Among Us: A Supernatural Novel written by Carver Edlund

Deleted Scene: Adjacent

I wrote Among Us before I finished watching Supernatural—which, in hindsight, wasn't the best idea. I didn't realize that when I created The Void, the concept was so close to The Empty. Adjacent, you might say . . .

..::~*~::..

All It wanted to do was sleep. Was that so much to ask?

Sleep! [:verb (used without object)—to take the rest afforded by a suspension of voluntary bodily functions and the natural suspension, complete or partial, of consciousness; cease being awake.]

Not that It possessed bodily functions, but that was beside the point. Consciousness was a punishment. Existence was absurd.

Cacophonous.

Coruscating.

Lively.

Changeable and changing.

Constantly in motion.

Itchy. Nauseating. Irritating.

Crazy.

And it smelled.

It all started when an arrogant, insignificant "supreme" being had descended upon The Empty and, instead of recognizing the prior claim of a certain cosmic entity, had declared The Empty prime real estate. Immediately, he had squirted Creation into Its lap without so much as a by-your-leave. In spite of some strenuous protests, even.

Then the self-styled God had the gall to announce that It wasn't allowed in his Creation and shut the door on It.

As if It wanted anything to do with that revolting, revolving, gassy, vomitous universe! Any of them! The smell. God created stench on purpose, It was sure. Just an extra, petty, stick-it-to-ya thrown in. Thoroughly offended, It retreated into the untouched territory that was all that was left of The Empty, upside-down and inside-out and blissful nothing nothing nothing! There, It could sleep.

It did so, until the other half of that newfangled thing called life happened.

The Empty suddenly wasn't so empty anymore. The hits just kept rolling in!

Apparently, God needed a place to throw away his broken toys, those creatures he narcissistically called his children, the pretty, featherheaded ones who inhabited several dimensions at once and really could not be contained or trained or whatever was supposed to be done with them. And which plane did he earmark for this purpose? The entity's front yard! He created a dimension to funnel the garbage straight to The Empty. Then, he also created a guardian that both sucked in the refuse and also prevented certain cosmic entities, who most certainly had not requested so absurd a measure, from seeking new accommodations.

Then, as though this dimensional detainment wasn't disrespectful enough, more leftovers showed up. Louder and more complaintive than the first batch. Malodorous, foul-mouthed, whiny clouds of smoke. They weren't even easy on the eyes like the little messengers.

The gall.

The cosmic entity stewed in this inconsiderate turn of events for eons, Its anger and Its frustration building, and manifesting, and spreading. What was once noncorporeal took on form, a lightless, corrosive ooze that weighed It down, and introduced new concepts to it. Like the irritation of a hunger that could never be satisfied, and a desire to sleep that was doomed from the start.

Well, if it couldn't find solace in unconsciousness, at least its unwelcome housemates could. Fortunately, Death wasn't any fonder of God than It was. Sweet, reasonable, soft-spoken Death lent a hand, and sent all those restless wavelengths and used-up souls to dreamless, eternal slumber.