Gremlins (11 page)

“Yeah, Dad, I’m sure you will.”

During the brief pause that followed as Rand wiped the excess foam off his invention, they both remembered something important.

“Oh, Dad—”

“Son—”

“There’s something I have to—” they both began.

“Go ahead,” Billy said.

“I just wanted to ask why you put that thing in our bed,” Rand said.

“That’s what I came down to tell you about,” Billy explained.

“Well, go ahead,” Rand urged a few seconds later, when it was obvious his son was somewhat at a loss for words.

Billy sat down in the workroom’s only chair and slowly explained what had happened the night before. His father listened, at first with an incredulous smile, then with growing horror. “You mean the Chinese boy was right?” he asked finally. “That’s what water does?—makes them multiply?”

Billy nodded.

“And now we have six?”

He nodded again.

“It’s crazy. Animals don’t multiply like that.”

“I know.”

“Where are they now?”

“In my room. I have them locked in that transporter we got for Barney.”

“Good.”

“They’re very anxious to get out,” Billy said. “If we try to keep them there all the time, the noise may drive us loony.”

“Maybe I’d better have a look.”

A minute later, Billy’s parents watched as he opened the top of the transporter. Inside sat the five new Mogwai, Stripe in the forefront, their faces innocent and liquid-eyed. Except for a subtle glint in their eyes, they seemed every bit as gentle as Gizmo, as friendly as Barney.

“They’re cute.” Lynn smiled.

“Yeah,” Billy said. “But they’re not the same as Gizmo, Mom.”

“They’re not? How are they different?”

“They’re mischievous.”

He related what they had done last night in addition to putting the oven rack in his parents’ bed. Even Billy had to admit that their actions sounded more like harmless pranks than deeds with malevolent possibilities.

“Maybe they were just nervous and excited,” Lynn offered. “After all, it was their first night on earth.”

“No, Mom,” Billy countered. “There was something about them, something scary.”

“Is it still there?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “But it is, in a way. You see, they must have decided they didn’t like being cooped up in the transporter so they’re putting on a good show for you and Dad.”

His parents laughed. “Are these dumb animals or college professors?” she asked.

“They’re not stupid, Mom. That’s why I think we’ll have a lot of trouble if they stay here.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I don’t know. Today Pete’s gonna ask Mr. Hanson if he’ll study them. Maybe he’ll take one and be able to tell us what they are.”

“Why not just drop them off at the Humane Society?” Rand asked.

“Because if they’re a rare species, they may be valuable,” Billy replied.

“Well,” Lynn said, “if they’re going to be here even a few days, I’ll not have them cooped up forever in that box.”

“But you can’t let them run loose, either,” Rand said. “There’s the shower, dishwasher, bathroom and kitchen sinks—all those things give out water. If they turn on one of those, we’ll be up to our armpits in those gizmos.”

“All right.” Lynn shrugged. “They can stay in Billy’s room for the time being, but not in the box. And just in case they get out, I’ll shut the bathroom doors and watch them, O.K.?”

Billy nodded.

Lynn went to the box, opened the lid wide, and reached in to lift Stripe high above her head. His wide mouth forming a benevolent smile, Stripe gurgled cutely, the perfect picture of domesticity.

“He’s darling,” Lynn said.

Indeed he was, Billy thought. But not during the brief moment when, Lynn and Rand looking at each other, Stripe was able to direct a secret glance at Billy.

Was it a sneer? Something close to a wink? Billy wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t help feeling apprehensive about the days ahead.

C H A P T E R
TEN

I
t was ironic, Gizmo mused sadly. Once again he had become a pariah, if not an object of outright loathing. The process of alienation was a familiar one, but he had been spared it for nearly four decades—since the China Sea crossing, in fact. How strange it was that a gentle and adaptable creature such as himself should be subjected to prejudice only by his own species.

It was at times such as this that he nearly hated Mogturmen, his creator. His genetic miscalculations assured that minority Mogwai, of which Gizmo was one, would be instantly recognized and hated by the majority. Physically they all looked approximately the same; the massive differences were internal, involving character, ambition, desire for peace. So indelibly were these differences etched in the personalities of every Mogwai that there was no hiding or disguising them. Stripe was barely an hour old when he knew Gizmo was one of
them.

