Chapter 2

In a small, grassy clearing in the middle of a heavily wooded forest, a group of pagans gathered to perform another ritual. One of the pagans, the one wearing the mask, carried burlap bag that made clucking sounds and wiggled around every so often. The others carried firewood, matches and a case of beer.

They built a bonfire in the center of the clearing, and the masked pagan lit a bundle of sage, cedar and sweetgrass. He carried the smoking bundle to the North, East, South and West points around the fire, then passed it over himself. He then gave the bundle to one of the other pagans, who passed it over herself and gave it to the next member of the group.

One of the pagans, a wiry guy with dark hair, watched all of this with a bemused detachment.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” he asked.

“We’re purifying the area and ourselves,” replied the masked pagan.

“I didn’t know smudging was a Greek practice,” the first pagan said. “I thought it was more of a new-age, crystal magic sort of thing.”

“We’re trying to have a spiritual experience here, not recreate the Greek religious practices,” the group leader said.

“Well, all I’m saying is that if I’d known we were just going to incorporate a bunch of goofy Wiccan ‘I’m ok, you’re ok, the Gods are ok, let’s all be happy tree friends’ bullshit into our rituals, I’d have stayed home and played Dungeons & Dragons,” said the first pagan.

The rest of the group was now glaring at the first pagan.

“What?” he said. Then he smudged himself, solely for the sake of being a good sport, and gave the smudge stick back to the leader of the group. The masked pagan then tossed the smudge stick into the bonfire and began his chants.

Soon the masked pagan picked up the burlap bag and pulled a live chicken out by it’s neck. The chicken struggled a bit as the pagan lifted it above his head with both hands as he chanted. Suddenly, he cast the live chicken into the bonfire.

“Dude, that’s just fucked up!” the wiry pagan yelled. Before anyone could reply, the chicken, which was now making terrible noises, jumped back out of the bonfire. The flying, flaming hen narrowly missed one of the pagans, landed and bolted.

Another one of the pagans, this one a stocky blond fellow, extrapolated the chicken’s destination and yelled, “Shit! It’s headed for my uncle’s cabin. I left all the doors open on our way out here. Catch it!”

Several of the group, including the wiry pagan, took off after the burning chicken. Fortunately for the pagan’s uncle’s cabin, the bird expired well before reaching the closest door. Two of the pagans stayed with the flaming, dead bird to make sure the fire didn’t spread, while the rest when back to the bonfire.

“Ok, we deserve a beer after that debacle,” the wiry pagan said. They reached the bonfire, and he looked around for the case of beer they’d brought.

“Hey, what happened to the beer?” he asked.

“We sacrificed it,” the masked pagan answered.

“You dick!”

***

Hep opened the heavily secured door and entered the dark space inside. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw darkly-dressed figures moving about. The room smelled like paper and ink, and he heard the low murmur of voices in private discussion. He approached one of the dark figures. It turned to Hep and smiled.

“How may I help you today?” asked the banker.

“I need to make a large withdrawal,” Hep answered.

“One of our tellers right over there,” the figure pointed in the direction of a large counter, “can help you with that. Have a great day.”

“Thanks,” Hep said.

As the teller counted out the cash, five thousand dollars in twenties, Hep heard a loud “POP.” The teller quickly looked up to see what the source of the noise was, worried he was about to be robbed.

Standing slightly behind and to the left of Hep was a very confused chicken. The chicken spotted Hep, walked forward and stood directly next to him. It made small cooing and tuck-tuck noises.

“Sir, animals are not allowed inside this establishment,” the teller said to Hep.

Hep looked down at the chicken and sternly told it to behave itself while they were in the bank. The chicken clucked its agreement.

“See? No problem,” Hep said to the teller. “We’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

Then there was another loud “POP” and a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon appeared in the same spot as the chicken.

“Sir, this is not an appropriate time or place for prestidigitation,” the now-annoyed banker told Hep.

“Aw, come on, who doesn’t have time for a magically appearing case of beer?” Hep asked.

The teller finished counting the cash, which Hep stuffed into an inner pocket in his jacket. He took the receipt from the silent teller and turned to leave.

“Come on, guys,” Hep said to the chicken and beer, both of which dutifully followed him out of the bank.

The teller decided that it was time to use up what was left of his vacation time.

Outside, Hep strapped the beer to his trike with a few bungee cords, then picked up the chicken and got on the bike. He put the chicken down on the seat in front of him, and told it to hang on. Then he started the motor and rolled away from the bank, headed back to the house where Scroat and Pan were waiting.

The chicken found the ride absolutely terrifying, and held on for all it was worth. The case of Pabst Blue Ribbon, on the other hand, had never had so much fun. Back in the garage, Hep unstrapped the beer and walked inside. The chicken followed two steps behind him.

“Hey Hep, did you know you’ve got a chicken following you?” Scroat asked.

