Temporary Monsters (14 page)

Lenny paused. Sheila had probably said that before. Only now did Lenny even think about that phrase “the things you can do.” Had Sheila known something about his gift way back then?

“But you say it's really valuable,” Sheila said.

“Probably. It's very rare.”

“Do you think it's safe sitting in your closet? What if someone were to come in and steal it?”

“Nobody knows about my stamp collection but me.” His mother had known, but she had passed away a couple of years ago. He looked at Sheila. “And now you.”

Sheila reached over and took Lenny's hand. “You've made me feel really special. I hope I never do anything do betray your trust.”

Like stealing the first day cover a couple years from now? he didn't say aloud.

This seemed much the same way the conversation had happened, back in the real past. But did it say anything more about his gift?

Somebody banged on the door.

“Sheila!” a deep male voice called. “I know you're in there!”

The color drained from Sheila's face. “It's my father. How could he know I'm here?”

Maybe because she had spoken to him on the phone? But that was before Lenny had snapped his fingers. Lenny no longer had any idea of the cause and effect in this place. Foo was outside of Lenny's apartment? Maybe it was time to stop talking about stamps. The risk here seemed far worse than the reward.

“Onoma—” Lenny began.

“Shush!” Sheila put her hand over his mouth. “My father's very old school. If he hears I'm in here with a man, we could be in real trouble.”

“Sheila! Open the door!”

What if he didn't use the safe word? Maybe this situation could still be salvaged.

Lenny snapped his fingers.

Foo kept on pounding. “Open this door at once!”

This whole changing the scenario thing seemed to be wearing out its welcome. Lenny looked around the room. Had his latest snap done anything?

“This looks like a job for a pooka!”

Sheila gasped as Bob popped into view in front of the door.

“Hi, Lenny!” Bob said.

“Wow.” Sheila sounded truly impressed. “You know a ghostly blue horse? Lenny, you become more interesting with every passing minute.”

Apparently, nothing fazed Sheila.

“I hear a man's voice in there!” Foo yelled through the door.

“Actually, it's a pooka!” Bob replied.

“I don't give a hoot about your nationality,” Foo replied. “Get away from my daughter!”

“Don't come in that door,” Bob shouted back, “or you will taste pooka vengeance!”

“I hear a man's voice making threats!” Foo shot back. “You leave me no choice, Sheila. I don't have to break the door down myself. I've brought my minions to do it for me!”

“Daddy!” Sheila shouted back. “You know how I feel about them. How can I have any private life at all if your minions keep getting in the way?”

Lenny shook his head. This made even less sense than what had happened before. Bob the horse here? Now?

“Why?” Lenny decided the direct approach was the best. “Bob? Why are you here?”

Bob grinned in his direction. “Swami Phil sensed you might be in trouble.”

“And he sent you?”

“No, I came on my own. My pal Lenny needed me. It was time to show some pooka initiative!”

It's really time
, Lenny thought,
to get out of here
.

“On—” Lenny began again.

The door burst open with a crash. Sheila screamed and fell against Lenny, throwing both of them to the floor.

“Mmm-mmm!” Lenny managed.

Sheila had fallen on top of him, her sweater pressed into his nose, making it impossible to breathe, much less talk.

“And what do you want?” he heard Bob demand.

“There's a horse in here?” Foo screamed. “They have defiled my daughter! Kill them all!”

“Onomatopoeia!” the nameless ghost shouted in response.

Everything went dark.

Chapter Twenty

“Are you all right?” a woman's gentle, concerned voice asked. “What happened?”

Lenny opened his eyes and looked up at Lenore. He smiled, safely out of the dream. But how could he answer that: What
hadn't
happened?

“All I know is I'm really happy to be back here. Things were getting a little hectic in my dream state.” Swami Phil stepped close enough for Lenny to see him. “It
was
a dream state, right?”

Phil nodded curtly. “More or less. That's not the proper swami-certified mystical metaphysical technical term, but close enough.”

Lenny propped himself up on his elbows—for some reason, he was lying flat on the stage—and tried to summarize what had happened as the Terrifitemps team gathered around him. No one interrupted until he started talking about the first day cover.

“That was what your gift was taking you to find,” the swami said.

Lenny had thought the same thing. “My gift is all tied in with that first day cover, but how?”

“So, perhaps the first day cover is a catalyst for your gift,” Lenore began.

“Karnowski thinks it could be first manifestation of gift.”

The Baron stroked his right fang in thought. “Or it was some sort of coincidence, but it made you more aware of your surroundings so you could thus become aware of your gift.”

Lenny considered all of that.