“So,” he said coldly, “we’ve encountered one of the eternal ones. You are that, aren’t you?”

Gizmo did not have to respond. Stripe knew the answer even as he asked the question, and it infuriated him.

“It’s not fair that you should be allowed such a long life and we such a short one,” Stripe hissed in Mogwai words.

“It was an accident of Mogturmen’s creative process,” Gizmo replied softly.

“You also have more knowledge than we,” Stripe charged. “More life and more knowledge. Why don’t you share both with us?”

“It’s not possible.”

“And you’re glad it’s not possible.”

Gizmo shrugged.

“What is the reproductive secret?” Stripe demanded. “You saw how we got here, so you must know.”

“Why do you want to know?” Gizmo asked.

“We want there to be more of us. If we’re doomed to short lives, at least we can spread our species, enjoy the company of our massed millions.”

“It’s not a good idea,” Gizmo murmured.

“We’ll find it out, sooner or later,” Stripe hissed.

“I won’t tell you,” Gizmo said firmly.

Stripe balled his short pointed fingers into something resembling fists. “I want to kill you,” he said coldly. “But I can’t. Something is holding me back.”

“It’s the one responsible emotion Mogturmen was able to keep in us,” Gizmo explained. “We’re incapable of killing each other.”

“You have other information we need,” Stripe continued. “There’s something that can kill us in large doses, cause us pain in smaller doses. What is it?”

“You will find out soon enough.”

“Chetz-wubba!” Stripe rasped, swearing in Mogwai. “Why must you be so secretive?”

“It’s my only weapon.”

“There is another thing we must find out,” Stripe persisted. “We are capable of becoming larger and more powerful. What causes that?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

“I won’t.”

“It’s foolish of you to withhold that. Why not use it for yourself at least?”

“Because then I would become one of the majority, with a brief and violent life.”

“We’ll find out what it is,” Stripe promised. “It’s a simple thing. Intuitively I know that. It can elude us only so long.”

“Perhaps much longer than you think,” Gizmo countered. “Perhaps it will elude you for your entire lifetime.”

Stripe ground his teeth angrily. “Tell us now and we’ll go easy on your friends.”

“No. When you change you’ll forget. I’ve seen it happen before.”

“Very well,” Stripe muttered. “Be uncooperative if you want. But we’re going to find out what we need to know to escape these puny bodies and create more of us. And when we do—”

Gizmo managed to face the infuriated Stripe with a determined look. “I think you’re going to spend the rest of your lives in this room under very careful supervision,” he said evenly. “My new master is a very responsible young man. He’s absorbed the Chinese man’s wisdom and I seriously doubt he’ll give you the opportunity to enjoy your wicked ways.”

As he recited the speech, Gizmo did not truly believe his own words, but they sounded persuasive enough.

“But there are the others,” Stripe shot back. “They will be careless, especially now that I’ve instructed my four partners to be judicious in their choice of pranks. Fortunately, your new master corrected the mess we made last night. Seeing that could have put the others on their guard, but now they will let us roam free.”

Gizmo sighed. What Stripe said was probably true. His only hope was that time was on his side, that these new Mogwai would expire in captivity before they could do any damage.

A few hours later a smiling Stripe trundled into Billy’s room and shook Gizmo awake.

“Clorr is dead,” he said simply.

“Now there are only four of you,” Gizmo replied, “Why does that seem to make you happy?”

“It’s the manner in which he died,” Stripe said. “Ever since we arrived here, I’ve felt an instinctive fear of the occasional flashes of bright light we’ve been exposed to. This afternoon, when the lady let us explore the house, Clorr went onto the back porch and was locked out. Before he could get back in, the sunlight destroyed him. So now we know an important secret of staying alive, which explains why this room is so dark.”

Gizmo sighed. “Yes, it’s true.”

“My intuition tells me there are three mysteries I must solve, and one is solved already,” Stripe gloated. “Next we must find out how we can reproduce. Third, we must learn how to become more powerful. Are you sure you don’t want to tell me everything now and save both of us a lot of trouble?”

“I’m sure,” Gizmo replied.

“All right,” Stripe said, his eyes narrowing. “When we find out on our own, it will make what we do even more enjoyable. And all you’ll be able to do is stand by helplessly.”

