The Creature Department

by Robert Paul Weston

  The first looked like an airport metal detector. The second like a very strange, egg-shaped motorcycle helmet. Rising up between them was a huge pile of machinery topped off with . . .

  Something extraordinary!

  Bombastadons were well known for their ability to choose suitable and, more importantly, comfortable places to hibernate. The chair on top of all that machinery looked wonderfully cozy. It was surely the plushest recliner he had ever seen (or possibly the second-most plush).

  It looked sooo inviting, sooo ready to cradle his great, monumental corpulence! Oh, and look at that! There was even a ladder leading up to it. . . .

  Reggie, however, was hardly the most elegant of climbers. Getting off the ground on his own was rarely a simple undertaking. Ascending the ladder, he scrambled and stumbled, his legs kicking wildly at the air.

  More than once, his toes flung out and tapped parts of the machine. A few rungs up, his shoe hit something that might have been a control panel. But no, he thought, that was silly. Why would an extremely comfortable chair require a control panel?

  The moment he sat down, he knew he was right about this chair. He felt his mind at ease. Had he ever felt so relaxed before?

  No.

  Never.

  How extraordinary!

  In just a few moments, he felt himself about ready to drift off to the land of slumber. He was so stupendously relaxed, in fact, he hardly noticed the crack of thunder that sounded as his body was suddenly ZZZAPPED by a great blue bolt of lightning.

  CHAPTER 22

  In which Monica wants a promotion and Chuck doesn’t take his medicine

  Chuck Brickweather was feeling stressed. Again. His palms were sweating, his temples were throbbing, and his stomach was tied in knots (although the latter was probably because already that morning he had downed four bottles of Professor Heppleworth’s Knoo-Yoo-Juice).

  Tomorrow was the big shareholders’ meeting, and he still knew next to nothing about what went on in the company’s Research and Development Department. What if the professor fulfilled his promise? What if he showed up tomorrow with a fabulous new invention and knocked everybody’s socks off? It would surely be a disaster for Quazicom, and what was more, Chuck would almost certainly lose his job.

  That was why, somehow, some way, he had to get into that weird old mansion. For this, Chuck had formulated a plan.

  Having spent several days conducting his research at DENKi-3000 headquarters, he had discovered there were certain anomalies to the property. For one, the old blueprints and schematics he found in the company archives hinted at an elaborate tunnel system that connected the various buildings. The way in, Chuck realized, was under the ground.

  In an effort to go ahead with his plan, he had stolen the blueprints from the archives. He had come into work that day fully prepared to explore the tunnels below DENKi-3000. When he arrived in his office, however, something stopped him: an e-mail message.

  It had come from the DENKi-3000 vice president Monica Burkenkrantz, and it stressed him out even more than his failure to uncover Professor von Doppler’s secret. It was marked UU! (which stood for Uber-Urgent! and was pronounced “EEW!” like the sound you make when you step in something warm and mushy).

  Only top-level executives at DENKi-3000 could send UU! messages, and when your computer received one, it automatically locked itself into sleep mode. The only way to wake the thing up was to read the message. In this case, it was ominously succinct:

  Chuck. We need to talk. My office. 10 A.M. Monica Burkenkrantz, VP

  The first thing Chuck did when he read the message was to reach for the bottom drawer of his desk. He took out one bottle of Knoo-Yoo-Juice and gulped down its entire contents. He had a hunch he was going to need it.

  When he arrived, he was somewhat annoyed to see that Monica’s outer office, manned by Ralph, her administrative assistant, was even larger than the whole of the office DENKi-3000 had provided for him.

  “Ah, Mr. Brickweather,” Ralph greeted him when he entered, simpering from behind his desk. “Ms. Burkenkrantz has been expecting you.” He glanced at his computer screen to check the time. “And I see you are a few minutes early. That’s good. I know better than anyone how Ms. Burkenkrantz appreciates punctuality.”

  Chuck wasn’t sure he liked the man’s patronizing tone, but he was too stressed to voice his displeasure. Instinctively, he patted the breast pocket of his striped blazer, where he had stashed a spare bottle of Dr. Heppleworth’s.

