"In Significance" - November 21, 2024
A serial killer is confronted by a mysterious being with power over time and space...
Every Thursday, Silver Gecko Publishing highlights one of my stories, either a work of short fiction, a novel, or an audiobook. This week’s selection is the short story “In Significance,” from the anthology COSMIC TALES, available on Kindle and in paperback.
This is a more recent story, and I’m clearly playing around with some pretty big concepts. Even what is touched upon in this excerpt barely scratches the surface of where my warped thinking goes. I hope it encourages you to read the full story (which is, sadly, too long to be published in the newsletter).
One note on the key image. You may recognize this as the famous “Pale Blue Dot” photo from NASA’s Voyager 1. If you are unfamiliar with the story… when Voyager 1 was leaving our solar system in 1990, before the craft powered down forever, the engineers at NASA instructed it to turn its camera around and take a picture of Earth from that distance. It was a wish of Carl Sagan, who was a member of the Voyager Imaging Team, and he wanted this picture taken to show what a fragile speck the entirety of humanity inhabited.
The result is this remarkable image, which shows the sheer vastness of our own solar system, let alone the incomprehensible enormity of our galaxy and further our universe.
This is the original 1990 photograph, which was revisited and remastered in 2020. I prefer the original photo simply for how it looked at the time we took it, like a true #nofilter photo from a different era and a different audience.
Makes you think, doesn’t it?
-Kevin Carr
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Illustration by NASA
In Significance by Kevin Carr
The door to the cellar slammed open, echoing against the dank and moldy room below. Killer Zeke stepped into the light shining through the doorway above. Most of his massive body blocked the light, but there was still enough room to see the heavy burlap sack he dragged behind him.
Killer Zeke grunted as he dragged the sack down the stairs, making a smaller, punctuated grunt as the weight in the sack hit each step. Soft, muffled noises could be heard inside as the sack struck each thick, wooden step on the way down.
When Killer Zeke reached the cellar floor, he flipped a switch on the post, and a single incandescent bulb hanging from a socket in the middle of the rafters sparked to life. As the light swayed slowly, it cast ever-changing shadows around the room.
“Room” was a generous word for this place. The cellar was more of a pit, with dirt walls and several small paths of wooden slats. It wasn’t a storage cellar, as one might expect. There were no canned goods or washer/dryer combo against the wall. No stored Christmas decorations or old family photos.
No… “DIY torture chamber” was a more appropriate phrase for this nightmare.
Killer Zeke dragged the burlap sack to a crudely-constructed yet effectively-massive table in the center of the room. He untied the rope that cinched the top of the bag closed. Then he dumped the contents onto the table as if he were emptying a jigsaw puzzle box.
But what came out was not a puzzle. It was still in one piece. And it was still alive… at least for now.
The blonde teenage girl tried to squirm free, but she was bound too tightly. Her bloodshot eyes looked around frantically, wide with fear. She still wore her cheerleader uniform, though she had lost one of her sneakers, and the left shoulder of her sweater was torn almost completely through. As Killer Zeke leaned in, she tried to crawl away but could only wriggle back and forth on the dusty table.
Killer Zeke took a rusty pair of wire cutters and snapped one of the zip-ties that bound her wrists. This was not to free her but rather it allowed him to pull her arms to the corner of the table and tie her down. A similar move allowed him to free her ankles and fasten her, splayed out, to the four corners.
He kept her mouth gagged for the moment. Killer Zeke didn’t want her screaming… not yet.
And that’s when Killer Zeke turned to the wall of tools and grabbed the rusty chainsaw.
The cheerleader tried to scream, but the gag only allowed a muffled wail to escape. Killer Zeke laughed, grabbed the rip cord, and drop-started the chainsaw.
Except, the saw did not roar to life. It sputtered for a moment, then died.
Killer Zeke frowned, then grunted. He adjusted the choke and tried to drop-start it again.
Another sputter. Another stall.
Killer Zeke grumbled with frustration and tried three more times.
Sputter… stall… and twice again.
Killer Zeke raged and threw the saw onto the ground. The chainsaw bar cracked in half, sending the chain back to cut Killer Zeke on his knuckles. He yelped in pain.
“You should have put gas in it before you left this afternoon,” I said softly from where I sat in the shadows.
