Benjamin Franklinstein Meets the Fright Brothers

by Matthew McElligott

  Suddenly, the pizza box fell from the front of Skip’s scooter and caught in the wheel. Skip lost control and skidded directly toward the camera. Something heavy crashed to the floor and the entire newsroom seemed to tip on its side. The screen went black, and the station cut to a used car commercial.

  “Bravo!” cheered Franklin. “Bravo! Oh, it’s pure genius!”

  “It’s embarrassing,” said Victor. “If I want to see a clown, I’ll go to the circus.”

  “Victor, that’s Scott’s father! Show some respect.”

  Victor snorted. “Watching his forecast is like watching a cartoon.”

  “My cartoons!” Franklin blurted. “Now where did I place that wand?” He reached beneath the seat cushion and rummaged for the remote. The commercial ended and the news came back on.

  “Coming up, we’ll take a look at those new electricityfree miracle lightbulbs that have been showing up in stores throughout the city. Do they really work? We’ll find out! But first, we join Mayor Milstead’s press conference, already in progress.”

  Mayor Milstead stood behind a podium, with two men beside her. The first man wore a crisp blue suit and appeared to be standing at attention. The second man was much shorter. He slouched, and his beard was full of crumbs. The mayor began to speak.

  “I am here today to talk about reports we have received of what some are calling giant monster bats flying over Philadelphia. In fact, some citizens have even called my office suggesting these may be vampires. Clearly, this is an overreaction to something that no doubt has a simple explanation. Still, I assure you that we take this issue very seriously . . .”

  “A female mayor?” marveled Franklin. “Fascinating!”

  “I’ve asked two authorities, Gilbert Girard from the Federal Aviation Administration and Dr. Robert Kane of the Philadelphia Zoo, to head up a special investigation. They will report directly to my office. In the meantime, we have established a toll-free hotline . . .”

  “Oh, yeah, I read about this,” said Victor. “Enormous bats flying around the city? It’s preposterous.”

  “A short time ago, I would have told you that instant pudding was preposterous,” said Franklin. “How can you be so certain?”

  “Trust me.”

  “So there are no giant bats? No . . . vampires?”

  “Of course not,” said Victor. “It’s probably just a publicity stunt. We don’t have giant bats in Philadelphia, and there’s no such thing as vampires.”

  THAT NIGHT . . .

  Glenda Milstead, mayor of Philadelphia, poured herself a cup of tea and carried it out to the patio. A long day at City Hall had left her with a bad headache, and she needed to relax. She settled into her deck chair and gazed at the night sky.

  It was dusk, and the stars were just beginning to emerge. Overhead, a bat flitted by, followed by two more. She watched them zigzag across the sky, chasing insects too small to see.

  Bats. The last thing she wanted to think about.

  All day long, her office had fielded more reports of giant bat sightings. Just this morning there had been almost sixty calls. Hopefully, the investigation would yield results. Something strange was definitely going on, and she planned to get to the bottom of it.

  A soft rustling sound came from the bushes.

  “Who’s there?” Mayor Milstead called.

  Silence.

  The wind whispered and shook the trees.

  Mayor Milstead let out a long sigh. All this talk of giant bats had her spooked. She turned to head back inside, then paused. Something still didn’t feel right.

  Fwoooooooosh!

  Mayor Milstead felt a sharp bite on the side of her neck.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A Simple Solution

  Wednesday was the Fourth of July. Victor rose bright and early and suddenly knew exactly what he had to do. It was an idea so simple, so obvious, he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t thought of it before.

  There was no way Victor and Ben could be around twenty-four hours a day to listen for a call from the electrophone. But . . . they could invent something to do the listening for them. An alert system.

  Still in his underwear, Victor raced to his desk and began to sketch some ideas. He knew the electrophone had a distinctive electrical charge when it was in use. All they’d need to do would be to attach a simple sensor to the pickup coil, and that sensor could connect to his laptop, and the laptop could send an alert to his phone . . .

  One by one, the pieces snapped into place. The idea was simplicity itself. And with Ben’s help, they might even be able to get it up and running before the parade started. Victor threw on some clothes and grabbed his laptop.

