"The Ghost Readers" - August 8, 2024
What if the human race forgot how to read...
Every Thursday, Silver Gecko Publishing will highlight one of my stories, either a word of short fiction, a novel, or an audiobook. This week’s selection is “The Ghost Readers,” which was first published in the Spring 1995 issue of Pirate Writings Magazine.
The story draws inspiration from Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein and Isaac Asimov’s 1958 short story “The Feeling of Power.”
“The Ghost Readers” was adapted into an award-winning short film in 2001, which played throughout film festivals and at science fiction events around the Midwest. The production was shot at the world-famous Thurber House in downtown Columbus, Ohio.
-Kevin Carr
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THE GHOST READERS by Kevin Carr
The Ghost Reader’s voice was fluid and marvelous as it filled the room. The story was terrible, yet beautiful like a bouquet of dead, dried flowers. Lionel smiled, sipping a large, round-bottomed snifter of brandy. He sucked slowly on a thin wooden pipe, letting the wisping tendrils weave a mane around his face.
The Ghost Reader brought the poetic fiction to life:
“‘But Paradise Lost excited different and far deeper emotions. I read it, as I had read the other volumes that had fallen into my hands, as a true history. It moved every feeling of wonder and awe that the picture of an omnipotent God warring with his creatures was capable of existing. I often referred the several situations, as their similarity struck me, to my own. Like Adam, I was apparently united by no link to any other being in existence; but his state was far different from mine in every other respect.’”
Lionel brought up his hand suddenly, giving the signal to momentarily cease reading.
“Yes, master?” the machine asked.
“The creature read?” Lionel said. “It read Paradise Lost, a volume of Plutarch’s Lives, and The Sorrows of Young Werther. How could such a brutish being read?”
The Ghost Reader turned its head to Lionel. It was silent for a moment, as if contemplating the perfect answer, and then spoke.
“You must remember,” the Ghost Reader said, “that the Creature is not the voiceless brute that is portrayed in the motion pictures humans tend to enjoy. This is not the story of man creating a biological nightmare. This is a story of a man trying to be God, hence the subtitle The Modern Prometheus, alluding to the mythical character who stole the knowledge of fire from the gods. Man is imperfect. He created life, but it was something monstrous – something non-human. We see this evident in the Creature’s superhuman strength. Surely the Creature’s ability to read is yet another symbol of its removal from humanity. Only a non-human being would ever be able to read.”
Lionel pondered this thought for a moment. He took a long drag on his pipe stem and streamed a tail of smoke from his mouth. A moment later, he responded, “That sounds logical... and you machines are built for logic!”
The Ghost Reader nodded and added, “But first and foremost, to read to you.”
Lionel nodded back. “Continue,” he said.
The melodic tones of the Ghost Reader’s narrative flowed over Lionel’s ears, and he smiled with content, absorbing the wondrous story. But, the bliss only lasted for a few more minutes, suddenly interrupted by the chiming of the doorbell.
“Go ahead and answer it,” Lionel said.
The Ghost Reader closed the leather volume and rose from the lush easy chair.
“As you wish,” it said, then exited the study.
Lionel pulled his lighter from his jacket pocket and recharged the kindling in the bowl of his pipe. By the time the tobacco reached an even smolder, his Ghost Reader had reentered the room.
“Mister Robert Walton is here to see you,” the machine said.
Lionel rose from his seat and huffed out a large cloud of smoke. “By all means, let him in.”
The Ghost Reader nodded and left the doorway. Immediately replacing the ambulatory machine was the familiar figure of Robert Walton, a long-time friend who lived about ten minutes away.
Although Lionel had know Robert since adolescence, he had never seen the man in such a disheveled state. His normally stiff and straightened tie had been roughly undone with three buttons opened. His face wore a cloak of stubble from at least five days, and his state of unrestfulness was apparent from the thick black moons under each eye and ruffled, out-of-control hair.
“Are you all right?” Lionel asked with concern lacing his voice.