  “Ms. Burkenkrantz is ready for you,” Ralph said with a weak smile. “You can go right in.”

  The vice president’s office was three times as big as Chuck’s. With close to 360-degree wraparound windows, it had a better view, too—at least if you were thrilled by the drab Bickleburgh skyline and the empty farmland beyond it.

  Monica was looking at her watch. “Right on time. Excellent.” She motioned for Chuck to have a seat in one of the chairs opposite her desk.

  “What was it you wanted to see me about?” he asked.

  “I think it’s time you and I had a heart-to-heart.”

  What did she mean by heart-to-heart? Chuck wondered if it was possible she had a crush on him (he wasn’t quite sure if this made him more or less stressed).

  With her elbows resting on the desk, Monica made a steeple with her fingers. “Did you know that before becoming vice president of DENKi-3000, I was also the vice president of three other companies?”

  Chuck shook his head.

  “It’s true. I was the VP of a button factory, a toothpick manufacturer, and, most recently, a company that produced dietary supplements.” She shook her head. “I hated every one of those jobs.”

  Chuck couldn’t see what this had to do with him. Then again, when was the last time he had shared a heart-to-heart with someone? Maybe they were all like this.

  “So you see, Chuck,” Monica continued, “you and I have shared goals.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “Shared goals, Chuck! You do know what that means, don’t you? We’re on the same team here.”

  “We are?”

  “Of course we are! Aren’t you paying attention?”

  “I am! I mean, I thought I was, but it’s just that—”

  “This is the fourth time I’ve been vice president of a company. It’s becoming a habit. A bad habit. Which is precisely what a vice is. A bad habit. How would you like to go around year after year, telling people you’re the president of bad habits?”

  “I don’t think that’s what vice presi—”

  “Don’t interrupt me, Chuck,” Monica interrupted.

  “But you just asked me how I’d like to—”

  “Chuck! Accept it. We’re on the same side here. You work for Quazicom. Quazicom wants to take over this company. And I want to drop my bad habit. Get it?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You’re not as smart as you look, are you, Chuck?”

  Chuck blinked at her.

  “Come to think of it,” said Monica, tilting her head to one side, “you don’t even look that smart. It’s your eyes. Too close together. But there’s not much you can do about that, is there, Chuck? You were born that way. You gotta live with it.”

  “Um . . .” Chuck didn’t like it when people mentioned his eyes.

  “I’ll put it plainly,” said Monica. “When Quazicom takes over, they’re going to pick this company apart. And guess who’s going to be in charge of whatever’s left?”

  “Sir William?” Chuck suggested.

  “NO!” Monica pounded her desk with a fist. “Me!”

  “You?”

  “Yes! I’ll finally drop the vice and become plain old president. President and CEO Monica Burkenkrantz! It’s all been arranged.”

  At last Chuck understood.

  “I’ve even spoken
to your boss,” said Monica, beaming with confidence. “He knows all about it.”

  Chuck gulped. “The Chief?”

  “Once Quazicom takes the reins, this is going to be a very different company. But in order for that to happen, I need you to file your report—before the shareholders’ meeting tomorrow.” She pursed her lips, her expression turning sour. “If your report gets to the Chief before the meeting, he’ll go ahead with the takeover regardless of what the shareholders want. That way, Archie von Doppler won’t have any chance to present whatever it is he’s working on. Do you see what I mean?”

  “I think so,” said Chuck, “but how can I file my report if I haven’t seen the inside of the R&D Department?”

  Monica slapped her desk. “You’re a spy, Chuck! You’re supposed to be spying!”

  “A spy? I thought you hated spies.”

  “Only when they’re not on my side.”

  “I see.”

  Monica rose from her chair and padded over to the windowed wall of her office. The DENKi-3000 courtyard spread out below. “I can tell you this, Chuck: Your boss isn’t very pleased with your progress.”

  “He’s not?”

  Monica pointed down below. “He was hoping that by now you’d have found out what goes on in that weird old mansion down there.”

