by Rob Reger
Later
Have found Raven locked in the birdcage. Luckily she has not been reprogrammed. YET.
Later
Am in the middle of dinner with Mom and EvilOne, who arrived at the table sporting pale blond hair with hideous yellow streaks! AH HAHAHAH AH HAHA! She has had to endure Mom’s comments of “Wow, E! Your hair looks so…cute?” I have added lots of friendly remarks like “You’re all set for cheerleading tryouts!” and “I hear blands have more fun! Oh, sorry…did I say BLANDS? AHA HAH HA HAH AHA HA HAHAHA!!” I’ve been watching her closely to see if there will be tears, but she is a tough character.
Man, this feels good. Reckon I will suffer for it, but it’s soooooooooo worth it.
OK, Mom has just asked me for the third time to wrap it up with my journal and eat my dinner before it is stone-cold. Hard to resist writing triumphant entries about EvilOne right in front of her while she stabs evil death glares at me, but I AM kinda hungry.
Later
There is no way I am the fake one!!!!
Out of the blue, Mom has given me just that little bit of an edge I needed to win the game. The three of us were finishing dinner. Our conversation went a little bit like this:
MOM: I was thinking you should maybe ask Great-Aunt Millie about, ahem, you know, your duplication…experiment…thingy?
EVILONE: Who, now?
ME: [Staring at her.] Um, Great-Aunt MILLIE? Transparent lady, lives in the attic?
EO: What? Someone else lives here? Here in this house?
M: [Giving her a Look.] Are you trying to be funny? Show respect for your spirit elders.
EO: [Clueless. But playing it cool.] I’ve got NOTHING if I don’t have respect for my spirit elders.
ME: [Annoyed.] Dude, Patti…you know Great-Aunt Millie likes to be called a poltergeist. [To EvilOne.] So, what, did you take a blow to the head recently, or do you really not know about our poltergeist?
EO: [Trying out a look of contempt.] Great-Aunt Millie? Of COURSE I know about her.
ME: So then you know about…the curse.
EO: Yeah. [Long pause. Seriously long pause.] Yep.
ME: [Laughing cheeks off. Formulating a whole bunch of last-minute Jeopardy questions involving Great-Aunt Millie.]
M: E, please, no making fun of your doppelgänger at the table, huh?
Later
GOOD STUFF!!!!! My leg was feeling entirely pain free, so I carefully and secretly sawed off the cast to investigate. It appears to be completely back to normal. I can only assume that liquid black rock heals broken bones!!!
—Also, I have put the cast back on and camouflaged the saw-blade marks. No need to let EvilOne know I am not still crippled!
—Also, note to self: If I ever have to wear a cast again, should refrain from shoving bits of Mom’s potpourri down it with a coat hanger, no matter how stinky it gets. It’s not worth it!!!!!
Later
EvilOne lost no time coloring her hair back to black. To look at her, you would never know the whole blonding incident happened. But I’m sure she won’t let this go unavenged.
Later
Mom has not rejected any of the last-minute Great-Aunt Millie questions. We now have an entire category devoted to her. There is no way I can lose!!!!!
One long Jeopardy game later
I have lost, 2,390 to 3,310!
Cannot even believe I am writing this, but clearly EvilOne knows more about my our her Emily’s life than I do!
As EvilOne jubilantly scored her final points, loudly proclaimed herself the winner, and did an obnoxious victory dance around the living room, I could see by Mom’s expression that she was coming to some uncomfortable realizations: A) EvilOne and I were NOT perfectly matched after all; B) we were clearly taking this game more seriously than she expected; and C) there would likely be Some Tension in the household now that a winner had been declared.
Mom semidiscreetly crumpled up the construction paper crowns she had probably expected to give us after a tied game, and tried to make me feel better by blaming the pain/self-hypnosis/medication. But the truth is that EVILONE WON. Evil one. Evil won. Unbelievable.
