By Matthew MacDonald
First, understand that they may be confused.
They may be scared.
They are a long way from home, and life in our world is not what it was in theirs.
DO NOT attempt to intervene in their activities. They will not respond to you, and the likelihood is high that you will be harmed.
DO keep a safe distance.
* * *
I remember my first sighting. I was leaving Pilates class, flushed from the exertion, and across the way lay the great limbs of a titan, body the size of a fallen redwood, inert. There was a small crowd gathered, talking in excited voices.
Back then, the phenomenon was not new, but it was not nearly as common as it is now. If I saw the same sight today, I wouldn’t be deferential or act out of a misplaced sense of reverence. If I needed to pass, I would just grab onto the thickened hide of that fallen being and scramble over the body, quickly, until I could plant my feet on the pavement on the other side.
But I didn’t feel that way then. Instead, I waited with the crowd as the night fell, and we all grew hushed. Still, he didn’t stir.
* * *
The first question everyone had was obvious. Why are they here?
My friend Tiff was fiddling with the flap on the plastic lid of her coffee, bored, or possibly distracted, or worried. She looked over at me.
“I’m starting to think it’s all about us.”
“They haven’t said anything to us,” I countered. “I don’t think they’re even looking our way.”
“Someone on Facebook said she caught one playing with her six-year-old.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Playing on her back patio with some kind of lawn toy, but when she ran out the thing was already over the fence and staggering through a tennis court.”
“I highly doubt it. But even if that was true, I’m sure they didn’t come to play games with the toddlers.”
“Six years old isn’t a toddler.”
Tiff cleared a small space on the cafe table, sliding an almond croissant out of the way so her fingers had space to fidget.
“Here’s what I think. They came here with a purpose. An epic purpose. Like, to show us something. Or give us something.”
“Like a magical artifact from another dimension?” I scoffed.
“Like a message.”
“Do you want to know what I think?” My voice betrayed more anxiety than I intended. “They aren’t moving toward us. They’re moving away from there, wherever they started. Here is just where they ended up.”
“So they’re on the run.”
“Maybe.”
Tiff adopted a theatrical whisper. “Banished from their homeland!”
I didn’t say anything else, but I know what I thought then, and I know what I think now. None of them are innocent, and none of them will ever be at peace again.
* * *
The first sighting happened at the lake, in the middle of the day. It was witnessed by a single sport fisher, who had spent the day without a bite. We now think the god that lumbered out of the water, bronze skin gleaming in the sun, was Forseti—not that a name makes the moment land any differently.
Forseti cut a striking figure, fourteen feet of thunderous mass and flowing blond hair. It was a sight, to be sure, but not a religious experience. The aura of the divine was missing. Forseti’s breathing was labored, his footsteps clumsy. Like all the early visitors, he wandered, aimlessly trudging along the highways into and out of the city. At first, the gods were always alone. Later, we started spotting them in groups, but that was probably just the product of coincidence and sheer numbers, because their interactions with each other and the world around them were minimal.
Within a couple of weeks, we had a subreddit dedicated to their identification. Someone saw Hephaestus standing in a mostly empty Home Depot at daybreak. Another redditor found a dead ringer for Tlaloc on the greens at Paradiso Golf, staring into the distance as the sprinklers hissed and clicked rhythmically in the dawn fog. There was Horus, Sobek, Chandra. Then there was Dagur, Nidaba, Morana. And so on.
I admired the ability of my neighbors to process the unfolding events like it was just a slightly unusual game of Pokémon Go. But I couldn’t shake my sense of foreboding. It felt like there was movement in some deep place that never shifted. Like a giant oil tanker had become unmoored and was drifting toward the densely populated coast, quiet and unnoticed.
* * *
If you choose to speak to a god, use a calm voice. Experts believe they will understand you but are unlikely to respond.
DO adopt a comforting tone.
DO NOT offer them worship or sacrifice, even if you think you know their true nature. Their needs are not human needs.
* * *
The gods didn’t seem interested in interacting with the locals, but their actions still affected us. If you were rounding a corner where a fallen god was walking, it was very likely that they wouldn’t move out of the way, and the ensuing collision would definitely favor the god.
From the moment they began to arrive, the gods presented all manner of risks and complications. They damaged roads and buildings when they moved. They disrupted traffic, both vehicular and on foot. They could disturb the trees and the buildings. If you weren’t careful, you might become a casualty, struck by a bit of the world they had loosened in their passage.
And when one fell, its body was also an obstacle. Even when it was eventually dragged away to some warehouse on the outskirts of the city, the psychic weight lingered.