***

If one had to describe Tim using only one word, that word would be “positive.” Tim was positive in every aspect of his life. He dressed carefully every day to project a positive image. He spent his free time coming up with new ways to think positively. Setbacks never bothered him, because he was positive things would work out in his favor. Indeed, his friends and followers had never seen him react in a less-than positive manner, even after one of them accidentally backed over Tim’s dog with the commando van. Tim’s positive attitude could make even the sunniest self-help lecturer feel that maybe they weren’t as positive as they thought.

Tim was positive that his destiny was to rule the world. Forever.

He had no trouble gathering followers because he was so certain about everything he said. Tim had started his movement in a cheap store-front. He told the people he’d gathered about how they were going to make the world a better place, that he had a plan that would eliminate misery, poverty, and sickness. That he would lead them to a new world of equality, prosperity and brother- (and sister) –hood.

At the ends of his sermons - no, talks – some people would leave, convinced he was insane. Many others, however, stayed. Soon he had a large group riding on the Tim Train, and he began suggesting new ways for them to think and act.

Before long, the new followers were also masters of positive thinking, Tim-style.

Today, Tim was going to address his largest crowd yet, teaching them the power of positivity. Over three hundred people were expected. He’d had to clean out the rest of the chairs and other furniture from the old store front early the day before in order for everyone to have a chair in the new space.

It was for the best, really. Tim didn’t want his furniture to absorb the nasty electrical smell that had permeated the building after his last experiment. The experiment had been a resounding success, though the odor was an unexpected side-effect. He had some of his sharpest followers working to figure out a way to eliminate that little problem.

Tim was positive they could figure it out. In the mean time, perhaps they’d continue the experiments outdoors. After all, clinical conditions were hardly required.
Someone knocked on his office door.

“Come in,” Tim called. He smiled a sunny, welcoming smile.

A muscular, cheerful looking man in an orange and white tracksuit walked through the door. He hadn’t been in Tim’s office before, and hesitated as he looked around the room. There were enough stuffed and mounted animal heads on the walls to put Ernest Hemingway to shame. Tim’s desk was made of dark wood, intricately carved. The carvings were difficult to see, but they made the follower vaguely uncomfortable. In front of the desk was a solitary chair. Along the wall, under an alligator head, was another chair, and next to it a strange device the follower hadn’t seen, but had been told about by another who’d witnessed its operation.

“Steve, isn’t it?” Tim asked. Steve nodded, and smiled.

Tim closed the book he’d been reading (“Kill It and Grill It,” by Ted Nugent), and put it down on his desk.

“Please, sit down. How are things progressing with our, shall we say, runaway?” Tim asked Steve.

“He was seen with two other guys at the store-front yesterday,” Steve said. “They went inside for a few minutes, then left in a hurry. There were only two of us, and we’d been told the runaway was, you know, strong, so we didn’t follow them.”

Tim sat back in his chair and smiled wider. “So he has friends nearby. Good. Good! This is fantastic news. Thank you, Steve.”

Tim picked up his book again and resumed reading. Steve took the hint, and left the office. Once he’d closed the door behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief, then felt guilty for his lack of positivity, then chastised himself for feeling guilty, and decided he positively needed a stiff drink. He confidently walked to the nearest bar and ordered a double Jack Daniels without a trace of doubt.

Tim, meanwhile, made a few notes next to a recipe for wild boar, then closed the book, straightened his tie, checked his hair and smile in a mirror, and left his office. There was much to do before his talk tonight.

***

Pan woke up around noon, and once he was conscious enough to realize he was alone in Hep’s living room, he got out of bed, stretched and went looking for some company.

He found Hep and Scroat in the kitchen, drinking coffee. Pan helped himself to a cup of coffee, then pulled up a chair at the battered wooden table. Sitting on the table were the fruit basket and case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Strutting around on the kitchen floor was a plump, somewhat wind blown chicken. Wheels and gears slowly started to turn again in Pan’s mind, and the oddity of the kitchen contents became apparent to him.

“Hep,” Pan paused to take a sip of coffee, “what’s the deal with the chicken, beer and fruit? Is this your version of the breakfast of champions?”

“No. They’ve just appeared out of nowhere. The beer and chicken showed up while I was at the bank today.” Hep said.

“Sounds like you’ve got some new admirers,” Pan said.

“Yeah, though I don’t know how the case of beer found out about me. I didn’t know they were intelligent,” Hep paused. “I guess I’m not surprised, though. Beer is divine.”

Pan rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you get a weird feeling before they showed up? Maybe like someone wanted something? Maybe you just got a strong image of a person or place in your head?”

“Nope,” Hep said. “Just ‘POP’ and then something weird shows up out of nowhere.”

Pan started laughing. His laughter grew in intensity until his face was inches away from the table. He started pounding on the table with one fist as he laughed. He laughed so hard that his bruised and cuts started to ache.

“What the fuck is so funny?” Scroat asked.

Pan finally calmed down a bit and sat up again. He wiped tears from his eyes and saw Hep and Scroat staring at him, baffled.

“They’re doing it wrong!” he said, and started to laugh again.

“Doing what wrong?” Hep asked.