I really thought I was onto something big when I discovered, the night of our canyon hike, that EvilOne didn’t have all the same memories I have. And in hindsight, it’s not that it was a bad idea to use this against her in a game of “This Is Your Life” Jeopardy. It’s just that, as it turns out, she is more of an expert than I am on being me.
I did at least prove to her, to Mom, and to myself that EvilOne has no knowledge of the following important events in the Life of Emily Strange:
That time when Great-Aunt Millie got herself trapped in the water pipes, and all the faucets screamed when anyone turned them on.
That time she lost some psychic weight, or something, and kept sinking through the floors. She would even sink right through you if you didn’t keep a lookout. And how we had to get a ghostbuster to paint the attic floor with this special paint that ghosts can’t go through. And how we had to lie to him about there being an actual ghost in the house or he’d try to exterminate her. Yeah, that was awesome.
Names of 3 of the towns Mom and I have lived in.
Names of 7 alternative tunings I’ve invented for the electric guitar.
Names of ANY of the 77 inventions I have patented.
Name of Zenith’s cat back in Blandindulle. And that was only last month!!!
Name of the shifty thief back in Yaktown who taught me the basics of lock-picking.
Name of the lock-picking maneuver I used to break into said shifty thief’s home and steal back Mom’s pearl necklace.
The stories behind how I got each of my cats.
What I used in the duplicator to finally get it working.
Names of 7 of our 12 (known) dead great-aunts.
How I managed to animate a few dead bird parts to make Raven.
How I collected a bunch of black jackal spiders, milked their venom, and administered it to myself, slowly over time, in order to build up an immunity.
Unfortunately, EvilOne has proven that I do not recall the following:
The name I gave the skateboard trick I used to win last year’s Teen Shred Invitational.
The name of pretty much any skateboard trick ever made up by anyone.
The atomic weight of yttrium. Nor its oxidation state.
How to use an interferometer for basic plasma diagnostics.
The formula for calculating terminal velocity.
The story behind the phrase “nothing but a thin broth” and why it makes Patti and EvilOne laugh so hard.
What the so-called “dark code” is or what it does.
The name of the merry prankster who taught me the basics of booby-trapping.
The type of booby trap I used to prove my tactical superiority to said prankster.
How to use an X-10 switch to turn lights on and off…in other people’s homes.
Names of 5 common household items that can be used as explosives.
Names of 4 of the towns Mom and I have lived in.
Exactly why it is we move so often. (They still haven’t told me. Am not happy.)
Later
As I should have expected, losing that Jeopardy game is having more consequences than just lower self-esteem. EvilOne is being an insufferable troll about the whole thing. She is referring to me as “the fake one,” kicking me in the cast whenever possible, and sitting around staring at me, tapping her chin in an unsettling way, as if lost in thought as to the best way to destroy me.
Man. I want SO MUCH to be the Real Emily, but the evidence isn’t pointing to it. On the other hand, surely the Real Emily would know about Great-Aunt Millie??? Not to mention all the other stuff I know that EvilOne doesn’t. Obviously, we are not Velveteen Rabbits, and the issue is a little more complex than just Real vs. Fake.
I wish I could tell what is going on in EvilOne’s head right now, especially her thoughts re: destroying me. I mean, I was drugged, immobile, a
nd Ravenless for several days, yet there were no murder attempts. I wonder what has changed. Has she decided there might be some value to keeping me around? I know it’s not in me to kill EvilOne. Our skateboarding skills (just to touch on the tip of things) would be lost forever. Am assuming hoping she feels the same on her side. May need to play the guitar more often while she’s around, just to remind her of my virtuo-spasticality.
Later—2.00 a.m
I am going to sneak out of the house and work on my sewer mural. Have missed the outdoors, the sewers, and art-style self-therapy quite a bit. I could use a little boost in my opinion of myself right about now. Hope all is well down there. Oh clapjacks, hope Binary Larry did not get his mind scrambled too badly by the Manifesto! That kid was already fairly loony.
Must remember to be extra watchful for booby traps when I get back.
