Stranger and Stranger Read online

  Later

  Was interrupted by Mom just now. She threatened to withhold food until I am done packing. Just one of our little mother-daughter jokes. She knows I can easily synthesize all the foodstuffs I might need right here in my bedroom lab. Still, I can see she means business, so I assured her I would DEFINITELY get some quality packing accomplished tonight. Since it IS our last night here and all.

  But first, back to the incriminating stuff, with a list of my top Blandindulle pranks. No particular order.

  Made well-tailored clothing for all 9 public statues in town. Black dresses, to be exact. Dressed them all one moonless night. Great photos in newspaper the next day.

  Broadcast pirate TV show interrupting prime time for silent footage of bees.

  Infiltrated beverage packing plant and surreptitiously inserted 2,300 plastic mice into 2,300 bottles of beverage.

  Built telecom interrupter, misdirecting 665 phone calls to random numbers.

  Followed Blandindulle Police Cruiser #9 on its journeys one fateful evening. And all through the night, no matter where Officers Fadler and Skint went, they smelled burnt toast. AHAAHHAAHAHHAHHAHAA!

  Threw huge cat-only party in the cemetery. Townspeople not pleased about subsequent feline fecal desecration of the lawn. But we did it for the dead! (Note: We Did It for the Dead = brilliant name for a band!!!!)

  Chopped hole in my basement leading to town sewers, then slogged through said sewers into public buildings, then spied on elected officials in said buildings, then rearranged the office drawers of said officials.

  Arranged for Mom to win 50 bucks in a contest she never even entered.

  Threw my voice a lot: 7 fully developed characters. 47 townspeople hoodwinked. Good times.

  Got the local scientific community riled up by publishing analysis of my recent advances in singularity theory. Anonymously. While they hotly debated my identity, I short-sheeted their beds.

  Designed, handcrafted, marketed, and sold a popular line of scarves. Unbeknownst to the purchasers, I had knitted hilarious images into them, which only the color-blind could see.

  Built perfectly official-looking roadblocks to cut off traffic to streets where I decided cars were no longer welcome.

  Used nail scissors to carefully snip certain inflammatory images into certain neighbors’ front lawns.

  Yeah, I’ve got a lot of fond memories of this town. And NO interest in packing.

  Later

  Possessions that are very hard to pack:

  Bottles of my patented Revenge-in-a-Jar—you break one of these in a vehicle and you might as well drive it straight to the junkyard; the stuff is that stinky.

  Crash-test dummies—the old porcelain kind, anyway.

  Matchstick model of the bone church of Kutná Hora. (Note: Bone Church = amazing name for a band!!!!!!)

  88 live eels.

  The toys of 4 cats. They are everywhere, under everything, stuck to everything, contributing nothing to the Packing Effort, distracting cats, thereby distracting me from the Packing Effort.

  My lovely, lovely Oddisee and all its auxiliary devices.

  Great-Aunt Millie—she’s elusive like that.

  The 5-foot-by-7-foot section of wall I did my first public mural on.

  Pitchblende.

  My collection of minuscule rocks. These are rocks so tiny, any normal person would see them as colorless, indistinguishable, infinitesimal grains of sand. Grains of sand, chuh!!! These rocks, which have worn down from giants over the eons? These ones, formerly boulders of immeasurable girth, history, and footprint? How unique, masterful, and compelling each one is! Unfortunately, they’re also really easy to lose if you have to pack them.

  Collection of cat whiskers—because the temptation to hurl them into the rug like wee spears is too intense for me.

  The annexes, passageways, ramps, dumbwaiters, and substories I’ve constructed on this house since we moved in.

  Every…single…other…frabbing…thing.

  Luckily I have SOME help, although I can’t really take the time right now to program Raven for packing, and trying to direct her to help me has been going a little bit like this:

  ME: OK, Raven, wrap this chandelier in tissue and put it in a box.

  RAVEN: Uhhhh…K. [Walking toward my lab. Grabbing test tubes full of tissue samples. Fleshy, festering, DISEASED tissue samples.]