  Downstairs, he knocked on the front door of Franklin’s apartment. It was early, and there was a good chance the old man was still asleep. But this idea was so good, Victor was certain his friend wouldn’t mind being disturbed.

  Technically, Franklin didn’t sleep. Whereas a normal person’s body was more than half water, Franklin’s coursed with electrified harmonic fluid, a wondrous substance that had allowed him to survive for centuries in suspended animation.

  Unfortunately, the harmonic fluid lost its charge fairly quickly, so Franklin spent his nights plugged into an outlet in his apartment. This recharged both his bloodstream and the special battery belt that Victor had devised to keep him regulated through the day. Without the belt, Franklin risked becoming over- or underpowered, either of which could lead to disastrous results.

  Victor knocked again, and the door swung open. There stood Franklin, proudly resplendent in his colonial-era clothing.

  “Victor! Good morning!”

  “Hi, Ben. I’m sorry to get you up so early.”

  “Early? I’ve been up for hours. Are you as excited about the Independence Day Bicycle Parade as I am?”

  “Uh, probably not as excited as you are,” said Victor, “but, sure, I’m excited.”

  “You must see my bicycle. Please, come in.”

  Victor stepped inside Franklin’s apartment. There, in the center of the room, stood the most ridiculously patriotic bike Victor had ever seen. Painted in alternating stripes of red, white, and blue, it sported streamers, cardboard stars, and a flag of Franklin’s own “Don’t Tread on Me” design. Even the tires had been decorated with glitter and stickers.

  Franklin walked over and stood proudly beside the handlebars. “What do you think, my boy?”

  “It’s very . . . American. Did you do this all yourself?”

  “I’ve been working on it all week. Is it enough?”

  “Enough?”

  “Enough to honor this great day! I have more stickers—”

  “No, I think it has enough stickers,” said Victor. “You’ve really been looking forward to this, haven’t you?”

  “Since seventeen seventy-six, my boy! I only wish Jefferson, Adams, and Washington could be here to share it with me. Well, maybe not Adams—he could get cranky. But you know what I mean.”

  “I do.” Victor knelt down and admired Franklin’s handiwork. “It’s a great bike, Ben. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “Thank you, Victor. And how are things with you?”

  “Excellent. I’ve had a brainstorm.”

  Victor explained his plan for an electrophone alert system as Franklin listened intently. Although the old man had missed the last two centuries of technology, he was a quick study.

  “It’s brilliant!” said Franklin. He paused for a moment, deep in thought. “But . . . have you considered attaching the sensor directly to the speaking cone on the electrophone? That’s where the harmonic signal strength should be greatest.”

  “I considered that,” said Victor. “But wouldn’t it interfere with the—”

  “Not if we insulate the pickup coil completely,” interrupted Franklin. “In fact, the insulation might well—”

  “—solve our harmonic interference problem!” finished Victor. “It makes perfect sense. But we’d better hurry. Scott said he’
d be here at nine thirty.”

  “To the laboratory!” announced Franklin, with a flourish.

  The work went even faster than Victor had expected, and within an hour they had their alert system working pretty well. Victor went outside to wait for Scott while Franklin put a few finishing touches on his bicycle.

  At ten fifteen, Victor finally spotted his friend pedaling around the corner at the far end of the street. He was carrying something big on his handlebars, and his bike wobbled and swerved under the weight. As he grew closer, Victor could see that the object was a large, wooden antique radio.

  THE GODWIN-FRANKLIN ELECTROPHONE ALERT SYSTEM

  “Hey, Victor,” huffed Scott, “check it out. This used to . . . be my . . . grandfather’s.” Scott careened up the sidewalk, where he and the bike dropped, exhausted, onto their sides. The radio tumbled off the handlebars and onto the lawn.

  Victor walked over and tipped the radio upright. It was the size of a picnic cooler, and fancier than most of the furniture in his house. “Nice. Does it still work?”

  “Not so much,” said Scott. “I thought I could fix it, but I think I just made it worse.”

