“Your Excellency, I have perfected a machine that will turn the entire human race into cartoon characters.”
At once, the auditorium broke into laughter, made worse by Dr. Laszlo’s excellent imitation of Daffy Duck. “You’re dethpicable!” he shouted, and the room went into hysterics.
The audience quickly shut up, however, when the Count showed serious interest.
“I’m intrigued, Doctor. Tell me more,” said the Count.
Skeezix, flustered by the rude outburst in the room, approached the microphone again.
“As two-dimensional characters, mankind would be defenseless against our invading armies,” said the doctor.
“Brilliant. And which cartoon characters were you planning to use?” the Count asked eagerly.
Skeezix was surprised by the question. “Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters,” said the Count. “The Care Bears have magic powers, and Popeye has super-strength. I certainly would not want to face the Care Bears and Popeye on the battlefield.”
There was loud chatter in the room, all of the scientists vigorously agreeing with Count Kalashnikov. Even Rex had to admit that the Count’s logic was rock solid in this matter.
Mortified, Dr. Skeezix agreed to go back to the drawing board. “My apologies, Excellency. I will look into this problem at once.”
“Splendid,” said the Count. “Please continue your research.”
As the presentations continued, Rex would occasionally look over at Goldfarb to see how he was holding up. The old man was staring blankly at the stage, indifferent to the life-and-death drama that pervaded the auditorium. He seemed to have checked out mentally, which concerned Rex greatly.
Up next was Dr. Jekyll, a gaunt fellow in an Edwardian top hat and period clothing. He rolled out a table loaded with bubbling chemicals and smoking retorts. The Count eyed the display suspiciously.
“Dr. Jekyll, I hope we’re not going to have another scene like last month.”
“No, Excellency. I promise you, Mr. Hyde is completely under control and will cause no further damage.”
“Proceed then, Doctor. Carefully.”
Jekyll nodded and began his presentation.
“Today I have a demonstration on split personality—taken to its next logical step,” said the doctor.
Jekyll approached the table and began mixing chemicals. He raised a flask filled with a smoking liquid and swallowed it, and then clutched his throat, writhing in pain. Then he collapsed out of sight behind the table.
A moment later, a beastly hand clutched theatrically at the air, and an ape-like creature dressed in Jekyll’s clothing leaped onto the table. It was Mr. Hyde, of course, snarling and foaming at the mouth like a rabid animal, scaring the hell out of the audience.
Then a second Hyde popped up from behind the table, followed by another, and another, until a virtual clown car of Mr. Hydes started to fill the stage.
Montgomery watched this nervously, his finger hovering over the collar remote button.
“Not yet,” the Count told him. “Let’s see how this plays out.”
One of the Hydes overturned the table of chemicals while the other Hydes ran into the audience and started roughing up the crowd. Czarina and Thomp positioned themselves to protect the Count.
Then one of the Hydes spotted Czarina. He licked his lips and skulked toward her menacingly. As he reached out to grab her with his monstrous hands she kicked him squarely in the nuts, and he collapsed like a concertina.
At last, the Count’s patience was at an end. He used the power of his giant insect brain to detonate the brute’s collar, and the nearest Hyde creature exploded into a bloody mist. Then he turned and detonated the collars of the other Hydes running through the audience, splattering many of the scientists with blood and gore.
Dr. Jekyll, back to his normal state, appeared from behind the overturned table, looking humiliated.
“Just had to do it again, eh, Jekyll?” said the Count.
“My apologies, Excellency. I’m considering adding more saltpeter to the formula next time.”
As two monster janitors with push brooms cleaned up the mess on stage, the Count looked to the wings for the next presenter.
“Dr. Ambergris, please tell us what you have for us.”
A man in a white lab coat with screw ring goggles and a crazy shock of blue hair walked on stage.
“Your Excellency, you will be pleased to hear I have discovered a cure for your deformity.”
The Count looked perplexed, or as perplexed as a man with a giant bumblebee head can look.
“My deformity?”
