Free Little Doors by Paul di Filippo

Moloch. Andy’s coworkers were less leery of him, and the number of taunts they sent his way diminished slightly, although they were never what could be called friendly to Andy.
    In addition, Mister Ptakcek was happy. He gave Andy a good report. Dawn was happy too, since she had heard rumors from other wives during the period when Andy was speaking aloud to the furnace, and had worried. Now she was gratified to see that Andy’s latest “spell” appeared to be over.
    The only one who was not happy was Andy. Neither was he unhappy, however. He was merely puzzled, intrigued, and even somewhat flattered.
    Why, out of all humanity, had Moloch chosen to speak to him, Andrew Stiles? It was a question without easy answer. Andy sometimes tried to imagine what, if anything, he had in common with the famous Biblical prophets of yore. Some figures were simply beyond him, he knew. Moses, Saint Paul, Saint John—these were mighty individuals deserving of dealing directly with God. Others, though, seemed rather common folks, not unlike Andy. Lot, Job—these were more his kind, simple working men. Andy supposed that if God had chosen to speak to such men in the past, then He could still choose to do so today.
    Whatever the answer, Andy definitely had a lot to think about. And the conversations with Moloch certainly made his shift pass fast.
    One day Mister Ptakcek switched his assignment from the basic oxygen furnace—where the already molten ore was further purged of contaminants—to the blast furnace, where the ore was initially melted.
    Andy was worried. Moloch had always spoken to him from the basic oxygen furnace. Would he speak from the other as well?
    Positioning a wheeled container beneath the outlet from which the worthless slag flowed, Andy jumped when the voice of Moloch rumbled out. The hot air around the furnace seemed to pulse in time with the words.
    “You wait upon my presence. That is good.”
    Andy voiced his reply inside himself. “I wasn’t sure you could talk outa this one too.”
    “My body is many, and yet one.”
    “Are you the whole mill then?” Andy asked.
    “I am the mill and the town, the earth and the trees, the sky and the stars. I am everything that ever was or will be.”
    “Why didn’t you ever speak to me then, till I come to this mill?”
    “You were not ready. And there were barriers. Even now, I find it hard sometimes to talk to you.”
    “How come?”
    “The medicine you take.”
    Andy let the conversation drop then. He was afraid that Moloch
    would order him to abandon his pills, and he did not know how to refuse.
    Another time, Andy was telling Moloch about the day he and Dawn had outraced hell.
    “How do you know you truly succeeded?” asked Moloch.
    “Cuz the sky. It changed—”
    “Did it, though? Your wife said it did not.”
    Andy had not told Moloch anything about that comment of Dawn’s. Yet he knew, just as he had known Mister Ptakcek’s name.…
    “You’re telling me I might still be in hell then? How can I be sure I’m not? How can a man be sure of anything in this world?”
    “There is one way to determine if this is hell or not.”
    “What is it?” asked Andy suspiciously.
    “In hell, no one has free will. They must do what they are told. If you exercise your birthright as a being made in My image, if you show initiative, do something unexpected—only then will you be sure this is not hell.”
    “What could I do? What would be enough to prove it?”
    “Do not look to Me for orders,” said Moloch sternly. “Simply following My commands would prove nothing. I could be Satan in disguise.”
    “I don’t want no orders. Just gimme some suggestions.”
    “All right. If you sincerely wish Me to.”
    “I do.”
    “Do not listen to your wife or Mister Ptakcek.”
    “Okay.”
    “Do not take your pills.”
    “Oh, Jesus Christ, Moloch, I don’t—”
    “Do you wish to live in hell?”
    “All right, ‘don’t take my pills.’ What else?”
    “Bring Me