  “I will,” said Chuck. “I have a plan.”

  “I’m afraid the Chief doesn’t have faith in your plan.”

  “How would you know?” Now Chuck was getting angry (not good for stress). “I just thought of my plan this morning!”

  Monica returned to her desk and pressed a button on the surface. A section of the glass brightened to reveal a hidden control panel. “The Chief thinks you might need a little help.”

  Chuck narrowed his eyes. “From you?”

  “Not from me directly, no. Rather from some of the Chief’s associates. You might call them real spies.”

  “What?!”

  Monica held up her hands. “Sorry, Chuck, his words, not mine.”

  “Real spies? He said that?”

  Monica nodded casually. “Why don’t I introduce you?” She pressed the button on the glowing control panel. “You can come in now,” she said, speaking into a hidden microphone embedded somewhere in the surface of her desk.

  “I must warn you,” she said, turning back to Chuck. “They do have a somewhat unusual appearance.”

  Chuck turned toward the door, not sure what to expect.

  “Not that door,” Monica told him. “Over here.”

  Chuck turned back again and saw that Monica was pointing at the bare wall behind her desk. It split open and in walked five . . .

  M-m-m-monsters!

  “A somewhat unusual appearance” didn’t even begin to describe them. There were five in all: speckled, sinewy, green-skinned ogres (or trolls, or gremlins, or . . . things). Each of them had one grotesquely enlarged feature: an enormous mouth, an enormous nose, two enormous ears, two enormous eyes, a pair of enormous hands!

  “Mr. Brickweather,” said Monica, “I’d like you to meet Grinner, Adenoid Jack, Wingnut, Iris, and Digits. Or, as they like to call themselves, the Five Ghorks.”

  Chuck nearly fainted. If his face was red before, now it was utterly flushed—with fear.

  “G-g-g-ghorks,” he whispered.

  “Don’t worry,” said Monica. “They’re here to help.”

  Chuck tried to stand up. His only instinct was to run away as quickly as possible.

  “What’s the matter?” asked the one called Grinner, speaking through what looked like a hundred clenched teeth. “You got a problem with ghorks?”

  “N-n-no!” Chuck waved his arms emphatically. “Of course not! It’s j-j-just that—”

  “Hey!” Monica put her hands on her hips, glaring at the ghorks. “What happened to you?” She pointed at the bandages that each one of them was wearing. Chuck had been too shocked to notice them at first, but now he saw that all the ghorks were covered with bumps and scrapes and ratty bandages.

  Perhaps worst of all was Adenoid Jack, the one with the big nose. Two huge wads of cotton were jammed up his massive nostrils.

  “Nothing,” said Grinner petulantly. “Just fell down some stairs.”

  “All of you?” asked Monica.

  “You callin’ us liars?” Iris narrowed her enormous eyes and took a menacing step toward the woman (Chuck was pleased to see Monica finally blanche with fear).

  “N-no,” said Monica hastily. “Those must have been some steep stairs!”

  “They were,” sulked Digits, waving a foot-long finger at her.

  “Must’ve been a million of them!” said the one called Wingnut. He shook his head gloomily, causing a rush of wind from his enormous ears.

  “But don’t worry,” said Adenoid Jack, prodding gingerly at the swollen bridge of his massive schnoz. “We’ll get revenge on those stairs soon enough.”

  “Um, okay,” said Monica, who seemed eager to change the subject. “I think that’s enough about the stairs. I wanted you to meet Mr. Brickweather. You can call him Chuck.”

  All the attention turned to Chuck . . . and he froze. Every fiber of his being still wanted to run away, but he was too stunned to move.

  “He’s also a spy,” Monica went on, smiling insincerely at Chuck. “Just not a very good one. Like yourselves, he was sent here to gather information before the siege—I mean, takeover.”

  Did she say siege? Chuck wondered. But he didn’t wonder for long because the Five Ghorks surrounded him, looking him up and down. None of them seemed impressed.

  “I thought it might be advantageous,” said Monica, “if all of you worked together.”