“I can restore you to your normal self, and relieve you of that awful insect head,” Dr. Ambergris proudly proclaimed.
This drew an audible gasp from the other scientists in the auditorium. Czarina and Montgomery and even Thomp stared at the doctor in shock.
“I’m confused,” said the Count, his antennae wriggling contemptuously. “I have gone through considerable trouble to replace my useless human skull with this superior bumblebee head. Why would I want a new body?”
In the audience, Dr. Pretorius leaned over to whisper to Rex. “Poor fellow. He’s new here. Nobody told him never to mention the Count’s bumblebee head.”
Meanwhile, on stage, Dr. Ambergris nearly swallowed his tongue. He was terrified, shaking visibly and pitting out his new lab coat. It never occurred to him that this was elective surgery, and that the Count had actually wanted a bumblebee head.
“I-I-I apologize, Excellency,” the doctor spluttered. “I meant no disrespect.”
The Count glared at the doctor for what seemed like an eternity, calculating ten thousand gruesome punishments per second inside his giant insect brain. In the end, however, the Count decided to be magnanimous.
“I shall ignore this outrage because you are new to our island. Please return to your seat, Doctor, and remember that Trans-Insecta people have feelings, too.”
Dr. Ambergris was next to tears as he exited the stage, walking backward, apologizing profusely with every step.
“Y-Yes, Your Excellency. Thank you, Your Excellency.”
Montgomery whispered something to the Count and indicated the next scientist on the list. The Count glanced backstage.
“Dr. X, it looks like you’re up next.”
In the audience, Rex looked over at Dr. X, who was seated two rows in front of him and seemed to be napping. Montgomery also spotted the doctor and pointed to him from the stage.
“Will somebody please wake up Dr. X?” said the Count.
Someone seated next to the doctor tried to wake him, and then reported the bad news.
“I’m afraid Dr. X is dead, Your Excellency. Looks like a heart attack.”
The Count shook his giant bumblebee head sadly.
“Tsk, the pressure must have gotten to him. Perhaps we’ll get out of here early after all. Who’s next?”
The Frankensteins were next and showed off yet another monster created from a patchwork of dead bodies, promising the Count they could have hundreds of Frankenstein monsters ready to terrorize villages by Christmas.
Dr. Pretorius, another veteran of the island, presented his tiny ballerinas sealed in Mason jars, and swore he could transform them into thousands of savage miniature ninjas by Halloween.
And the Insidious Dr. Klaw Fang out-promised everybody by vowing to create a million battle-hardened warriors by Labor Day.
“Your Excellency,” said Klaw Fang, “I am creating a great army to erase the occidental scourge from the face of the earth. This army will number one million strong and be made entirely of butter.”
“Excuse me, Doctor. Did you say butter?” asked the Count.
“Yes, enemy swords will pass through my buttery soldiers without effect.”
“Butter?”
“That’s correct. If we start building dairies tomorrow, and get peasant labor to churn the butter, my magnificent army of butter warriors can be ready by Labor
Day.”
“Butter?”
“Margarine will also work. I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, too, in a pinch.”
“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” said the Count.
“Hmph. Better than cartoon people,” muttered Klaw Fang.
“What did you say?” asked the Count, annoyed.
“Nothing, Excellency. Nothing at all,” said Klaw Fang, realizing he had stepped over the line. He tossed a smoke bomb at his feet and made a hasty retreat through a trap door on the stage.
The Pitch continued, as one after another each scientist took his turn on the stage and put on his best dog and pony show. Some of the scientists performed very well, impressing the Count, while many others fared miserably.
“I have developed a plague that will kill the first born son in every family,” said Dr. Umlaut.
“Too biblical,” replied the Count. “Next.”
“Human caterpillars,” proposed Dr. Absinthe.
“Too pervy. Next.”
“Cloning the Kardashians,” offered Dr. Golgotha.
“I’d rather have human caterpillars. Next.”
“Your Excellency,” Dr. Atwill proudly announced, “I have perfected an immortality drug derived from the feces of the Amazonian Snotfish.”