* * *
“I think I’m going to stop going to church.” Tiff liked to throw out the most provocative statements minutes before Pilates class.
I paused a moment and dug my grippy socks out of my bag. “Why, because of the visitors? They’re the OGs. From ancient times. There’s no conflict with whoever you’re seeing in church.”
“Your sarcasm is not making this seem any more normal.”
“Fair.”
“Did you hear what the mayor said?”
“Well, he’s an idiot. Just trying to keep calm and order while another god strolls down the I-40.”
“He thinks they’re all coming out of the lake.”
“A lot people share that theory. Wasn’t a podcaster going to send some waterproof drone down there?”
Tiff drew up closer and crouched down on her mat. “Did I tell you I locked eyes with one of them?”
“You definitely didn’t.”
“I was on the 79 as it came around the corner, you know, at the top of the hill. And there was one below the concourse. I think someone identified it as Freyja. I’m still freaking out.”
“You know I saw my first one coming out of class last month.”
“It’s not just seeing one. Our eyes met, just for a second when I first saw her. It was the craziest experience.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t really know how to explain it. They were blank, just empty. Like she didn’t remember why she was here. And maybe a bit scared?”
“That sounds crazy.”
Tiff shrugged and fell quiet for a minute.
“Do you think they’re becoming more human?”
* * *
Now that the initial frenzy has died down, I try to lead my life as normally as possible. I take extra time to check my route before I leave my apartment. If there’s a sighting reported, I use a detour. I take that feeling—that something deep is unsettled, that substances that should never meet and mix are slowing seeping together—and I push that feeling back to the margins.
And mostly, it works. I get around. I’m at work on time. I’m in the Pilates studio for exercise. I meet the same friends for cocktails. But there was one encounter that happened later, and I haven’t mentioned it to anyone yet, not even Tiff.
I was walking along the limestone terrace that lined the river—foolish, I know, but I hiked there all the time back then. Like I said, I always checked my route before I started.
But this time was different. When I reached my usual stopping point, I immediately saw the enormous, muscular body sprawled out on the limestone shelf. It was a white-bearded god, but one that hadn’t been sighted before, at least not to my knowledge. He clutched a weathered shield but had curled his body around it in a sort of fetal position. He was prone but obviously not dead, because his massive body moved with great shuddering breaths.
I felt a wild fear rising, and I knew immediately that I couldn’t stay there.
But I was frozen. And as the figure on the stone raised his head, impossibly slowly, my feet remained fixed on the ground. I felt like I was running a great distance, receding into the air, evaporating, but really I stayed in the same place while his head swung toward me, weighty like the face of a granite statue. Our eyes met, and it was like all the florid and archaic adjectives from an H. P. Lovecraft novel washed through me in an instant. Because his eyes were unearthly black and burning with accusation. And though I didn’t hear any words spoken out loud, a question that I couldn’t comprehend rang out deafeningly in my mind.
Then I was scrambling back up the path in a panic, or at least I think that’s how it all unfolded. Because the next thing I remember was sitting and shaking in the bus terminal, surrounded by people who were careful to keep a safe distance away.
And in my mind, I heard the voice ringing out again, loud like the sound of surf and thunder.
For what purpose did you make me?
* * *
Welcome to our city.
In recent years, the Greater Midlands have become the home for a variety of gods and demigods. And every season, thousands of visitors flock to our city with the hope of witnessing this unique phenomenon.
Although immortals generally prefer to avoid people, encounters between gods and humans do occur. We recommend taking pictures from a safe distance, preferably while inside a vehicle.
If a close encounter takes place, remember that it can be disturbing for both you and the immortal. The following guidelines, now newly revised, can help to ensure your safety.
DO NOT use bear spray, noise canisters, or other irritants. They are likely to have no effect but may provoke other wildlife or harm bystanders.
DO NOT climb a tree. Immortal activity commonly results in downed trees, which can lead to human injuries.
DO NOT make eye contact.
DO leave the area as soon as possible.
If you come across the dead body of a god, do not phone 911. This is not an emergency, and excess calls overtax emergency services. Instead, contact municipal waste removal during operating hours, or submit a report on the city web portal.
Above all, don’t worry. Have fun! If you follow these guidelines, you can safely enjoy your stay and our home.
* * *
In the years before the singularity, Matthew MacDonald was the author of a great many books about programming and other tech topics. These days, he gently nudges his words closer to the intersection of lyricism and the absurd. Visit him at matthewmacdonald.com.
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