“Well, yeah. I guess so.”

“So you learned something about that first day cover,” Swami Phil prompted. “And what happened next?”

Lenny paused a moment before he replied. “Everything I saw seemed exactly the same as when it actually happened—which was about two years ago. Until suddenly things changed.” Lenny nodded. “More and more, as my trance continued, events kept wandering away from how I remembered them.

“I snapped my fingers to bring things back on track. It seemed to work at first, but later it just made things stranger.” He took a deep breath. “At one point, I asked a question that I hadn't asked in the past, and that seemed to accelerate the changes.”

Lenny went on to discuss the stranger part.

“Interesting,” Phil replied. “As your gift got more involved in your trance, the past changed with it.”

“But I thought you said my gift would protect me,” Lenny replied. “The second or third time I snapped my fingers, Foo showed up. I snapped my fingers again, and Foo was going to kill me!”

The swami stared at Lenny for an instant before asking, “Yet the gift brought you back here, didn't it?”

“Finally, though it was mostly thanks to my ghostly guide.” Lenny looked at Lenore, and decided not to describe how Sheila had fallen on top of him. “He was the one who shouted the safe word.”

Karnowski looked around the room.

“Where is ghost, anyway?”

A pitiful, spectral moan came from the far corner of the room.

Lenny sat up and watched the others rush toward the noise. He could see the nameless ghost, not all that substantial at the best of times, flickering in their midst.

The spirit's voice was barely more than a whisper. “Barely . . . made it back . . . one piece.”

“Why can we hardly see him?” Lenore demanded.

The ghost murmured in reply. “Sorry . . . took it out of me . . . need rest.”

“Ghosts can get exhausted?” the Baron demanded. “I have never heard of that before.”

Karnowski seemed to take offense at that. “Ghosts are capable of many things. Flight, noise, chilling cold, half-heard songs, even exhaustion.”

Swami Phil waved back at the stage of the comedy club. “All things are possible when we are in the presence of Lenny. Your gift transcends the boundaries of the spirit world.”

Lenny pushed himself up and tried to walk toward the others. He was a little unsteady on his feet. He managed to sit at the edge of the stage to get a better view.

“Karnowski sees many strange ghosts, and many ghostly reactions. This ghost is at limits, but not beyond my experience.” He studied the flickering form before him. “With rest, ghost will recover.”

“Great news,” the ghost agreed with the slightest trace of enthusiasm. “Ghostly guide—my afterlife's—calling.”

Lenny looked around the still quiet comedy club. “We're still safe here?”

“They haven't found us yet,” the swami replied.

“Wait!” The Baron stepped forward, dramatically unfurling his cape. “I sense a warning.”

He pointed to the wall behind the stage, where an army of cockroaches swirled across the red velvet wallpaper. Dark words formed as the roaches abruptly paused:

YOU HAVE A MOMENT

BUT YOUR MAGIC PROTECTION

IS NOT FOREVER

“My lovely roaches,” the Baron beamed. “They are so useful to have around.”

“We must hurry to the next stage of our discovery spell,” Phil said. Everyone but Karnowski turned to look at Lenny.

“Where are we?” Phil continued. “Let me review. Swamis are good at summaries. It is a part of our skill set.” He pointed to Lenny. “We know the first day cover is of central importance to your gift. Only by reclaiming that cover can we truly understand, and hopefully control, the power that resides within you.”

“Sheila stole the first day cover from Lenny, and gave it to her father.” Phil waved at the room around him. “Foo is hiding it somewhere. I'm guessing somewhere near.

“We must locate that stamp and turn it to our advantage. This is the secret of Lenny's gift. And we must do it quickly, without delay.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Lenny caught a sudden flash of blue from the other side of the room.

“Whoo! What a trip!” Bob the horse popped back into their midst with a whinny of triumph. “Getting out of that dream thing took premier pooka power!”

Lenny shook his head. “That reminds me, wasn't this my dream? How did Bob end up in the middle of it?”

Phil dipped his head in apology. “There are parts of this process that swamis do not understand.”

“Nothing is impossible for pookas!” Bob exclaimed.

“Especially when those parts of the process involve pookas,” Phil agreed. “But we have no time for that now. We need to place you back into the trance so that we can find the first day cover.”

The swami raised his voice slightly. “My good Karnowski. If I might have your attention.”

The ghost finder turned away from his nameless charge. “Karnowski believes he is on mend. Ghosts do not die. They simply fade away.”

“We need your help,” Phil said. “It is time to summon the ghost of Lenny present. Have you seen any more ghosts that might be of use to us?”