“Sacrifices, you dumb bastard. These are sacrifices. To you. Don’t you remember?” Pan asked.

Hep thought about the old days, and remembered the sacrifices. Mainly, he’d gotten cakes of wheat back then. He couldn’t recall ever getting a chicken, especially when he was in the middle of something. Sacrifices were part of big rituals, and he’d always had plenty of warning so he could make room. People didn’t just sacrifice stuff for giggles.

“You’re confused because the dumb shit newbie pagans are doing it wrong. They aren’t asking for anything. They aren’t giving thanks. I don’t know how they expect you to show them favor when they didn’t even bother to tell you who sent the gift or what they want in return,” Pan said.

Scroat said, seriously, “Maybe they think you’re omniscient,” and then he and Pan both broke out laughing.

Pan started to sing “Hep sees you when you’re sleeping / Hep knows when you’re awake / Hep knows if you’ve been bad or good / so be good for goodness sake!”

Scroat joined in “Oh, you’d better watch out / you’d better not cry / you’d better not pout I’m telling you why”

Scroat and Pan barely made it through the final line of the song without laughing, “Hephaestus is coming TO TOWN!!”

Hep smiled, slightly, and said, “Fuck you guys.”

Pan and Scroat had finally managed to settle down when there was a loud POP and a tin full of cookies and a carton of milk appeared on the table. Pan and Scroat started laughing hysterically and this new development. Even Hep had to smile at the coincidence.

***

“Man, I’m telling you that we’re doing something wrong,” the wiry pagan said as he reached for another slice of pizza.

“Ok, just to humor you for a second, why do you think we’re doing something wrong, Chris?” the leader of the pagan group asked.

Chris finished chewing and said, “Because I’m not getting any spooky vibes at all, apart from the serious case of the creeps you gave me when you threw a live chicken on the fire, Dan. That was seriously fucked, you know,” he took a sip of beer before continuing.

“I’d expect some kind of divine feedback, even if it was just a weird feeling,” Chris said. “I feel like we’re just watching stuff burn and chanting.”

“What do you suggest we do differently?” asked Sarah. She was new to the group and called herself an “Experimental Theologian.” The sacrifices had been her idea.

“I don’t know. Maybe we should try asking for something, just to see if our calls are even going through. So to speak,” Chris said.

“What do you propose we ask for, then?” Dan asked.

“I don’t know. Rain is out, we got rained on when we weren’t doing it right. What would you ask a master craftsman for?” Chris said.

“Dune buggies,” chimed in one of the other pagans. The group laughed, except for Dan.
“I’m not about to ask Hephaestus to give us all dune buggies.” Dan said, sharply.

“Why don’t you ask for help finishing your deck?” Sarah suggested. Dan had started, and then abandoned, building a deck off the second story of his house. Right now the deck consisted of several ten foot tall four by fours cemented into the ground and a stairway that lead to a ten foot drop.

Dan took a breath to argue, and then realized it was a good suggestion. He definitely needed help if he was going to finish that damn deck.

***

Hep sat reading on the couch. The chicken had perched on his shoulder, much to the delight of Pan and Scroat. For Hep’s part, he was mainly glad that sacrificed animals don’t poop in their new incarnation.

As he read, he started to feel a little funky. Then the words started to get wavy on the page. He looked up, and saw the room undulating, before it faded to black.

“Hephaestus, please help me finish building my deck,” a voice said. Hep had a strong sense of where this person was, and where his deck was. Soon, he could see a guy in a white robe with a mask on that looked kind of like the awkward spawn of an aardvark and an oak tree.

What the fuck? Hep thought, and then the world returned to normal. He’d dropped his book, and Pan and Scroat were both looking at him. They heard a ‘POP’ and a combo meal from a fast food restaurant appeared in the middle of the living room.

“Well, what do they want? Did they ask for something?” Pan asked Hep.

“Some guy in a weird mask asked me to help him finish building his deck,” Hep said, still bewildered.

“Well, I guess that beats helping some guy you don’t know move to a new apartment,” Scroat said. “So are you going to help him?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Hep said. “I don’t know what I can do, though.”

***

The next morning, Dan walked past his bedroom window, then stopped and went back to look out again. His deck was entirely finished. He dropped the cup of tea he had been carrying.

“How the fuck did that happen?” Dan asked out loud. Then he realized what his newly-completed deck meant, and fell down from the shock.

***

“You did what?” Pan asked after Hep told him he’d finished Dan’s deck for him.

“I don’t see the problem,” Hep said.

“The problem is that you’re just supposed to ease the path. Maybe have a licensed contractor get a flat tire and stop at his house for help. Something like that. You don’t finish the deck for them, though. Do you have any idea how much trouble you just caused yourself? Just wait until his friends find out and everyone starts asking you for stuff. You gotta leave yourself an out, man,” Pan said.

Hep didn’t hear the end of Pan’s rant, however, because the room had gone dark. He faintly heard several popping sounds in the distance, and Scroat yelling “Sweet cornucopia of fucking shit! Hep, you gotta do something about this.”