Later
Took the bus out to the sewer, pulled off that nasty cast, and painted, painted, painted until the lovely crazy swirly dreamy splendor took my mind off the failed Jeopardy game, my possible fakeness, and the evil of the EvilOne.
Binary Larry was there, which surprised me, since it was way past his bedtime. And he WAS a little more loony than normal, but mostly it seemed like he had just woken up. That, and he was maybe more impressed with my mural than he had a right to be.
Our conversation went a little something like this:
BINARY LARRY: Oh, man, wow, I mean, yeah, so groggin.
ME: Hmm.
BL: Yeah, I’m serious, it reminds me of that crazy thing they showed at Town Hall.
ME: Wha—what are you talking about?
BL: You don’t know? The ribbon-cutting ceremony? Those flyers? The free candy?
ME: Oh, right. Uh, did you go?
BL: Ghuhff! You think I’d be standing around talking to you if I went?
ME: That bad, huh?
BL: Oh yeah, man, I mean, all my friends are in the psych ward now. PooDog, Dirtbike, Mushroom, Treehole, Biscuit…but my mom was making me do yard work at the time, so, yeah.
ME: So, why do you say my painting reminds you of it?
BL: Oh, I don’t know, I guess it’s because it looks just like those clips they’re showing on TV all the time now.
ME: WHAT? Why are they doing that?
BL: Oh…you know…
ME: WHAT????? Spill it, you.
BL: You KNOW…that whole…thing.
GAHHHH!!!! Binary Larry is not QUITE as difficult to talk to as Raven, but he’s blipping close! It would drive me straight bonkers to record our entire conversation, but safe to say, I grilled him for a while, then released him when it was obvious he was too sleep-deprived to stay on topic. I got the following sinister facts and town gossip out of him:
There is indeed a major investigation of the Manifesto under way, and every townsperson suspected of the slightest artistic inclination has been hauled into the police station and thoroughly harassed.
Since no one has the smallest scrap of information, everyone has been giving the police the names of other artistic folks in exchange for their freedom.
Binary Larry was ratted out by his own art teacher. He was at the station for 5 hours before his mom pitched enough of a fit to get him released.
I am YARBING lucky that BL has a sweet spot for me and did not breathe a word about me to the police. (So he swears, anyway.)
Am also very lucky that no other living soul knows about my incriminating sewer mural.
So many of the Silifordville townspeople have gone stark guano crazy that food supplies are running low, stores are going out of business, and basic services (like water and power) are in danger of being cut off. Don’t I watch the news?
The police are taxed to their limits what with loony control and artist interrogation, so everyone who still has their wits about them is doing their best to take advantage of the situation.
For example, burglaries have jumped 567%.
And vandalism, up 789%.
And looting…well, there’s been 7 cases. Up from 0.
And criminals from neighboring towns have started moving in. In fact, 2 rival gangs from nearby Centerville (the Ratts and the 12th Street Toughs—man, they could use some coaching on those names) have scheduled a contest to see how many cars they can put out of commission by knifing tires. (Rough kids, but very environmentally minded.)
There are only a few teens left in town who still have their sanity. Those few have seized the day and scheduled a huge (and completely unauthorized) skate rally for 11 days from now. Underage skate rats will be flooding in from all over the state.
And rumors are flying that higher authorities (FBI, CIA, SMERSH, Bureau 13) are being called in.
Wow. Will be very careful not to give Binary Larry any reasons to seek revenge on me.
Later
Early morning. I should be in bed. Have been eavesdropping on the following conversation:
MOM: Yeah, so, E, could you work on Raven’s programming and get her back over to Bebe’s right away? She seemed very concerned about some dusting that needed to get done.
EVILONE: Well, I actually might have some bad news for Bebe about that.
M: Really? I thought that stuff was super easy for you.
EO: Oh, it’s not that. I just think Raven’s kind of at the end of her life span, you know? Might be time to…you know…“retire” her.
M: Uh…you mean…? OH. “RETIRE” her. Won’t that be kind of hard to explain to Bebe? Not to mention your…um, twin?