  ME: [Envisioning my chandelier wrapped in diseased tissue samples. Yes, yes, very striking, but we have no time for avant-garde interior decorating right now.] No, Raven…ehhh, never mind.

  SIGH. At least she’s got the strength of five men and can carry all my bulky items down to the moving van for me. Hooray for my superstrong golem!!! I am not lifting anything!!!!

  Much Later

  Have lifted approximately 923 bulky items. With all the moving we do, you’d think I would have less stuff.

  June 1

  sleep units, 0; boxes packed, 1 million; new towns selected, 1

  Spent the entire night and most of today packing stuff, removing miscellaneous surveillance equipment from the house, eliminating traces of my presence here, and saying goodbye to favorite spots. In the panic of the last few moments, I called Zenith and told him that, as my going-away present to him, he could help himself to anything I couldn’t pack. He was over here within seven minutes with a moving van of his own. He seemed incredibly happy with whatever he managed to scrounge, though it looked like a lot of balled-up spiderwebs and broken guitar strings to me. (I think he was just as disappointed as I was that the incredibly heavy no-drip candlestick could not be lifted by any means and is staying right where it is, buried in the floorboards.)

  So. Goodbye, Blandindulle.

  Am now in cab of moving van with Mom and cats, headed out. Raven and Great-Aunt Millie are packed away in the back with our stuff. Mystery is curled up on my lap, asleep and purring. Man, nothing fazes her. Miles and NeeChee are obviously bothered by vehicle travel but way too cool to show it, so they are squatting on the floor, glaring at my feet. Sabbath had to be restrained and is busy trying to eat his way out of the cat carrier and/or deafen us with his yowling. Undignified!!

  Later

  Asked Mom where we were headed, and she handed me the map and said it was my turn to pick. Silifordville, here we come! Hey, it may not have the MOST hilarious name of any town I’ve lived in, but it’s only 56 miles away—that’s 610 miles closer than Boody, and I’m hungry. We can move to Boody next time!

  Later

  Have been crushed by sudden attack of anxiety over what the new town will be like. Part of me is raring to go get lost in a new place where everything is unknown and just waiting for me to discover and exploit it. And another part of me is huddled in the fetal position, rocking and weeping, afeard that they will have no junk shops for me there.

  —Oh flamjars, here’s our exit, will write later—

  Later

  Am sitting in the cab of the moving van outside the real-estate office, sending hopeful vibes in Mom’s direction. Am banking on her finding us a house with enough room for all my stuff. Attic, basement, preferably a subbasement or two, some outbuildings if possible, nice big yard ESSENTIAL, treehouse would be nice, detached laboratory not too much to hope for…

  Here comes Mom! Fingers crossed!

  MUCH Later

  Have lifted all those bulky items AGAIN. GAHHHHHH!!!

  At least our new house is decent—three stories, attic and basement, big yard with giant trees. No detached lab, but I’ll make do. Cats have been released and are busy marking territory. Have left Great-Aunt Millie’s traveling jar open in the doorway to the attic so that she can take her time getting used to the new haunting grounds. Have claimed third floor for myself. Second floor will be for whatever family antiques I don’t decide to use in my room. Mom’s bedroom will be on the first floor. She knows by now it’s smart to keep at least one whole floor between her bedroom and my experiments.

  Have also had first conversation with n
ew neighbor.

  NEIGHBOR LADY: It’s just so nice to see someone finally moving into the old Carrico place!

  ME: [Ears pricking up.] Oh yeah? Has it been empty for decades or something? Is it haunted? Cursed? Built over an Indian graveyard?

  NL: [Taken aback.] Uh, no, dear, nothing like that. It just…needed a new paint job, probably.

  ME: [Losing interest. Silently removing myself from conversation.]

  MOM: Well, that’s good to hear. We certainly don’t need any more poltergeists in our lives.

  NL: Oh my! Isn’t that cute? What…Oh…AIEEEEEEEE!

