Authors: George Gipe
“Where is everybody?” she hissed between clenched teeth. “Aren’t there any cops in this town?”
Suddenly a cigar-sucking Gremlin popped up in front of her, waiting to be served. Kate poured him a drink. Screeching angrily, he threw the glass and its contents into the crowd near the pool table, clawed the counter, and seemed about to leap at Kate.
“What?” she yelled.
The creature gestured to the dead cigar.
“Why didn’t you say so?” Kate muttered.
She located the butane lighter and moved it quickly toward the Gremlin’s face, snapping it on. A jet of flame six inches high shot from the lighter, causing the Gremlin to squint, grunt in pain, and stumble backward.
“Sorry,” Kate murmured.
As she adjusted the flame to a lower level, a plan was forming in her mind. Those rules Billy mentioned when he turned the Mogwai over to Mr. Hanson—wasn’t one of them something about avoiding bright direct light? Of course, Kate reassured herself, that’s why the Gremlin with the cigar didn’t care much for the high flame when it came close to his eyes.
Kate looked around. If direct light was her ally, she was mired deep in enemy territory. Why couldn’t she have been trapped in the bank or an office building? Then her only problem would have been getting to the switches in order to turn on the overhead lights and escape in the pain and confusion.
Dorry’s Pub was a completely different situation. Dimly lit, there was not an overhead light throughout the entire lounge area. They called it romantic, old-fashioned, cozy, but for Kate it was a trap. Unless Dorry kept a flashlight or two behind the bar, she had no way of using light as a secret weapon. He’s got to have a flashlight, she thought, flinging open doors and panels, all the while continuing her duties as waitress, punching bag, and slave to the green masses at the bar.
Probably having gotten bored with pool, video games, food, and drink, she noted that they were becoming more and more obnoxious. Kate was gradually losing her patience, too, her annoyance and fear rising as she went through one drawer filled with useless junk after another.
“I can’t believe it,” she whispered angrily, “there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. How can a bar not have a flashlight behind the counter?”
There were several packs of matches, she noted, all gaily decorated in green and white with the outline of a four-leaf clover, a shillelagh, and the telephone number and address of Dorry’s Pub. For a moment she toyed with the idea of setting them on fire one pack at a time and holding them before her, forcing the Gremlins to retreat like Dracula from a crucifix. Lots of luck, she thought. Such a strategy might irritate the closest Gremlins, but there was so little shock value in a pack of slowly burning matches, she had no faith in the plan.
“Still,” she mused, “if it’s the only game in town . . .” A claw reached about her waist as a second, not belonging to the same owner, grabbed at her arm. Twisting away, Kate walked quickly to the middle of the bar, trying not to appear frightened or intimidated.
The two Gremlins followed, elbowing their way through the double and triple layers of fellow carousers packed along the rail of the bar.
Clutched in her left hand, which she carefully but casually tucked beneath her apron, were the packs of matches, Kate’s only slim hope. If she could get them all in a single ashtray and light the whole thing at once, maybe, just maybe—
Two more Gremlins seated at center bar reached out for her, the more aggressive one lying flat on his belly in order to grab Kate’s thigh. As he did so, a roar of approbation burst from the other Gremlins near the scene. Reacting instinctively, Kate picked up the nearest bottle and slammed it alongside the Gremlin’s head, not pulling her punch in the slightest degree. A heavy liquid thunk, like a cantaloupe hitting the floor, told her the blow was a solid one. As the creature nose-dived onto the bar, its eyes rolling up into the top of its head and the smile collapsing into a confusion of flaccid drooling lips, Kate felt the first surge of relief since her ordinary evening of waitressing had turned into a torture test.
Following her knockout blow, Kate noted grimly that the reaction of the other Gremlins was not exactly what she had expected. Humans—even construction workers, Kate thought ironically—would have laughed at the comeuppance rendered on their buddy, partly because an innate sense of justice would have told even the vilest drunk that the grabber got what he deserved. Apparently the Gremlins didn’t look at it that way, instead regarding Kate’s act of self-defense as an attack on all of them. In a moment the quasi-happy jabbering changed to an ominous rumble as the Gremlins angrily debated what to do with this evil person.
