Gremlins (12 page)

“She threatened to put out a bear trap for his dog,” Kate interrupted from the next window. “I heard the whole conversation.”

“I said no such thing,” Mrs. Deagle retorted, horrified.

“Then why did I enter the check for deposit?” Billy asked, regaining his composure. “If I thought it was a bad check, would I have done that?”

Mr. Corben nodded slowly, looked at Mrs. Deagle. Clearly the burden of proof had switched from Billy to her.

“I did not say I put out a bear trap,” Mrs. Deagle stammered. “It’s another kind of trap. I mean . . .”

A long pause followed. Then Mrs. Deagle reached forward to grab her deposit slip.

“Never mind,” she said. “If you want to have impolite, stupid people working for you, that’s your business.”

Her nose high, she clomped out of the bank.

“Now then . . .” Mr. Corben said, indicating that the bank’s business was to continue as usual.

After Gerald fixed him with an angry gaze and departed, Billy glanced at Kate. His expression said, “Thank you.” Her response seemed to say, “You’re welcome, but I did it only in the interest of justice, not for you.”

Nevertheless, at the end of the working day she did not seem particularly hostile when Billy caught up with her as she left the bank. At least she didn’t call for a cop, Billy thought.

“I’d like to tell you what happened last night,” he said.

“It’s not necessary,” she replied. “As several people have told me recently, I’m a little crazy about Mrs. Deagle’s ‘takeover’ plan. It’s foolish of me to think everybody’s as concerned as I am, particularly late at night when it’s nice and warm inside.”

“But I wanted to come meet you,” he protested. “I was all ready to. And then something terrible happened.”

Her expression changed from skeptical to concerned. “Your folks are all right, aren’t they?”

He nodded. Beginning slowly, he said, “You’re going to think this is the dumbest excuse you’ve ever heard, but I swear every word is true.”

“Go ahead,” she said.

As quickly as possible, he told her about the Mogwai dilemma, from the first appearance of Gizmo to the last prank of the five new animals. She listened without a single interruption, her expression interested but noncommittal.

“And that’s it,” he concluded. “Those Mogwai got me so screwed up I just lost track of time.”

She smiled slowly.

“You’re right,” she said. “That
is
the dumbest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

“But it’s true! I swear it!”

“Listen,” she said, “there’s no disgrace in falling asleep. I do it all the time, but I must admit I’m very good about keeping dates.”

Trying desperately to think of some way of making his story more plausible, Billy heard the familiar voice that solved his problem. It was Pete. Ignoring Kate, the youngster grabbed Billy’s sleeve and said a bit breathlessly, “Come on. Mr. Hanson’s waitin’ for us. He’ll look at one of those things now.”

“Don’t you have to be a Christmas tree?”

“Yeah, but Dad said I can do it later.”

“Would you like to see proof that I’m telling you the truth?” Billy asked, looking at Kate.

She smiled. “If this were April first, I’d say no,” she said. “But all right. Let’s go.”

They hopped in Billy’s bug, now back among the living, and were at his house five minutes later. Lynn, waiting for him at the door, greeted Billy with a sad expression rather than her usual smile. “One of them is dead,” she said.

“Not Gizmo—”

“No. One of the new ones.”

She led them to the back porch, where a tiny, flattened circle of fur was all that remained of the dead Mogwai. It looked like a football that had been deflated.

“It got out on the porch and then I must have shut the door and locked it out,” Lynn explained. “It couldn’t have been there long enough to have starved to death.”

“No,” Billy agreed. “The Chinese boy said the bright sunlight kills them.”

“I don’t know what to do with it. What do you do with a dead Mogwai?”

Billy shrugged. Pete, kneeling next to the tiny corpse, prodded it gently with the end of a ball-point pen. “It looks like it’s really dryin’ up fast,” he observed. “I’ll bet if you leave it here a couple days, there won’t be anything left but a little fuzz.”

“Don’t touch it, Mom,” Billy said. “At least not till we get back from school. Mr. Hanson, my old science teacher, is gonna examine one for us. Maybe we’ll know more after that.”