Robert did not verbally reply. Instead he withdrew a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to his friend. Lionel examined it quickly and let the right side of his face fall in a half-frown.
“So what?” he asked. “It’s a computer printout for Ghost Reader communication.”
“Do you know what it says?” Robert asked.
“Not at all. You know I can’t read. But if you want to know what it says, I’ll be happy to have my Ghost Reader translate it for you.”
“No need,” Robert whispered. “I have already read it.”
Lionel gave a suspicious look to his friend. “Don’t you mean that your Ghost Reader read it for you?”
“I meant what I said.”
“Nonsense! You cannot read, and neither can I. No man can read. It’s beyond our ability. It’s too complex.”
Robert let a nervous glance slip over his shoulder. He leaned close to Lionel and whispered, “That’s just what they want you to believe.”
“Who?” Lionel exclaimed.
“The Ghost Readers!” Robert let his voice rise in excitement for a moment, but he soon checked it. “They don’t want us to read.”
“Listen Robert,” Lionel said with concern. “The Ghost Reader companions are beneficial tools for us to decipher the written word. Without them, we would be lost.”
“But therein lies the irony. It is because of them that we are lost,” Robert said. Then, he turned to face the massive walls of books that lined the walls of Lionel’s study. He waved an arm across the room, offering the countless volumes.
“Where do you think all of these books came from, anyway?” Robert asked his friend.
“Books come from computers. Everybody knows that.”
“No,” Robert shook his head. “The Ghost Readers tell us that the books come from computers. But that is untrue. Books come from people. Years ago, before Ghost Readers ever existed, people could read. People could write. That was how communication was established. But with the perfection of voice responding machinery and the invention of cochlear implants, the prosthetic ear drum and the synthetic nervous system which led to a cure for most hearing disorders, reading became obsolete. It was too much work for us, so we created the Ghost Readers to do that work for us!”
Lionel shook his head and sat down. “You are beginning to worry me, Robert. Have a seat, and have a drink. We can have my Ghost Reader spin us a tale to calm our nerves.”
“No!” Robert shouted, crumpling up the computer printout and slamming it into the ground. “Look. I can prove it to you.”
Lionel gave his friend a questioning glance, debating internally whether to indulge this man’s wild fantasy. Then, he reached to the desk beside himself and grabbed the book that he had just been listening to. He handed it to Robert.
“Here,” he said. “You are not familiar with my book collection. That volume comes from a boxed set. It has no illustrations--just words. From first appearances, this book is no different than any other in the set. If you can identify that book, I will believe you.”
Robert snatched the volume from Lionel’s outstretched hand and peered at the cover. His lips began to stammer, fiddling with silent sounds:
“Fffff... fruh... fruh... fraynk... eh... ehn... steee... in...” Robert muttered softly. He repeated his choppy sounds a few times, and then a light of realization erupted in his mind.
“Frankenstein!” Robert shouted, tossing the book back to his friend.
Lionel found that he was speechless.
“It is not that incredible, Lionel,” Robert said. “Each of these symbols represents a sound. This first crooked one is known as an ‘eff.’ It makes the fffff sound. Run the sounds together fast enough, and you can form the word.”
“Ridiculous,” Lionel said, snatching his brandy glass for a well-needed nip. “There must be thousands of sounds to form. Surely the human mind cannot comprehend and remember all of them.”
Robert fidgeted a bit, anxious to convince his friend. “There are less than thirty sounds. Sometimes the forms do make sounds that defy logic like the guh and the huh sounds forming the fffff sound in laugh, but those instances are exceptions.”
Lionel felt a nervousness rise within him. Could this possibly be true? Surely the Ghost Readers had not been deceiving them!
Robert picked up the crumbled computer printout and handed it to Lionel.
“This came through on the printer for my Ghost Reader this morning. I had been dabbling into reading for several months, but had not told anyone. Now, I am glad for that choice. Normally I don’t snoop on my Ghost Reader’s orders from his main control, but since I knew how to read, I thought that I would give it a shot.”
“What does it say?” Lionel gasped…