Oh-oh, Kate thought, quickly picking up the drift of their muttering. Unless I miss my guess, they’re talking about me. Looks like it’s match time.
She hastily began tearing the matches from the books and putting them in an ashtray, shielding her actions by leaning against the cash register. It was while fumblingly doing this that she saw the camera.
It was Dorry’s Instamatic, carefully stashed out of sight behind the register. And it had a flashcube. A perfect offensive weapon that could open a pathway out of captivity. She grabbed it with a quick compulsive gesture that was not lost on the Gremlins at the bar.
There was no time to plan the best way out or gain a head start before using the flashcube. In fact, the hordes were already pouring over the counter so fast Kate barely had time to get the camera in position, find the button, and push. Her mind wasn’t even allowed a moment for the dubious luxury of agonizing over the possibility the device wouldn’t work.
Psheee—ick.
The sudden burst of light from the flashbulb created an immediate vacuum at the bar, Gremlins tumbling backward and over each other in their reaction to the pain. Kate used the precious seconds of chaos to race to her right and fling herself around the right side of the counter. There she ran into a new group of angry Gremlins.
A second explosion of light gouged a six-foot wedge of empty floor space ahead of her. She plunged forward, trying not to notice the clutching claws immediately behind her. Now the green creatures were mobilized by fury, their screeching chorus swirling around Kate like vaporized hatred. As she advanced spastically toward the front door, she realized they had no intention of taking prisoners in this small but bitter conflict.
Blocked once more by a new curtain of green-brown bodies and vengeful eyes but now within sight of the exit, she pushed the button again.
Psheee—ick.
Thank God, she thought, it worked.
Struggling forward into the temporary no-man’s-land, she stumbled into the foyer. A split second later Gremlins were all about her, screaming and clawing. She could feel pinpricks of pain all over her body as they fought to get a good claw’s grip on her. One hand against the wall to keep from falling, she brought the camera forward again. Let it work one more time, she prayed, just once.
The camera clicked, but this time there was no detonation of brightness, no howl of pain and rage from the enemy, no recoiling in terror away from her. Instead they surged forward around their target like waves breaking over a rock.
Kate let go of the camera, heard herself scream, could not help falling forward into the turgid green sea with its clawed wavelets reaching for her.
Even as she fell, Kate saw a huge flash of light against the foyer wall. Their giggles of vengeful glee turning to shrieks of pain, the Gremlins scattered to the shadows, leaving Kate alone on the floor, her torn clothes and body bathed in a trapezoidal pattern of illumination shaped by the front windows.
For a moment Kate’s numbed mind worked sluggishly. Had the fall somehow triggered the flashcube? Then, as she freed herself from the shock of the past few moments, she realized the lights came from outside, that the headlights of a car were pointed directly into the building. Not knowing how long these saving beams would last, she scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could and raced for the door.
Outside, a figure that had just gotten out of the car called her name in a familiar voice.
“Billy!” Kate shouted back.
“Are you all right?” he asked, folding his arms about her when she ran to him.
“I . . . I think so. But those things . . . How many are there?”
“I don’t know,” Billy replied. “They’re everywhere. I thought they’d gotten you, too.”
“Me too? Who else?”
“We don’t have time to stand here talking about it,” Billy said. “We gotta get help. I don’t know wh—”
As he spoke, the idling VW started to miss, its rhythm punctuated by heavy lurches and a slamming sound from the rear. Leaping into the car, Billy stabbed at the gas pedal, but in his haste gave the engine too much fuel. With a single gag, it died.
“Not now!” Billy swore.
Kate got in beside him.
“Is it all right?” she asked. “I’d like to get away from here soon.”
“It’s temperamental,” Billy replied, turning the key. When the engine failed to start immediately, he turned off the lights and sat back.
“What are you doing?” Kate whispered. “Giving up?”
“No. It’s just that it may be flooded, so it’s best to wait a minute or two.”
“But the lights—”
“Leaving them on will wear down the batter—”
A beer bottle slammed against the windshield, creating a spider web of broken glass and frightening Kate and Billy nearly out of their wits.