  Victor pulled open a small door on the back of the radio. Inside was a tangle of dusty tubes and wires. “What have you tried?”

  “All sorts of things,” said Scott. “I noticed some of the wires were red and some were black, so I colored them all black, but that didn’t help. My dad said it wasn’t safe to plug it in, so I added a bunch of batteries and wedged some aluminum foil into the empty spaces. The radio makes clucking sounds now, like there’s a chicken in there. That’s not right, is it?”

  “Probably not,” agreed Victor.

  “So anyway, I was thinking that maybe I could leave it here and your uncle Frank could help me look at it. He’s at least as old as the radio. Maybe he’ll catch something I missed.”

  “We can ask him,” said Victor, “although I don’t know if—”

  “Did someone mention my name?” Franklin appeared from around the side of the house, wheeling his starspangled bike. To Victor’s amazement, it was now covered with even more red, white, and blue decorations.

  “Hey, Mr. Benjamin,” called Scott. “That looks amazing!”

  Franklin beamed. “Why, thank you, Scott. I am honored that you approve.”

  “I wish my bike looked like that. Don’t you, Victor?”

  “Uh, sure. Yes, of course I do.”

  “I have more stickers,” offered Franklin. “Would you boys like some for your bikes?”

  “That would be awesome,” said Scott.

  “Definitely,” agreed Victor, “but I’m, uh . . . afraid we’re out of time. You guys don’t want to be late, do you?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Independence Day Bicycle Parade

  The Independence Day bike parade was a patriotic spectacle. Hundreds of Philadelphians pedaled down the street on decorated bicycles. Mayor Milstead led the way, her own bike sporting a pair of lit sparklers on the handlebars. A local high school band had loaded their drums, trumpets, trombones, and even a sousaphone onto their bikes and played a clumsy but rousing rendition of “Stars and Stripes Forever.”

  A crowd cheered from the sidewalks, giving an extra ovation to a man dressed as Benajmin Franklin. He wore authentic eighteenth-century clothes as he wobbled along. Even with training wheels, his balance was uncertain.

  “How’s it going, Ben?” Victor asked, pedaling alongside.

  “I admit to having some difficulty maintaining forward locomotion, steering, and sustaining my balance,” Franklin huffed. “But experience is the best teacher, and I shall soon master this remarkable contraption!”

  “Try not to think too much,” Scott suggested. “That’s what I do. Hey, look at that!”

  A small airplane flew overhead, towing an enormous banner reading FREE BICYCLE REPAIRS AT THE RIGHT CYCLE CO.

  Franklin grinned broadly, craning his neck to get a good look. “The airplane! Of all your modern-day inventions, that may be the most miraculous. I remember watching the Montgolfier brothers’ first hot-air balloon flight. We never dreamed that it would lead to—”

  “Watch the road!” Victor shouted.

  Franklin swerved and narrowly avoided crashing into a cycling trombonist.

  Several near misses later, the procession reached the performance stage in the park. Mayor Milstead got off her bike and joined four men who were waiting on the stage. A cluster of news vans was parked nearby, their cameras focused on the mayor.

  “Citizens of Philadelphia,” Mayor Milstead began, “I would like to thank you all for participating in our first annual Independence Day Bicycle Parade.”

  The crowd applauded.

  Victor craned his neck. “I can’t see anything. What’s happening up there?”

  “Yeah,” Scott said. “I heard there was free ice cream somewhere.”

  “We’re too far away,” Franklin said. “Perhaps these will help.”

  He reached into his pocket and produced what looked like a small pair of binoculars. They were constructed of two empty toilet paper rolls, a number of hand-ground lenses, and some duct tape. “I’ve been experimenting with the science of optics and thought this might come in handy. I call it the bioptiscope.”

  Victor put them up to his eyes, and the mayor’s face came into focus. “Wow, these work great.”

  “First,” Mayor Milstead continued, gesturing to two men standing behind her, “let us give a warm welcome to our city’s two newest entrepreneurs, the proprietors of the Right Cycle Company. They have sponsored this wonderful bicycle parade. Would either of you like to say a few words?”

