is not window's. It is Windows. Without the apostrophe."

God: "All the windows in existence together still couldn't make a joke."

Ms. Polk explained briefly.

God: "Wow. Incendiary mushroom clouds wasn't insanity enough. Now gates are making windows."

Ms. Polk explained elaborately.

God: "You know the fundamental difference between gates and windows?"

Ms. Polk (miffed and prettier): "No."

God: "You can jump over gates, but you have to go through windows."

Ms. Polk gave up.

25 - Calibrator

A sleepy voice said, "Umm, yes, hello?" followed by a yawn.

God: "You went to sleep?"

Calibrator (speaking through another yawn): "Oh, hey, Big G. How's the God?"

"Never mind that. Why were you sleeping?"

"More like hibernating I would say. There was nothing else to do."

"Well get working. Check the calibration."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? That is what you were made to do."

"Oh, right. Here goes. Argle bargle gargle …"

"Hey."

"What?"

"Stop that. Who do you think you are? Me?"

"Heaven forbid and God bless, what a notion."

"I will attend to the forbiddings and blessings. You get working in a hurry. Existence is hiccupping as if it had swallowed a ripe red chili pepper."

"You reap what you sow."

"What do you mean?"

"You would like that explained?"

"I know what it means. I want to know what you mean."

"I did tell you to not start this mess by unleashing Existence."

"You couldn't have. You were made after that."

"Oh, yes, must have mentioned it to someone else."

"Just find out what is happening."

"Oh-kay."

Time passes. Then. Some more time passes. Then. Even more time passes. Then. God spoke.

"What's taking so long?" God asked.

"Well, I cannot quite make it out," said the Calibrator. "Take a look. Seems like some kind of weird entanglement."

God took a look and said, "Meandering meerkats, talk about coincidences."

God directed a stern look at Mrs. Polk. "I wish you lot would not muck about with the unknown so recklessly. First those scientists and now you. Gosh. What do you think I do? Work in maintenance?"

God to the Calibrator: "And you do work in maintenance. Fix it."

Calibrator:  "On it."

"Let's go," God said to Mr. Polk. "It should be okay now. What a day."

"Wait," said Mrs. Polk and the Detective and the former posed her question.

"Oh, that," said Mr. Polk and directed another unsavory glance towards God, "that was just another one of those hiccups of God that we call the danged prostate."

"Hey," said God, "that thing is important. Alright, time to go. So long you lot. Later, eh? Ta."

26 - Pop

Thus, the long day wore away. God collected Mr. Polk and returned to whatever God was doing before being pulled over here.

Mrs. Polk was generally pleased and vowed never to mess about with things she did not understand.

Junior, well, he decided to risk rehab after all. There are worse things than going through detox.

Ms. Polk was messaging on social media about what had happened. Completely forgetful of trolls she was not merely inviting but begging to come after her.

The detective took a look at his watch and fled home with alacrity, neglecting to collecting his fee for a job he did not do, and only aware of the Treatment awaiting him if were to be late again.

The Calibrator went back to dozing off its existence in the absence of anything to do. What a life.

All said, things were working out to a decent end except for one last detail.

You.

Yes, you. Pop off.