Did Devils Make You Do It?


“You’re going under.”

“Damned if I am,” I protest. I’m suddenly aware of the woman who has her hands on my arms.

But the pads attached to her palms are inducing sleep. I’m going under fast.

“Why?” I plead.

“You’re possessed,” she facts me. “I can see it through my chaos visor. I’m going to give you a high-tech exorcism.”

“You don’t understand,” I try to explain, growing groggy.

“No, you don’t!” she insists as I go limp. She lets me down gently. “That thing made you rape and kill nine women. I’m going to use electrosomnia to drive it out of your nerve system. I’m here to help you.”

“Chisel,” says a voice from somewhere else.

“Evil does exist, and I know it,” says the goggled woman, stepping away from me. “With my headset calibrated to let me see through their disguises, perpetrators of chaos become obvious –to me.”

What is she talking about? I can barely open my eyes…

“Susceptible hosts become prey to visitors from another realm, and sometimes they can be driven out,” she says. As I steady myself she helps me back to my feet. “If not,” she continues, “then the host must be destroyed to drive the visitor out of this reality.”

She’s gonna kill me if this doesn’t work?

“I know what you’re thinking,” she sympathizes, “but if you aren’t purged you’ll kill many more. It’s not your fault but it is your burden.”

“I don’t remember raping and killing anyone,” I protest.

“You’re in my care experiencing a moment of clarity,” she gently explains. “I’m Ukucindezeleka. Through technology I enter your dreamscape to help pry you loose from your destructive captor.”

“Curette,” orders the mysterious voice from elsewhere.

Am I – a displaced prisoner of quantum entanglement – being mistaken for a demon?

“I’m not from Hell,” I inform Uku-cinderella or however she pronounces it. “I’m from an other Earth! I’m human, a normal person until things went nuts. I don’t make my other selves rape and kill. I mean, yes, I have killed through them but only when I had to! It’s been… You can’t imagine… The things I’ve been through…”

She nods, knowingly. “Arsonists, snipers, rapists, pedophiles, bomb-setting suicide killers and poisoners alike are ordinary folks who opened their souls to the cheap impulses so easily regulated by most brains. Sex, greed, territory, control, revenge and contempt have cracked the portal, making them surrender their better minds. It would be helpful if I could just find out, where are you impulse anarchists from?”

I remember others that I’ve met in this journey across universes who admitted to just such causation. I remember the words…

“Transitioning back to plasma reality is extremely hard, sometimes impossible. And even as we commit these monstrous acts against you, we are tortured within, overcome by your alien instincts, always fighting against the urge to overwhelm you, yet…”

They claimed to be simply explorers who entered…

“…The portals that opened to your cold outer world without a hint of danger. We didn’t know that passing through meant madness!”

“Dissector,” requests the unknown voice from nowhere obvious.

“Our transition is instant…”

…Explained the alien entity at the time.

“From our world of fluid reasoning our explorers instantly inhabit your bodies, aliens with hard chemical brains, undeveloped and wild. You are different than us, restrained physically and obsessed with forbidden acts and using us to carry them out. You have names for these acts such as rape, torture, murder…”

“Why do you keep coming to Earths?” I wanted to know. “You can see that things aren’t working out!”

“We planned carefully ever since our discovery of Earth six months ago, thrilled that another world awaited our exploration, a world different than any we had visited before. A solid world of hard interactions. Why did our plans go so awry? We don’t understand it yet. But know that we will make every effort to never wipe out an entire realm of beings again. Every…effort…”

Yet more of them keep coming. How do we keep them out? The borders of our brains cannot be blocked.

“You want to destroy them,” a familiar voice accuses. “But what they’re doing is completely natural, exploring, and exploring in every direction into the unknown.” My God, it’s Bijaksana Lama Satu.

“Well, nice of you to show up again,” I grin. He’s one of the most influential beings I ever met. “Can you help me out with this murder charge bullshit? You know what’s going on here, inside me I mean.” Ukucindezeleka shoots me a look. “I’m perfectly normal!” I try to yell but it comes out “…I…am…per…fectly…norm…”

“What isn’t normal,” Bijaksana reminds me, “is a nice round world spinning peacefully around a star where things change slowly for the benefit of its parasites. That is a very rare circumstance which, in your case, is called Earth. You wouldn’t even know that there is more to reality if your brain were right. Your brain is not right. It is damaged. You have brain damage.”

Déjà vu.

“It isn’t your intellect that was effected,” continues Bijaksana. “You have been harboring a blood knot in your brain for decades. It has slowly grown until that part of your brain that receives Mind has been squeezed to its minimum. You are literally losing touch with Mind.”

“Losing my mind?”

“It isn’t yours,” Bijaksana corrects. “Mind belongs to everyone, and Mind is shared by everyone with a capable receiver. You will require brain surgery for a full correction. Very hard to get under your circumstances. You will have to find a brain surgeon, make certain of her qualifications and convince her to operate on you that very same day, that is if you ever find yourself in a reality where there is brain surgery.”

“Distractor,” insists a commanding presence.

I’m flatlining!

“Death can’t happen to anyone –from one’s own perspective,” says another man. What happened to Bijaksana? Who is this man standing here now? “Only other people can die, but there are critical crossroads where corresponding alternate realities connect. All creatures have limited existences within their environments. Relatively speaking, some live for hours, some for days, others for months, and in the case of humans we are biologically fitted to live 110 years on average. What no one has been able to tell you before is that every creature and every human is going to experience all of his or her years regardless of how things look to anyone else. Even if a tornado kills you and you’re dead to the whole town, you’ll wake up tomorrow with a headache. Most of us would ‘wake up’ in a very similar situation to the one we just died from, the next frequency up or down the scalar web, but not you. In fact, it seems that you don’t even have to die in order to switch over to a coexisting reality. All you have to do is fall asleep.”

“Are you awake, Mr. Games?”

Electronic humming purrs around me. The man is gone. I open eyes to a hospital room. I’m hooked up to all sorts of stuff.

“Where am I?” I ask.

“Post op,” the nurse smiles. “Surgery went well. Are you thirsty?”

“Surgery? What surgery? What are you talking about?”

Brain surgery, Mr. Games. The obstruction was successfully removed. Welcome back to reality…

“It’s over.”