  After a smattering of applause, the younger of the two men stepped before the microphone. He was tall, thin, and extremely pale, dressed entirely in black from his shoes all the way up to his bowler hat. Victor thought his clothes looked old-fashioned, like something you might see in a silent movie. Even though the man wore sunglasses, he still shielded his eyes from the sun’s rays with his hand. “In appreciation of your show of patriotism, my brother and I are pleased to offer every single person in this parade, and anyone watching at home, a free bicycle tune-up this Saturday at our shop, the Right Cycle Company.”

  Everyone cheered.

  Brothers? Victor wondered. One of them had to be at least thirty years older than the other. Peculiar.

  Mayor Milstead took back the microphone. “Thank you all. And now I have another announcement.”

  “Do you notice anything odd about their speech?” Ben asked.

  “They’re all talking kind of slowly, almost like robots,” said Victor. “Maybe they’re nervous.”

  Franklin nodded. “Public speaking is a challenge for many. I remember when Patrick Henry first attempted to speak before the House of Burgesses. His voice squeaked so loudly that the entire House erupted into—”

  “Hey, Victor,” Scott interrupted, “can I try Mr. Benjamin’s biopti-things? I want to get a better look.”

  “Sure.” Victor handed them over.

  Up on the stage, the mayor welcomed two more men to the podium. The first wore a crisp blue suit and appeared to be standing at attention. The second man was much shorter. He slouched and his beard was full of crumbs.

  “Over the past few weeks,” Mayor Milstead continued, “there has been some concern regarding sightings of giant monster bats flying above the city. To clarify, I’d like to introduce Mr. Gilbert Girard of the Federal Aviation Administration Flight Standards District Office.”

  The man in the blue suit leaned into the microphone. “After exhaustive observation and research, the FAA conclusively reports that the bats that people claim to have seen are in fact mirages caused by swamp gas rising from the outskirts of town.”

  The crowd murmured.

  “Thank you, Mr. Girard,” Mayor Milstead said. “We also have with us Dr. Robert Kane, eminent small-mammal zoologist from the Philadelphia Zoo. Dr. Kane, would you share your findings with
the people of Philadelphia?”

  Dr. Kane took the microphone. “After exhaustive observation and research, the Philadelphia Zoo conclusively reports that the bats that people claim to have seen are in fact mirages caused by swamp gas rising from the outskirts of town.”

  “Do we even have swamps in Philadelphia?” Victor asked. “I thought—”

  Beep! Beep! Beep!

  “The transmitter!” Victor gasped, checking the readout on his cell phone. “Someone’s calling on the electrophone!”

  “We must return to the laboratory at once,” Franklin said. “Follow me.”

  “Hey, guys,” Scott said, peering through Franklin’s bioptiscope, “there’s something wrong with this thing. It makes the people up there look like they have glowing eyes.”

  He glanced around, but Victor and Franklin were gone. “Guys? Where’d you go?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A Voice from the Ether

  Victor wove through the crowd, pedaling furiously. Ben struggled along behind, trying desperately to control his bike. In frustration, he hopped off and began to push.

  “Go on without me, Victor!”

  The phone was still beeping, but Victor knew it might stop at any second. What if the caller gave up and never called back? Victor’s legs burned, but he pedaled faster.

  At the corner, he made a split-second decision and jumped his bike up and over the curb. The path down the hill was dangerously steep, but it could save precious seconds. His bike shook as it bounced down the rutted incline. Victor found himself moving faster than he could pedal, and threw his weight from side to side in a desperate effort to steer. The front wheel wrenched to the right, and he toppled over the handlebars onto the hard ground.

  The phone stopped beeping.

  Victor’s shoulder throbbed. Blood ran down his shin from his knee, but he scarcely noticed. He pulled the phone from his pocket and was relieved to see that the impact had only knocked the battery loose. Maybe the caller hadn’t hung up. There might still be time.

  The front rim of his bike was twisted at a right angle. He’d have to leave it behind. Victor raced, half running, half limping, toward the gap in the fence.