“Ick. Next.”
“But, Excellency—this is the Fountain of Youth!”
“Forget it. I’m not eating poop. Next.”
After nearly an hour more of this, an exhausted Count addressed the audience.
“I must tell you gentlemen that I am profoundly disappointed with the majority of your pitches today. It looks like we will have no shortage of candidates for expulsion.”
The audience grew very anxious and afraid. Rex looked at the exit doors, which were all guarded by Czarina’s monster goons.
As the list of presenters whittled down to the last handful, the Count was pleased to see the next name on the list.
“Ah, Dr. Goldfarb,” said the Count. “Just the man to save us from this mediocrity. Please join us onstage and tell us what you have.”
There was no answer from backstage.
Montgomery looked into the audience and saw Goldfarb sitting next to Rex. He pointed him out to the Count.
“Oh, there you are, Doctor,” said the Count. “Why are you not down here on the stage with us?”
Goldfarb stood slowly, his hands trembling, appearing to be in a confused daze. Rex looked deeply worried.
“I… I…” stammered the doctor.
“You have our complete attention, Doctor,” said the Count. “Please join us onstage with your presentation.”
There was a pause, during which Goldfarb took a long, sad look around the room. Finally, the old man spoke.
“Your Excellency, I have… nothing.”
The Count and Montgomery exchanged looks of surprise.
“Nothing at all, Doctor? Not even a new kind of invisible bikini bomb?” asked the Count.
“I’m sorry, Excellency. I am completely out of ideas.”
There was animated chatter in the audience. Montgomery looked up at Goldfarb with alarm.
“This is very bad news, Doctor,” said the Count. “You understand this guarantees expulsion.”
“I do, Your Excellency.”
The audience held its collective breath, waiting to see what would happen next. The Count looked at Montgomery, who could only throw up his hands helplessly, and then he looked at Czarina, who was grinning like the Cheshire cat.
“Very well,” said the Count at last. “Dr. Goldfarb is hereby expelled. Please put your affairs in order, Doctor. And thank you for your service.”
The carbon dioxide level in the room spiked precipitously as everyone in the audience exhaled in relief all at once.
Addressing the audience at large, the Count added:
“As for the rest of you, be grateful Dr. Goldfarb has thrown himself on a sword for you. Any one of you could be in his place right now. You are all dismissed.”
“Wait!” shouted Rex, jumping up from his chair. “Dr. Goldfarb has plenty of great ideas. He told me some of them.”
He turned urgently to Goldfarb. “Tell ‘em, Doc.”
The old man stood there dumbly, not responding.
“Dammit, Doc, don’t give up like this,” said Rex.
Back onstage, the Count admonished Rex for his insolence. “Sit down, hunchback. Remember your place.”
Rex turned to the stage to plead his case.
“He just gets confused. He’s got a shitload of diabolical inventions he’s been working on. He told me he was working on his biggest invention ever. It’s a goddamn planet-wrecker!”
Czarina shouted back at him.
“Silence, hunchback! The decision has been made.”
The Count turned his chair around and hovered offstage. The remaining scientists in the audience began leaving the auditorium, many bidding goodbye to Goldfarb and shaking his hand as they filed out.
Rex looked at Goldfarb.
“What’re you doing, Doc? These guys will kill you.”
“I’m tired, Rex. I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore.”
When the auditorium had nearly emptied, Czarina signaled a pair of her monster goons to collect Dr. Goldfarb. As they came up the aisle, Rex stepped between them and the doctor. He called out to the Countess.
“Hold on, you murderous bitch! How about taking on somebody who isn’t a hundred years old?”
The Countess glared at him angrily.
“Rex! Don’t do this,” Montgomery warned him from the stage. But Rex ignored him.
“S’matter, bitch? You afraid? Huh, bitch? Bitchy bitchy bitch.”
Montgomery grabbed the remote unit from his pocket and blasted Rex with a powerful surge of electricity. He dropped to the floor and flopped about in terrific pain.