Karnowski scowled. “The wards are still too strong. I have no ghosts. But who knows the ways of the spirit world better than a ghost finder? Karnowski will be Lenny's guide.”

The swami paused, then nodded. “Unconventional, but I think it will work.”

“Hey guys!” Bob the horse called. “We've got something better than ghosts! Ready, willing, and able, over here!”

“I'm afraid that the very nature of pookas . . .” Phil left the rest of the thought unsaid. “Karnowski, you must use your spiritual knowledge to guide Lenny toward his goal.”

The swami reached into his Nehru jacket, and once again held the pendant in his hand. “Look at the gem, Lenny.”

The jewel swung back and forth before him. The zirconia sparkled, almost as if the gem had an energy of its own.

Lenny already felt his eyes closing.

“You remember your safeguards in the dream state—those things that we discussed before.”

“Finger snap,” Lenny replied. “Safe word.”

“Excellent. Look at the gem and listen to my words.

“Oogleybook,” Phil intoned in a low but powerful voice. “Nanglytoot, hocus pocus. Wampo, stampo, oolyompo. You are in my power.”

Oolyompo?
Lenny thought. What had happened to “Goolyflaspmun?” But the world around him started drifting away.

Phil spoke in a monotone. “Listen to your spirit guide. You seek the first day cover.”

“Spirit,” Karnowski repeated. “Cover.”

“You will find the first day cover,” Phil continued.

“Find first day,” the ghost finder agreed.

“You will find your power.”

“Power,” Karnowski echoed.

“Power,” Lenny agreed.

The world went dark.

Chapter Twenty-One

Lenny opened his eyes. He stood in center of the comedy club. Everything was totally still, until a voice filled his brain.

“Karnowski is the ghost finder of Lenny present!” the voice announced. “Karnowski will help you find true meaning of today, and path forward to tomorrow. Karnowski is here to guide the way!”

Karnowski's voice was in his ear, but the ghost finder was nowhere to be seen. The rest of the Terrifitemps team had vanished as well. Lenny was alone on the stage. The shelves were still empty, the chairs still piled on tables.

The door to the outside hall was open.

Lenny was back in the trance.

“Think about what is most important to your gift,” Karnowski droned on. “Think about your first day cover. Think, and it will call to you.”

In the dreamlike quiet around him, Lenny heard the faintest of hums. Was it the letter, or something more? Lenny had to find out.

He started walking, out of the club and down the hall, retracing the path they had taken before. The hum was louder now, more distinct.

Somebody with a white jacket—a technician, perhaps—walked toward him. The other man seemed to look through Lenny, as though Lenny wasn't there. Perhaps he wasn't. Perhaps that was the nature of the trance. In a way, Lenny walked through the real world without being “real” himself.

The hum droned louder still. It was a sonic beacon, leading him to the secret of his gift. Lenny turned the corner and stopped. The stainless steel door before him vibrated with the intensity of the sound.

“Karnowski says open door. The cover lies within.”

Lenny did as he was told.

The door opened to a large, chilled room crowded with computers and flat-screen monitors. This had to be the inner sanctum of Foo's secret headquarters. Foo, his daughter and their burly bodyguard sat in three of four ergonomic desk chairs aligned with a long console topped by a dozen screens. Lenny guessed the fourth chair had once been reserved for Swami Phil. Half a dozen technicians busied themselves in other corners of the large room. A couple of them wore the same white lab coat as the man Lenny had passed in the hall. The other four wore the usual robes, royal blue in this case, with a bright yellow “F” embroidered on the right shoulders. A row of hooks holding matching hoods hung on the far wall.

Foo was regarding his daughter critically. Sheila was wearing a form-fitting, dark-gray pantsuit with a scoop neck just low enough to show the slightest hint of cleavage. Lenny had to admit, she looked pretty fabulous.

“Do you really need all these designer fashions?” Foo complained.

“Daddy!” Sheila shot back angrily. “Sometimes I wish Mother had not moved to Miami. Your daughter has to look good if you intend to be a first-class world conqueror. Be glad I don't have a thing about shoes.”

Foo sighed. “Do you realize how expensive it is to constantly generate my world-conquering contingency charts? Not to mention the . . .” He paused.

“Is it time, Boss?” Bruno wheeled a man bound to an office chair out from a side door. The man, who was also gagged, wore a soiled white jumpsuit with the letter “S” on the chest. He was Lenny's mystery man; the stranger who had guided Lenny through the tunnels and shown him the way!

“Ignore these individuals!” Karnowski urged. “Look for letter.”

The evil genius pointed at his prisoner. “Yes, we will teach people who sneak around our headquarters just what it means to cross Foo! Won't we, Mr. S?”