  M: EMILY! GET YOUR ROBOT WEASEL BACK IN THE HOUSE RIGHT AWAY! Sorry about that, ma’am, very sorry, just an old science experiment of my daughter’s, absolutely nothing to worry about, of course I’ll be happy to pay any doctor’s bills, and why don’t we just step across the street for a few moments…?

  Welcome to the neighborhood!

  Later

  New task of unpacking all these boxes awaits me. It’s OK, I like the unpacking half of the equation more than the packing. Will always find a couple of boxes that haven’t been opened in years. No end to the treasures.

  Later

  Top 13 things I’ve unpacked that I kind of forgot I had:

  Four cat leashes—AHAHHAHHAHAHHAHHA!…As if.

  Spider cemetery full of precious dried-up 8-legged little carcasses that I made for a school project when I was, like, 6.

  All-purpose emergency kit consisting of paper clip, detonator, can of spray paint, black licorice ration, cat treat ration, tube sock, and stick of gum.

  Unfinished manuscript titled Cats of the World, in which I describe all the cats in the world. No, not every BREED of cat. Every INDIVIDUAL cat.

  The perpetual-motion machine, dark-energy generator, and cold-fusion cell that the military-industrial complex is paying me to forget I invented.

  Photo of me with the antigravity machine I made for a school science fair. I’m wearing a red ribbon that says “Most Unusual Project.” Chaaaaa!

  Hilarious statuettes of past teachers of mine, made from spitballs and gum.

  Unmailed fan letters to Dr. Frankenstein, Madeline Usher, Dorian Gray, Audrina Adare, Emily St. Aubert, and Volkert the Necromancer.

  Customized chess set featuring hand-carved miniatures of the last 18 Junior National Slingshot Champions. The ones before me, that is.

  Full 66-volume set of the Encyclopedia Transylvania.

  Souvenir hunk of shrapnel from ill-fated (but well-meaning) 4th of July celebration that involved a septic tank and some heavy explosives.

  Shriveled monkey’s paw, oozing raw evil, that I am much too smart to use.

  Antique birdcage large enough for an ostrich or an adult-sized golem.

  Later

  Just woke up from long nap. Had crashed out on floorboards, totally exhausted. Will get back into my normal nocturnal schedule as soon as my room is knocked into shape.

  About five minutes later

  Am not knocking room into shape tonight. Am pooped. Have not been having my usual excellent nightmares. Happens every time we move. Mystery is pawing at me to say that it is snuggle time. Must get some sleep.

  June 2

  boxes unpacked, 1 million; rooms knocked into shape, 1; golems programmed to respond to hints and suggestions, 1

  Spent a couple of hours working on Raven’s programming so she can be more useful to me in the Unpacking Effort. Not easy, but well worthwhile, because my room is now completely light-proofed, furnished, and decorated, and in just one night!!! In thee bad olde dayes, it would have taken roughly 123 separate commands to get Raven to unpack a box and put away the contents. But tonight all I had to say was, “Raven, let’s knock this room into shape!”

  And we did.

  Best touch so far is the huge antique birdcage, which I set up in one corner of the room. Then suggested to Raven that she would look really cool inside it. She got right in and sat on the perch. True, you have to know she has the brain of a raven to really get the joke, but still, the overall effect is EXCELLENT!!!!! Am very pleased.

  Later

  I may need to rethink keeping Raven in the birdcage. It’s kind of highlighting her presence, and I prefer that she stay a little more under the radar. Back in Blandindulle, she’d mostly hang around the room, assisting with experiments or just sort of blending into the background. But here, in the cage, she’s pretty much the first thing you notice. Um, by “you,” I mean Mom, since she is the only human besides me who enters my room. She was up here just a few minutes ago to check out the décor but got completely distracted by Raven.

  MOM: [To Raven.] Do you WANT to sit on that perch?

  RAVEN: Uhhhhhh…yeah?

  ME: It’s performance art, Patti.

  M: [Not really buying that.] E, tell me again about this person?

  ME: Remember, I showed you her circuits? She’s a raven. Robot. Android. Golem.…. It’s fine.