Both Killer Zeke and the cheerleader looked over to me, surprised. Neither expected anyone to be here.
“Who the f–” Killer Zeke started to say, but I interrupted him. That is to say, I stopped him from speaking. He gagged for a second, and I released him.
“Please,” I said politely. “I know you nearly-naked apes love your profanity as much as you love your orgasms, but I’d prefer it if neither of those things happened during this conversation.”
I looked from Killer Zeke’s confused eyes down to the cheerleader. And I took pity on her.
“Take a nap, Blondie,” I said to her. “And dream something pleasant.”
The cheerleader immediately lost consciousness, and her body went limp.
“There,” I said, standing up and brushing myself off. The dust, mold spores, and other assorted grime stuck to everything in this cellar… er, in this torture basement.
Killer Zeke took a menacing step towards me and growled.
“Who the fatty fiddlesticks are you?” he asked, sneering. Then, a moment later, he realized what he just said.
I grinned and shrugged. “If you’re not going to be polite, I’m just going to have to change the rules.”
Killer Zeke looked immediately confused. I knew he did not like being told what to do. Hadn’t taken a shine to that since he was learning to walk. But I wasn’t going to let him act like his mother did back then.
Still, Killer Zeke stepped forward and clenched his fists. “Listen, you fluffy bazooka, Tell me who you are, you son-of-a-baboon. Before I kick your asterisk!”
I did snicker at this. I don’t even think this guy knew the definition – or grammatical purpose – of an asterisk.*
“Cool your jets, Killer Zeke,” I said. “I just want to have a conversation.”
Killer Zeke remained quiet, less because he was backing down and more because he was unsure of what I was doing to him.
I walked gingerly to the table in the middle of the room and gently touched the cheek of the sleeping cheerleader. You could not tell because of her gag, but she was smiling. She found her sweet dreams in the midst of all this. And I was reminded of why I was doing this in the first place.
I looked up at Killer Zeke.
“Why would you do this?” I asked.
Killer Zeke just stared at me. He was angry. And he was defiant. I sighed and held my hand up, my fingers primed to snap.
“Now look,” I said. “If I can filter what you say – how did you put it? – you ‘fluffy bazooka.’ What’s to stop me from making you talk to me?”
The realization washed over his face. “Ohhhhh… shhhhh…” he struggled a bit with this next one. Finally he said, “…….shipyards.”
His eyes got wide all of a sudden, and he clamped his hands over his mouth.
“There it is, shipyardhead,” I said sarcastically. “About now you’re wondering if I made you say that or if you said that on your own. Free will, right? It’s a biscuit.”
Killer Zeke slowly took his hands down from over his mouth.
“Here’s the thing,” I said. “Free will is out there, but it can be overridden. It takes some effort, and I’d much rather you answer me using your wonderful free will than forcing it on you.”
Killer Zeke did not seem convinced.
“Otherwise, I’m gonna be exhausted by the end of this conversation,” I said.
I paused for a moment to let it all sink in. Then I added, “Now… can you let me in on the decision of your wonderful free will to plan the horrible things you have in store for Blondie here? And be specific. Explain it to me like I’m a child.”
Killer Zeke stood defiantly, chest out. I raised my hand, poised to snap again, and he said, “I know la….”
I frowned. “Like I’m a child! Not like you’re a child!”
I snapped my fingers, and almost instantly, we were out of the torture basement. We didn’t travel very far… just about 10 meters above the house. But it was enough for Killer Zeke to be taken by surprise.
And as I could have predicted, Killer Zeke choked on his own sick for a second… then he doubled over and puked right on the roof of his house.
*Good luck explaining that to the neighbors,* I thought. Then I turned back to him, my expression telling him I still wanted an answer.
Killer Zeke looked at me, confused for a moment. Then, after a minute to reflect, he practically snapped to attention.
“Ah-hah!” I said as his mouth opened. “Do not say I didn’t warn you. That’s not a real answer.”
Killer Zeke thought for a moment, then said… “I guess… I guess…” he stammered. “I needed to feel my power over her.”
I looked at him. “Really, Killer Zeke?” I asked.
“Erm… that’s not my name.”
“I know that, Herman!” I yelled, adding emphasis on his real name. This nearly-naked ape was starting to annoy me. “No one is going to be afraid of a serial killer named Herman. Jesus Franklin Christ! Get a job in a sideshow, man!”