“That’s why I asked about the lights,” Kate murmured. “It’s the only thing keeping them away.”
Another heavy object smashed into the windshield.
“Maybe we’d better run,” Kate suggested.
“Just a second,” Billy said.
Turning the ignition key once again, he ground away for nearly a minute without success. Meanwhile a hail of ashtrays, bottles, and pool table accessories bounced off the hood or clunked against the side of the car.
“Yeah,” Billy said finally. “You’re right.”
Reaching into the back of the car, he grabbed the knapsack with such a jerk that Gizmo nearly fell completely out, his fall being broken only by his feet getting tangled in the strap. Grumbling in Mogwai, he ducked back inside and then reemerged, only the tip of his nose and eyes showing.
Not recognizing Gizmo in the darkness, Kate recoiled, thinking the car had been infiltrated by Gremlins.
“It’s O.K.,” Billy said. “It’s only Giz. Let’s go.”
Getting out of the car, they dashed through the barrage of objects flying from the tavern, pausing only when they had crossed the street. They looked at each other and smiled, both realizing at the same time that they were just outside the bank, the door of which was open.
“Can you beat that?” Billy said. “They even found a way to get in the bank after closing hours.”
“Maybe we’d better check and see if everything’s all right,” Kate suggested.
Billy nodded. They went inside and turned on the lights, which caused a scurrying of feet out the back door. In the harsh glow of the overhead incandescent lights the vandalized bank looked as if a typhoon had recently passed through. All of the tellers’ windows were broken, pieces of furniture lay on their sides, cash drawers were open and money of all denominations was everywhere.
“I guess they figured it was just useless paper to them,” Billy said.
“And to make sure it would be useless to everybody else, they tore all the bills in pieces,” Kate pointed out, picking up several mutilated dollars and then letting them fall back to the littered floor. “Boy, I think I’ll quit this job,” she added, looking around at the monetary mess. “We’ll never get this to tally.”
“Yeah . . .”
A soft moan echoed through the bank, causing them to exchange chilled expressions.
“Who’s there?” a distant voice asked. “I can hear someone. May I be of assistance?”
“Sounds like Ger,” Billy remarked.
Kate nodded.
“We’re not open for business yet, but it’s all right to come in and chat,” Gerald Hopkins’s voice said in an uncharacteristically agreeable tone.
“He must be in the vault,” Kate said . . .”
Billy took her hand and together they walked past the executive offices to the room at the end of the corridor. Its door was ajar.
“Is somebody out there?” Gerald’s voice asked. He sounded distracted, singsongy, almost drugged.
Billy pushed the door open and gingerly they entered the room.
Kate gasped.
The vault and anteroom were in total disarray, but that was the least terrifying element they saw. On the floor lay the inert body of Roland Corben, his features relaxed as if he were enjoying an afternoon nap. Kate and Billy knew immediately that he was not sleeping, however.
“Poor Mr. Corben,” Kate breathed.
Their eyes rising from the floor at the same time, they saw Gerald Hopkins in the background, apparently locked in the securities room of the vault. Gripping the steel bars like a penitentiary inmate, he smiled out at them, speaking in a deferential but firm tone of voice.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “You’re both too big to use this bank.”
“What?” Billy responded, puzzled.
“This bank is for little people only,” Gerald explained. He held his palm approximately waist-high and then continued in the same strange voice. “We’re going to redecorate this entire bank, lower the tellers’ windows, make the furniture smaller—everything so that little people will feel more at home here.”
He gestured grandly but in a sort of slow motion, as if he were in a trance or dreaming. “This is going to be the first bank just for little people,” he said softly. “Think of it. And I’m the president.”
Kate and Billy stole sidelong glances at each other.
“If you ask me, I think his buttons are in the wrong buttonholes,” Kate whispered.
“Could be,” Billy replied.
“The world has needed a facility for little people for a long time,” Gerald intoned. “And now, with me as their leader, they’re going to get it.”
“Little people,” Billy said. “Do you mean the Gremlins?”
“I don’t know what they’re called. All I know is they talk very fast and so funny Mr. Corben didn’t understand them. That’s why they—”