  M: I’d like to be supportive, but she gives me the creeps.

  Then I was all proud and gave Raven a seedcake treat for being creepy. Have also gotten her out of the cage, just to please Mom.

  Later

  Consulted with Great-Aunt Millie on her attic. She has requested an all-white theme. Entire room will need several coats of paint. SIGH. If there’s one thing I really don’t get along with, it’s white paint. Will be picking it out of my hair, fingernails, and clothing for a week. Should get Raven on this task. Should really get duplication device working and make some copies of Raven for faster attic-painting.

  Later

  Have been avoiding going to the store for white paint. Instead, spent a very fun hour frisking about the house with the cats. They have recovered from the indignity of the move and are thrilled with all the new smells, hidey-holes, unpacked treasures, and empty boxes. Personal territory has been sorted out, and Mystery is of course Mistress of the Bedroom. NeeChee is Ruler of the Netherworlds (AKA the basement). Miles has proclaimed himself Imperial Groundskeeper, and Sabbath…well, Sabbath doesn’t really have the personal authority to claim territory, but since no one else wanted the guest bathroom, it’s pretty much his.

  With the feline border disputes settled, we have collectively taken over the living room for the night. I cobbled together a cardboard Cat Maze—with strategic holes—and put Sabbath inside with some catnip. Then the other cats and I tormented him with paws, whiskers, and bits of string held just out of his reach until I hurt an internal organ from all the laughing.

  Afterward, Sabbath got special snuggles to reward him for taking a hit for the team and being our laughingstock for the night. SOMEONE’S got to do it, and Miles, NeeChee, and Mystery have done their tours of duty over the years, so now it’s Junior Cat’s turn.

  Anyway, I know he doesn’t mind. He is not a cat of great dignity.

  Later

  Gobfarks! Cannot WAIT to get going on my Silifordville Master Prank. I definitely need to start now so I am not trying to throw one together during the last few days before we inevitably move again.

  Unless a more brilliant plan presents itself, am sticking with my idea of duplicating everyone in town, then enjoying the chaos. Oh man. Had better start exercising abs now, so they can handle the gut-busting laughter.

  Will just rest my eyes for a few minutes first. Am pooped from all the programming, unpacking, laughing, and interior decorating.

  Later

  Just woke up, facedown in my journal. Have drooled all over the place. Going back to sleep.

  June 3

  sidewalks skated, 0; sewer tunnels explored, 17; personal mottos created, 1

  OK—Silifordville is no Blandindulle, but it does have some superior sewers!!!!

  It’s always high priority with me, whenever we move to a new town, to check out the sewer system and its relative usefulness for my needs. The easiest place to get into the Silifordville sewers (that I’ve found so far) is on a dead-end street where all the buildings seem to be vacant or i
nhabited by invisible hermits—anyway, there was no one around to see me lift the manhole cover and sneak inside.

  Of course I was wearing my special full-body sewer suit with oxygen tank—you only need to get bacterial pneumonia once, that’s for sure!!

  Spent the next couple of hours slogging through tunnels and mapping them. Was pleased to see that they are only ankle-deep in filth, with nice picturesque crumbling walls, horribly/delightfully antique valves and manholes, and no sign of infiltration by other people. If there’s one thing that really spoils an otherwise lovely sewer system for me, it’s other people. Well. OK. I guess you could say that about pretty much everything I enjoy in life: skateboarding, ROCK AND ROLL, thrift stores, weird science, arts & crafts, muscle cars with engines forged in the speed-loving dungeons of darkness…cats…prankery…nighttime loitering…the outdoors…the indoors…SOLITUDE…

  Am making a new addition to my general philosophy of life. It goes a little something like this:

  If there’s one thing that really spoils [fill in blank with anything good], it’s OTHER PEOPLE.

  OK—enough philosophy for one night. Am now back at my original manhole and about to return to the surface. (Note: Original Manhole would be a great name for a band, if no other phrases were available.) Excellent progress for one night! Cannot wait to come back!