Killer Zeke looked ashamed. He was floating in the air above his house, but he still seemed to sink into the ground.
“So you did this for… what?” I asked. “Power? Is that it?”
Killer Zeke shrugged, then mumbled, “Yeah, I suppose.”
I brought myself closer to him. “Well, let me tell you something about power, Hermie.”
“You mean Killer Zeke?”
“No!” I grumbled. “You are back to Herman. You don’t get a cool serial killer name any more.”
Herman looked depressed. I let myself smirk.
“Power is relative,” I said. “Sure, if you hurt Blondie, you’d have power over her. But that nonsense dissipates easily.”
I gestured to the neighborhood under us.
“How many people will even get an inkling of that power? Five? Ten? Beyond Blondie’s immediate family, how far does that power go?”
Herman shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.
I waved my hand, and we ascended far above the neighborhood. The entire countryside could be seen.
“If this is your hunting ground, how much of an impact will you have? Can you even name ten serial killers?”
He didn’t answer, but I could see him counting on his fingers. I could hear what he was thinking: Dahmer… Gacy… Bundy…
I waited a beat, then smacked him in the face.
“Couldn’t even get to five, Hermie. And how many were from more than a hundred years ago?”
Herman looked confused. He shrugged.
I rolled my eyes. Then I flipped my hands in a shrug.
We were suddenly yanked from above the American suburb and half-way across the world. The time had changed, too. It was Victorian-era London. Herman barely noticed. He was still in shock.
“More than a century and a quarter ago,” I said, gesturing to the city below. “Jack the Ripper killed some prostitutes.”
Then I flew close to Herman’s face. “He’s the oldest killer anyone remembers.”
Herman started to speak: “But…”
I interrupted, this time just talking over him and not compelling him to be quiet: “But there are others. Of course! They have been monsters walking this planet for years. Killing for a feeling of power. But it doesn’t exit. Not in the big picture. If that most notorious serial killer only lies in our memories for 133 years or so, what will become of you? Because you’re not as smart as you think you are.”
“Now wait,” Herman said, acclimating to the situations and getting used to all the levitation, time travel, and whatnot. “You’ve admitted I’m clever. There are plenty of killers out there, killing to their hearts’ content.”
“Oh my dear, sweet, naïve, and painfully stupid Hermie. You’re not getting away with it.”
Herman looked at me, confused.
I could not help myself. I laughed. Not just a laugh, but a cackle. “You didn’t think you’d get away with it, did you? I mean, you might be able to kill Blondie back there, but you are running on borrowed time, as they say.”
“But I was so careful…” he said.
“Careful?” I chuckled. “You left seven fingerprints at the abduction point. Add that to your arrest for possession of marijuana when you were seventeen, meaning your prints will take you down alone. But they also have hours of side-of-the-road video surveillance, thanks to ATMs, gas station security systems, and proactive school boards with more than twenty years of school shootings to contend with. Like I said, you’d make a case with Blondie. But the cops will catch you within two more days.”
I reached out and grabbed Herman by the shirt. He gasped quickly when I made contact.
“Earth is only the beginning,” I said.
At that moment, we ascended, out of the atmosphere with the Earth falling away from us. I heard Herman groan uncomfortably.
“Even on the planet, you are a footnote in obscurity. Your cruelty will be directed on only a handful, but you are one of seven billion. You live your life in a sea of insignificance.”
The Earth retreated away, until it was nothing more than a pale blue dot in the starry sky. Deep in the distance, we could see the sun glistening in space.
Herman was hyperventilating impossibly. Because I allowed him to continue to breath… or at least think he was still breathing. He was being given a grand and terrifying look at his life. No reason to take his air from him too.
I slapped him a couple times in the face.
“Pay attention, Hermie,” I said, then gestured out past where Earth once was. “Even the solar system is a tiny speck in the galaxy, but it still dwarfs you as a man.”
We moved through space at an impossible speed. Zipped past the desolate, red desert that is Mars, then through the surprisingly sparse asteroid belt.
When we reached the orbit of Jupiter, the massive gas giant tilted on its axis, its giant red spot staring at us like a god-sized Cyclops, only then did he start to calm down…
*I’m not going to tell you either; you’ll have to look that one up yourself.