Whatever their captive replied, it was muffled by the gag.

“And we will discover the secrets of Terrifitemps as well, won't we”—Foo paused for dramatic effect—“Mr. Siggenbottom!”

The captive's muffled cry was much louder and more dramatic this time around.

“Sheila?” Foo asked gently. “If you would reach down beneath that chair and fetch my tool box? It is time to begin work on our prisoner.”

But before Sheila could lean over to fetch the box, Foo raised a hand.

“Wait. Something else is here.”

Bruno stepped from behind his prisoner, turning his head to stare at every corner of the room. “Something? What do you mean—something?”

Foo turned toward Lenny as he sniffed at the air. “With the swami no longer with us, we have to rely on those supernatural detection skills he taught us.”

“But Daddy!” Sheila looked around the room as well. “
Something
could be anything!”

Lenny frowned. Did Foo somehow know he was here? In the middle of Lenny's own trance? How could these figments of
his
imagination be reacting to
his
presence in
his
dream? And why? He was looking for his special gift. Maybe his special gift was looking for trouble.

Lenny didn't have time for these existential dilemmas. Not when he knew how to make trouble go away.

Lenny snapped his fingers.

“Find letter,” Karnowski urged in a hoarse whisper.

“What are you wearing today?” Foo frowned at his daughter. “Your tastes are far too expensive.”

“Oh, Daddy!” Sheila rolled her eyes. Her even-more-skin-tight pantsuit was now a hot pink, with maybe a bit more cleavage than her last outfit.

Lenny looked around the room. The captive was gone—was it really Mr. Siggenbottom? And really, who was Mr. Siggenbottom? Husband? Brother? Father? Somebody who only coincidentally had the same last name? It was too much to think about. Lenny needed that letter.

Foo pointed at the third digital monitor from the left, which pictured a forklift grabbing a large crate on a loading dock. He leaned forward to read the logo on the side of the box. “And what is that? A new shipment of shoes?”

“Daddy! Just think of the glossy magazine's special dictators edition!” She pointed one high-heeled boot in her father's direction. “The attention and respect you get from the fashion spreads will be worth every penny.”

“It will have to come out of the contingency kickback reserve, but I suppose for my . . . wait a moment. I do not think we are alone.”

“Someone else is here?” Bruno demanded. “Where?”

Were they going to discover him all over again?

Lenny had been trying to ignore the chatter and concentrate on the hum. It was emanating from a spot directly behind Foo, in a place high on the console that featured nothing but a blank metal plate. That meant the first day cover was only a few feet away! If he could somehow get inside that console, find the way to open Foo's secret compartment before they discovered any more about Lenny's presence—well, he did have a way, didn't he?

Lenny snapped his fingers.

“The letter?” Karnowski asked.

What? Oh, the letter. Lenny tore his eyes away from Sheila's new outfit, half a dozen strips of neon black and green cloth crisscrossing her frame, showing so much skin the outfit looked more like a bikini than a pantsuit. She towered over her father—her heels had doubled in height.

“Photo shoot?” her father said in a strained voice.

“
All Male Dictators Quarterly
,” Sheila agreed. “But you were saying?”

“How could I forget?” Foo agreed. “We have an intruder in our midst!”

“We can't have that,” Sheila said as she bent over to check a dial on the console before her. Lenny found his gaze wandering that way. She turned to her father. “Why don't you check your swami supplies?”

Foo clapped his hands. “Brilliant idea! Sheila, we'll make you an evil genius yet!”

He turned and flipped three seemingly random switches among the hundreds before him. The metal plate on the console slid away, revealing a large hidden recess within.

Lenny imagined he took a step back in surprise. The hum had become so loud it sounded like a rock song from the eighties. Lenny saw two things in the hidden space, a box labeled
SWAMI INC.
, and the first day cover, sealed inside a small glass jar with a rubber cap.

“Get the kit,” Foo said, “and see what we can find.”

“You have found letter!” Karnowski cheered.

Indeed he had. Now Lenny needed to grab it and run.

Sheila pulled a small silver sphere from the box. “Perhaps the spirit sphere?”

Foo nodded his agreement. “Whoever lurks among us will be trapped in a matter of seconds.”

Trapped? Lenny hoped not. Anyway, he didn't plan to stay around long enough for them to trap anything. He stepped around Sheila, his fingers brushing up against her scanty costume. They passed right through, as if Sheila wasn't there. He stood directly in front of the hidden compartment.

“Karnowski says get out of there now!”

“One second.” He reached for the letter.