With a sneer, he curled himself into a ball and closed his eyes. He was soon asleep, but Gizmo, his mind racked with memories and fears for the future, found no solace the rest of the afternoon.

“Boy, you really are a jerk.” Gerald smiled as Billy set about preparing his change drawer for the day’s work.

He didn’t bother asking what he had done to deserve the epithet since it was obvious Gerald was going to tell him. The puzzling thing to Billy was why Gerald had waited until Kate had gone on an errand to start haranguing him. Usually he enjoyed having an audience.

“Just give me the bottom line, Ger,” he said now, noting with satisfaction that his nemesis still flinched with anger whenever he used the nickname.

“O.K.,” Gerald laughed. “The bottom line is you really are a fool for standing up Kate.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“Not exactly,” Gerald said. “I was in Dorry’s last night about eleven. Kate was there so I asked her if she needed a ride home. She said no, thanks, Billy was coming by. Fortunately, I’m a very tough and persistent customer. Otherwise I’d have taken no for an answer and slunk home. But not Gerald Hopkins. I hung around . . . and she waited . . . and waited . . . And the madder she got, the sweeter I talked. Finally she let me drive her home.”

“Boy, she must have really been stranded,” Billy retorted.

Gerald ignored it. “Anyway,” he concluded, “now that I’ve broken the ice, anything can happen. And I aim to see that it will.”

“Maybe when Kate comes back,” Billy said with a smile, “I’ll say that you told me it already has.”

The retort caused a sudden rush of fear to glaze Gerald’s eyes. Then the fearful expression was superseded by one of craftiness. “No, you wouldn’t say that,” he said confidently. “That would hurt her and you’re too much of a jerk to do that.”

“Beware of wounded animals, Ger,” Billy replied evenly.

Kate returned soon after that, but owing to a rush of early customers there was no opportunity to talk. (Not that she seemed so inclined, staring only at the customers in a businesslike manner.) Then, in midmorning, Billy’s depressed mood was exacerbated by the appearance of Mrs. Deagle, who pushed her way to the front of the the line so she could go directly to Billy’s window. After dropping her deposit slip silently in front of him and watching him enter it, she smiled wickedly.

“I thought you might be interested in knowing that I’ve set a little trap for your nasty dog,” she said.

“A trap, Mrs. Deagle?”

“Nothing as crude as a bear trap,” she said sarcastically. “They’re illegal and I respect the law, even if you and your mutt don’t. No, my trap is a lot subtler. I doubt if he’ll even know when it happens. But don’t be surprised if he starts acting kind of . . . well . . . let’s say, crazy.”

“What have you done?” Billy demanded.

“You’ll find out,” she said. “I know it’s going to work because I went to a lot of trouble. It wasn’t easy finding someone who hated dogs as much as I do. Especially someone who’s invented a perfectly wonderful way to destroy them—from the mind out.”

“I could have you arrested,” Billy said angrily. “In fact, Mrs. Deagle—”

She interrupted him with a gasp loud enough to draw the attention of Gerald Hopkins and Mr. Corben.

“Oh, dear!” she added, half smiling when she noticed they were already on the way to her rescue.

“What is it?” Gerald demanded.

“This young man accused me of trying to cash a bad check,” Mrs. Deagle stammered, her acting very hammy but obviously believable to Gerald. “He threatened to have me arrested.”

“Is that what you said, Peltzer?” Gerald asked coldly.

Without giving him a chance to answer, Mrs. Deagle turned to a man behind her in the line. “Didn’t you hear him say he’d like to have me arrested?” she prompted.

The man, a comparative newcomer to Kingston Falls, was not intimidated by her imperious attitude. “He didn’t say he’d like to,” he replied. “He said he could.”

“That’s bad enough,” Gerald interjected.

“What did Mrs. Deagle say?” Mr. Corben asked.

“I don’t know,” the man replied. “Her back was toward me, so I could only hear his side of the conversation.”

“I demand an apology,” Mrs. Deagle sputtered. “As a matter of fact, I demand that you fire this impudent loser. He’s no good to this bank, anyway.”

Mr. Corben hesitated. His expression seemed to imply that even if Billy were not guilty of insulting the woman, this might be a good opportunity to fire him. Young Hopkins had been after him for several days, denigrating Peltzer and his work every time he had the chance.