“My apologies, Countess,” Montgomery implored. “This man has severe mental problems. He’s not even toilet-trained.”
Rex got back to his feet and steadied himself. Czarina watched him from the stage.
“Hunchback, I will forgive your insults because these men need your help,” she said. “But my patience is wearing thin.”
Rex cupped a hand to his ear.
“Say what, psycho bitch? Your voice was trembling from fear so much, I couldn’t understand you.”
Czarina became furious, pulling the crossbow off her back and nocking an arrow.
“I’ll show you fear,” she said.
She fired the arrow at him. Rex snatched it out of the air, two inches from piercing his skull.
“Come on, Czarina,” said Rex. “Just you and me. Dance with the Devil.”
Montgomery pointed the remote unit at Rex and prepared to zap him again, but Czarina stayed his hand. There was something about this man that surprised and intrigued her. He was not a terrified mouse like every other man on the island. This could be amusing.
“Very well, hunchback. Dance with the Devil,” said the Countess. “Except… both of you will play.”
Rex was stunned.
“No, no, no. Just me,” he protested. “This old fart will slow me down. I couldn’t give you a proper contest that way.”
“That’s the deal,” said the Countess. “You and the Doctor. Or, I can kill you both right now.”
Rex looked around helplessly, completely out of ideas. He took a deep breath. He knew it was the best deal he was going to get.
“All right. It’s a deal,” he said.
“Tonight, then. At sunset.” She smiled at him sinisterly.
“Looking forward to it,” said Rex.
Czarina turned and walked briskly off the stage.
As Rex and Goldfarb were handcuffed by the monster guards, Rex glanced up at the large skylight in the roof. Sunset was only a couple hours away.
Montgomery rushed up the aisle.
“Rex, are you nuts?” said Montgomery. “You won’t be facing just her—she’ll have her monster
s with her—all of them genetically designed to tear you limb from limb. You’re just a normal man now. You won’t have a chance.”
Rex simply shrugged.
“Bitch pissed me off.”
Chapter 9
Three Wishes
When the smoke from the magic lamp cleared, Crayon gasped in astonishment at the huge blue genie that nearly filled the front room of Rex’s apartment.
The genie was at least twelve feet tall, bald except for a topknot, and looked remarkably like Rex Ingram, the actor who played the genie in “The Thief of Bagdad” from the 1940s. He had talons and sharp, snaggled teeth, and was so big he had to crouch to fit inside the room.
“I am the genie of the lamp, O Mistress,” he said in a rich, baritone voice. “I am bound to grant you three wishes, if that is your desire.”
“Omigod, you’re an actual genie?” said Crayon.
“I am, Mistress. Do you desire the three wishes? I must have an answer before I can grant them.”
“Kyeah, I want ‘em. You kiddin’? Give ‘em here, buddy boy.”
The genie placed his right palm on his forehead and bowed respectfully.
“Then state your first wish and I shall grant it, Mistress.”
Crayon thought for a second and saw the cast on her arm.
“Okay, um… oh, I know. Mr. Genie, I wish for you to fix my broken arm.”
“Your wish is my command, Mistress.”
The genie snapped his fingers and instantly Crayon’s cast vanished and her arm was as good as new. Plus, just for extra flair, he removed a suspicious mole on her upper arm. She bent her elbow and flexed her fingers and giggled.
“Wow, that is wicked cool.”
Again, the genie salaamed.
“I hope I have pleased you, Mistress. Two more wishes remain and then I shall gain my freedom.”
“Your freedom, huh? Sure, why not? How long have you been cooped up in that gravy boat, anyway?”
“It is a lamp, Mistress, not a gravy boat. A man called Rex Havoc imprisoned me within the lamp many years ago, and I have vowed to have my revenge. Do you know this man?”
Crayon gulped and quickly covered up Rex’s name tag on her shirt.
“Rex Havoc? Nope, doesn’t ring a bell…”
The genie peered at her suspiciously, not entirely satisfied with her answer. But he let it go and returned to business.
Horror Island Page 6