Wait a moment. It wasn't Sheila who wasn't really here, was it? How could Lenny grab the letter if his ghostly hands couldn't touch anything?

The sphere spun in Sheila's hand. “According to the swami, this thing can trap ghosts, astral projections, all sorts of things.”

It hummed at an entirely different frequency from the letter, a higher, grating noise. The sound was piercing. Lenny was having trouble concentrating.

“We've got you now!” Foo cackled.

“Is that Lenny?” Sheila asked with a frown.

“It's hard to make out details,” Foo agreed.

“Even at the best of times, Lenny was a little indistinct,” Sheila agreed.

Lenny looked down at his ghostly self. He was glowing with a faint blue light. He felt like he had been caught in netting, as if something was brushing against his extremities; a web that was growing ever tighter. His legs were pinned together, his arms pressed close by his sides. He could barely move.

He just managed to snap his fingers.

And?

He still couldn't move, not even to turn his head. He couldn't speak. He was truly trapped in his trance state. He could do nothing but watch. Lenny waited. Something always changed when he snapped his fingers.

“We have you where we want you now, Lenny.”

Sheila stepped into his field of vision. This time, her scanty costume was made of shiny black leather That seemed to both push together and barely cover the most interesting parts of her body. And she carried a whip.

Foo cleared his throat. “I still don't think those costumes are entirely appropriate for . . .” Words seemed to fail him.

“They're doing a shoot for
Dictator's Domination Digest
.” Sheila cracked the whip inches from Lenny's glowing blue nose. “The publicity will be priceless.”

“Lenny!” Karnowski called urgently. “Say word! Say safe word!”

Lenny couldn't open his mouth to say anything.

“What's this?” Foo chuckled. “You've caught something else in your web.”

“Karnowski says—” The disembodied voice was garbled now. “Karnow—Kar–onoma—no—ommmmmmmm.”

The disembodied voice faded to silence.

“What is this thing?” Foo continued, looking at something outside Lenny's line of sight. Had Karnowski's voice taken physical form? “It doesn't have much shape at all. Can we destroy it along with Lenny?”

“I don't see why not.” Sheila rooted around in the swami box. “The vaporizer is in here somewhere.” She glanced back at Lenny. “He can't move at all?” She flicked her whip. “Maybe, before we vaporize him, I can spend a few minutes working on my technique.”

Foo began to laugh. “We were needlessly worried about this attack. We easily defeated our foes at Terrifitemps! Anything they throw against us, we will overcome. Nothing can stop us now!”

“What am I, chopped liver?” a chipper voice replied.

“I've seen that horse somewhere before!” Foo exclaimed.

“A pooka in need is a horse indeed!” Bob agreed.

Sheila lifted up the sphere before her. “I don't see why this device can't capture pookas as well.”

The sphere's whine rose higher in pitch.

“I know that one!” Bob agreed. He began to sing: “I'm pickin' up good vibrations!”

“I don't think this works on pookas,” Foo said, his voice a resigned monotone. “Didn't the swami say that nothing worked on pookas?”

Sheila shook her head. “He just said pookas were difficult. Very difficult. Maybe there's something in here.” She reached back into the box and pulled out a trade paperback. Lenny read the title:
1,000 Magical Cures Using Common Household Remedies.

Sheila paged quickly through the book.

“Let me just check the index. It would be under ‘P.' Pasta, pistons, poltergeists—Here it is! Page 238!” She flipped to the middle of the book and read: “Eliminate unsightly pookas forever!”

“But pookas are your friends!” Bob countered. “Let me give you the top five reasons pookas are a welcome addition to any party—”

“I'll need ammonia,” Sheila read from the book. “A couple of chocolate chip cookies. And a large paper bag.”

“Oh.” Bob paused as Foo's minions assembled everything Sheila rattled off. “If you could just give me a second? Even pookas can benefit from a bit of quiet. Well, not very often, but still—”

“A losing lottery ticket,” she continued. “Mayonnaise.”

“Mayonnaise and pookas?” Bob actually sounded concerned. “Not the most winning combination. I feel there is something I need to say.”

“Ball bearings,” Sheila said, “and duct tape.”

“Wait a moment!” Bob replied. “It's right on the tip of my tongue. Unomono? Onanoonoo?”

“Put them together!” Sheila ordered her minions as they rushed in from the four corners of the room. “Quickly!” She opened the book to reveal a diagram.

“Why can't I remember—it's like the mambo!” Bob's voice cheered instantly. “Da-da-da-da-
da
-da!” He whinnied. “That's it!

“Onomatopoeia!” he cried in triumph.

The world went dark.