Free Harsh Oases by Paul di Filippo Page B

carpet and timidly pulled back the corner of one thick drape, hoping that somehow all the Bad Beliefs would have just vanished.
    But of course they hadn’t.
    In fact, there were more of them—many more—than the last time I had dared to look.
    They were all shapes and sizes and degrees of solidity. They were big as an elephant or small as a mouse. They were human-shaped, animal-shaped or shapes in between. You could see right through some, but others looked as substantial as your reflection.
    The Bad Beliefs were insouciantly draped over my shrubs and steps. They sat atop my car and on my lawn. They walked up and down or squatted stolid as Indian chiefs. A group of four were playing poker, and some others were performing a kind of frenzied cannibal dance. A clatter from the roof indicated they were up there too.
    The ones nearest the window spotted me, and shouts went up.
    “Hey, Jimmy, come out and play!” “We won’t bite!” “We just want to be friends!”
    I dropped the curtain as if it were aflame, and faded back into the room.
    They knew my name. I hadn’t realized they would know my name. All my previous bouts with bad memes had been low-grade infections, nipped in the bud. But I guessed when things went this far, the memes apparently got more powerful, more tangible and active.
    How active I could not at that moment have guessed.
    I wished for the prophylactic glasses and headphones that the nurse had worn. They might have helped me to escape. But such devices were permitted only to medical personnel. It was felt that such mechanical contrivances were subject to failure, and could cause a person to neglect their shots .…
    My neighbors must be going nuts right now. My deliberate inattention to my own mental welfare had succeeded in lowering their property values immensely. Even yesterday, things hadn’t been this bad. It was only a matter of time before one or more of my fellow homeowners called the DOM and a truck was dispatched to get me. In fact, I thought I could hear the distant wail of sirens even now.
    Irrationally, I suddenly wished that I could have been born during a simpler time. I knew that life was supposed to be so much better nowadays, with all these shots to protect us from Bad Beliefs. But on the other hand, it was these same shots that had made the Bad Beliefs assume these potent and visible forms. Until they were expelled en masse from the human mind, Bad Beliefs had been strictly internal, invisible, a private matter. They had spread invisibly too, unlike this assault today on my house. But once they had been banished from their ancient lodgings in the human skull—banished, not exterminated, for that seemed impossible—they were free to roam at will.
    And today I seemed to be the sole object of their attention.
    I was feeling like one of those besieged humans in an old zombie movie when from behind me came a scuffling noise and a human grunting that made me jump almost out of my skin.
    I whirled around, heart pounding like a lawnmower piston.
    Coming out of the fireplace was—Santa Claus.
    “Santa,” I said. “Santa, I haven’t thought of you since I was four years old.”
    Santa brushed the soot off his outfit. “I’m surprised you held on to me that long, son. Old Santa’s a Bad Belief nowadays. Santa Is Real is something you just can’t say anymore.”
    “Santa? A Bad Belief?”
    “Sure. They say I cause too much heartbreak when it’s revealed I’m imaginary. But I ask you, do I look imaginary to you?”
    “Oh, no, Santa. I still remember when I sat on your lap at the mall .…”
    Santa advanced on me. I let him put his arm around my shoulder. He smelled like plum pudding.
    “Well then, you’ll trust old Santa when he says that you should go outside and meet all your new friends. They’ll help you get on with your life, Jimmy. You’ve been stagnating.”
    Was it true, what Santa was saying? I knew I didn’t particularly like my job, or have any lovers or friends