  “M-M-Ms. Burkenkrantz,” stammered Chuck, struggling to his feet. “I’d really prefer to work alone.”

  “Why the rush?” asked Grinner. “I thought you just said you didn’t have a problem with ghorks.”

  “No, no! It’s not that at all! Of course I like . . . g-g-g-ghorks!”

  “Is that so? ’Cuz it sure sounds to me like you’re lying.” Wingnut flicked the tip of one enormous ear. “I can hear it in your voice.”

  Chuck laughed nervously. “Oh, I would never lie. I’m just a bit on edge, that’s all.”

  “It’s true,” said Iris. “You do look a bit stressed.”

  Chuck gasped. “S-s-stressed? Do I?!”

  Grinner sucked suspiciously on his innumerable teeth. “It’s ’cuz of your face,” he said. “It’s all red.”

  Instantly, Chuck spun into a panic. This was too much! This woman was in cahoots with the Chief! And these abominable creatures! He could feel his sleek, trim body sliding out of his control. He could no longer resist the bottle hidden in his breast pocket. I need my Dr. Heppleworth’s!

  He reached into his jacket, unscrewed the bottle, and—

  “Stop!”

  Chuck had the bottle almost to his lips.

  “Give that to me,” said Monica.

  Chuck shook his head. “I—I can’t.”

  “NOW!”

  Instead of handing over the bottle, Chuck made a lunge for the door. The ghorks, however, were too quick for him. Chuck was immediately overpowered. The bottle was wrenched from his grip, and Digits shoved him back into the chair.

  Iris brought the bottle to Monica, who turned it over in her hands. “Well, well, well. I never would have guessed.”

  All Chuck could mutter was, “I-i-it’s medicinal.” He reached weakly for the bottle. “I need it.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Monica sniffed the bottle and pulled it away quickly, making a thoroughly disgusted face. “In fact, I know you do.”

  “What?” Something about the way the woman said I know sent a chill down Chuck’s spine.

  “Remember I told you I was once vice president of a company that made d
ietary supplements? Can you guess what the name of that company was?”

  Chuck was speechless. He moved his lips, but no sound came out.

  “Dr. Heppleworth’s Knootri-Vitamins Incorporated.”

  “You worked there?”

  “I told you, I was the vice president.” Monica winced as she said the word.

  Chuck’s body sagged in the chair. “So you know what Knoo-Yoo-Juice does, don’t you?”

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  “You don’t?” Chuck’s face brightened (a pinkish glow).

  “Nope,” said Monica, “but I’m about to find out.”

  Again, Chuck was rendered mute.

  “You see, the reason I quit at Dr. Heppleworth’s is the same reason I’ve always had trouble working here at DENKi-3000.” She leaned forward, looming over Chuck, who sat glued to his seat by Digits and his enormous hands. “Too many secrets. In fact, Dr. Heppleworth had one area of the company that was a lot like the mansion down there. No one was allowed in except for old Heppleworth himself. I always wondered what went on in there, but no matter how many times I asked, he never told me anything. Do you have any idea how frustrating that was?!”

  All five ghorks nodded in sympathy with Monica.

  “Well, one day, just before I quit for good, I started digging around in old Heppleworth’s computers. I didn’t find much about that secret wing of his company, but you know what I did find? A memo that referred to a secret product they were working on.” She raised Chuck’s precious bottle of purplish-red liquid. “It was something called Knoo-You-Juice.”

  “N-now, wait,” Chuck stammered. “Y-you have to give that back to me. I n-n-need it for—”

  “For what, Chuck? Maybe if you tell me, I’ll give it back.”

  Chuck bit his lip. How could he ever hope to explain? It was impossible, especially surrounded by a gang of ghorks!

  “Don’t worry, Chuck. You don’t have to say a word. We’ll just wait.” Monica rounded her desk and locked the bottle of Dr. Heppleworth’s Knoo-Yoo-Juice in one of her drawers. “I’m sure it won’t be long before we all see what happens to Mr. Chuck Brickweather when he doesn’t take his medicine.”