Lynn was only too happy to go along with his wishes concerning the dead Mogwai. She was less agreeable about his decision to take one out of the house. “Do you think that’s wise?” she asked. “If it got away—”

“We won’t let it get away,” Billy assured her. “Besides, how are we gonna find out what they are if they stay cooped up all the time?”

A minute later the four of them were in Billy’s room, looking at the four curled-up balls of fur in the corner and, about six feet away from them, the wide-awake Gizmo.

“Here, Kate,” Billy said. “This is Gizmo. He’s the best one. Would you like to hold him?”

“Er . . .” she said a bit hesitantly. “Sure.”

Holding the soft creature, which almost seemed to smile at her, Kate was alternately enchanted and horrified. The animal was unlike anything she had ever seen or even read about. That, coupled with the fantastic story of how they reproduced, made her blood run a bit cold.

“Maybe we should take Gizmo to Mr. Hanson,” Pete suggested.

Billy shook his head.

“But suppose the other ones are different?” Pete said, not without logic. “You haven’t seen them reproduce, have you?”

“No.”

“Well, suppose they can’t do it?”

“Then it’s too bad,” Billy replied. “Mr. Hanson will still be able to examine the one we take him and tell us if it’s a new species or not. Later, if he needs to see the water thing, maybe we’ll have to take him Gizmo. But he’s my favorite. I don’t want to take a chance on hurting him.”

With that, he gently pulled one of the other Mogwai from the somnolent mass, put it into the shoe box they had decided to use, and closed the lid firmly.

Halfway to the junior-senior high school, Billy looked at Kate, who was holding the shoe box on her lap, both hands tightly clasped over it.

“Well,” he said. “Do you still think I was lying about last night?”

Smiling, she shook her head. “Even if the part about the water is made up, it’s still a great story,” she said.

It had been nearly three years since Billy had walked down the main hallway of his old school. Now, deserted except for a few teachers and maintenance people, it seemed smaller than he remembered. The hallways actually looked shorter, the walls closer together. Was it possible to shrink an entire school? He smiled, realizing that the mind could perform such a trick quite easily. Peeking into classrooms that should have been familiar but were not, he experienced a feeling of loss, as if all evidence of his ever having been here had been erased. They’ve probably even sanded down the initials I carved in every homeroom desk, he thought glumly.

They entered the science classroom, and Billy shook hands with his former teacher. A few moments later Roy Hanson looked at his watch, realized it was nearly dinnertime, and decided to answer the kids’ questions as quickly but politely as possible. Although he had agreed to examine it when Pete had asked, he had not really listened to his story, which sounded off-the-wall and disjointed. He probably had a muskrat or shrew or some other animal he’d never seen around his house and, inspired by the lecture on “new” species, had visions of discovering some missing link. Still, Pete was at least interested, and it would not do to discourage or ridicule him.

“All right now,” Roy said. “Let’s see what we have in here.”

As he started to open the box, Billy held up his hand.

“Wait, sir,” he said. “There’s too much light. It may even be enough to kill him in a few minutes.”

Hanson turned off the overhead lights.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“We’d better pull the shades, just to make sure,” Billy urged.

Hanson did so, wondering if he had a monster on his hands. But it would take only a few minutes to examine the creature, probably less time than it was taking to get the proper amount of subdued illumination.

“That’s fine,” Billy said finally.

Hanson smiled, opened the box, and looked inside.

“Good Lord,” he said slowly.

He had never seen such an animal. Touching it gently, he took its pulse, which was incredibly slow for what seemed to be a mammalian, and stroked its soft fur, which was subtly different from every other wild or domestic animal he’d encountered.

“I don’t know what this thing is,” he confessed.

Pete smiled broadly. “It’s a new species. We’ll be rich, won’t we? Tell me we’ll be rich.”

Hanson smiled. “I can’t promise that,” he said. “Maybe my knowledge is incomplete. I thought I knew every type of animal on this planet, but this is certainly a new one on me.” He looked at Billy. “Where did you get this?” he asked.

“My dad . . . brought it back from Chinatown.”

“No papers or anything came with it?”

Billy shook his head.

“Do the thing with the water,” Pete urged.

“What was that?” Hanson murmured.

“I told you,” Pete said, “the thing makes another animal when you put water on it.”