EO: [Laughing evilly.] No. Not hard at all.
Oh the unspeakable evil!!!!!!!
Later
Raven and I are holed up in the treehouse for safety. Retire MY golem, huh? Let her try.
—Uh, I hope she doesn’t try it tonight. I have no idea how I would stop her.
June 22
golems protecting me from danger, 0; golems being protected by me, 0; scenes of pure evil interrupted just in time, 1
Woke up in the treehouse and Raven was not there. Quickly searched the downstairs, then fake-lurched my way up to the bedroom, only to interrupt this charming scene:
EVILONE: Now pick up the chainsaw with your right hand.
RAVEN: K.
EO: Now use the chainsaw to cut off your head.
R: [Starting to obey.] K.
ME: [Busting in.] WHAT THE RUDDERTRUCKING? RAVEN, PUT THAT CHAINSAW DOWN!
R: K.
EO: What the jimjars?!?!? Raven’s not supposed to obey you. Have you been messing with her programming?
ME: Of course she’s supposed to obey ME! I’m as much Emily as you are!
EO: [Snorting.] Oh yeah? Look, Raven’s dangerous, I’m gonna retire her, and you can’t stop me.
ME: GAHHHHHHHH!!!!! [Kicking her in the back of the knee with my cast.]
EO: OOF! OW! [Hauling herself off the floor and tackling me.] BFF! BFF! BFF! UHHHH!
ME: ARRRRRRRRRRRRRAVEN GET HER OFF ME!
EO: [Dangling from Raven’s powerful grip.] RAVEN! LET ME DOWN! [Sprinting to the sun-spigot. Cranking it up full force. Turning the hose toward ME.]
ME: RAVEN, GET ME OUT OF HEEEEEEEERE!
Raven grabbed me and dove out the window, sliding down the drainpipe while I clutched her for dear life. EvilOne ran to the window and started shouting after us as we fled, but I covered Raven’s ears with my hands and chanted “Bobby Brady Bobby Brady Bobby Brady” until we were well away. Unbelievable depths of evil!!!!!!! Have taken Raven to the secret sewer. Am very grateful EvilOne does not know about it. Will have to either find myself some other kind of protection that cannot be used against me, or rely on myself for my safety!
Later
Have left Raven in the sewer. Am now slinking around the mostly deserted streets of Silifordville, clutching FakeCat for comfort, and feeling bleak and afeard. Am using stealth tactics so that no police see me. You never know what a police officer may consider “artistic.” Black dress, a homemade stuffed black cat, and a cast painted to match? It’s the pad
dy wagon for you, kiddo!
—Uh, I guess I really have no right acting like the martyr here, since I am actually responsible for hundreds of mental-health cases and artist interrogations.
Also: have caught myself with my finger up my nose three times today. GAH!!!!!!!!
Later
Have noticed a big increase in loonies out on the streets tonight compared to the past few days. A quick visit to the Silifordville hospital has explained it: They just don’t have room for everyone. Seems like the doctors have started releasing the slightly less spastic ones. This includes a lot of teens, apparently. I observed a large group of them congregating in a parking lot outside a grocery store. (Typical teen behavior that I have never understood. It seems extremely unfun.)
They seemed subdued, depressed, and slightly zombielike. —OK, on the other hand, this is ALSO somewhat typical teen behavior. Perhaps they have actually been cured. Hard to say.
Am headed back to the sewer. Will have to sleep there for safety!
Later—in the sewer
Am glad I brought Victorian tapestries down here. They make reasonably good sleeping bags.
June 23
bizarre conversation units, 111; new depths of evil discovered, 1
Have had a somewhat disturbing encounter with Binary Larry. Was hanging out in the secret sewer, painting on my mural, when my section suddenly took a turn to the south. I wanted to keep painting—I mean, I was getting to something good there—but I’d made that deal with him that south walls were his. So I put down my brush and went in search of him. He’s never too hard to find what with his squeeky boom box and all. (Squeeky Boom Box = great name for a band.)