Roy recalled a garbled description of the creature’s reproductive technique, something about a drop of water, but at the time it had seemed like more of Pete’s ramblings. Now he was inclined to be more respectful.

“Just one drop, though,” Billy said. “We don’t want to make any more than necessary.”

Hanson nodded, located an eyedropper, and loaded it from the sink. “One drop of water coming up,” he said.

He paused.

“On the back,” Billy said, sensing the reason for his hesitation.

Holding the Mogwai in one hand, Roy allowed a single bead of water to fall onto its back. For a long moment nothing happened. Then the crackling sound started and the creature began to shriek wildly. Kate, her hands over her face, leaped back, then slowly spread her fingers to peer out at the Mogwai’s writhings. A minute later, as the frying sound reached a crescendo, a huge blister grew, abscesslike, on the Mogwai’s skin, gradually broke apart, and emitted a fur ball onto the lab table.

The four watched as the sound diminished and the Mogwai’s sufferings obviously subsided.

“I can’t believe it,” Roy murmured.

The fur ball was growing, gradually forming itself into a miniature version of its parent as it expanded.

“It’s incredible,” Roy breathed. “Looks like we got us our own little Christmas miracle.”

Another minute passed, all of their eyes still on the growing new Mogwai.

“It’ll keep growing until it’s as big as the other one,” Billy said. “That’ll be a little while.”

“Don’t worry.” Roy smiled. “I was all ready for dinner when you folks got here, but I don’t think I’ll be eating soon tonight.”

“What’ll we do next?” Billy asked.

“I’d like to run some blood tests. That may give me a lot of information. So why don’t you take the old specimen home and leave the new one here?”

“Sure,” Billy replied. “But please don’t make any more of them, O.K.?”

“You can bet on that,” Roy assured him. “Not until I’m darn sure what these babies are.”

The three young people left then, discussing the phenomenon animatedly until they were nearly home. Then Billy grimaced and slapped his hand to his forehead.

“What is it?” Kate asked.

“I forgot to tell him not to feed them after midnight,” he said, disgusted with himself.

“Don’t worry,” Pete said. “I’ll stop by after I do my Christmas tree routine. It’ll only be eight o’clock.”

“You won’t forget?”

Pete crossed his heart. “Word of honor,” he promised. “May I turn into a Christmas tree forever if I forget.”

C H A P T E R
ELEVEN

P
ete forgot.

C H A P T E R
TWELVE

T
he greatest frustration of Gizmo’s existence was that he could not communicate very well with other species. As a highly intelligent form of life, he often understood by intuition the general context of what alien beings said, but making them understand him was another matter.

Now, as Billy and the young woman returned with the shoe box, Gizmo had the feeling that things were not going very well. The only reason they could have had for taking the new Mogwai away was to study it; from that it followed that they had demonstrated how water made them reproduce; and from that it was logical to assume that one minute after the specimen Mogwai rejoined his friends, all would know. Stripe would know. And then only one piece of dangerous knowledge would separate Gizmo, Billy, and the rest of the human race from possible disaster.

Watching the moments of safety tick away as Billy approached the pile of sleeping fur balls, Gizmo wanted to cry out: “Wait! Stop!” If only he could find a way to tell Billy that unless he segregated those four Mogwai from each other and from water, he was in danger of becoming one of the biggest jerks in the history of the world! But when Gizmo opened his mouth to articulate a clear and direct warning, nothing emerged but gibberish.

“Look, Kate.” Billy smiled as he opened the shoe box. “Gizmo must be jealous.”

He reached to stroke Gizmo’s head with one hand and dropped the new Mogwai into the bunch with his other.

“There,” he said. “See, Giz? They don’t mean a thing to me. You’re the special one.”

“He seems kind of . . . sad, doesn’t he?” Kate said.

“Yeah, a little. I guess you can’t blame him. There’s been a lot of excitement the past couple days.”

A few minutes later they went out, leaving Gizmo to watch the grim conspiracy unfolding before him. It began with the four Mogwai going into a huddle, from which constant whispering emanated punctuated by an occasional grunt or shout of triumph from Stripe. After several minutes they moved apart and, as one, looked directly at Gizmo. Their expressions told him they felt they were on the verge of a quantum power increase, that he had better stay out of their way when it happened.