Beware the Fisj (4 page)

“Wow!” said Boots. “Even if it doesn’t work, it’s a thing of beauty! Now what happens?”

“We try it out, of course,” replied Elmer. “If my computations are correct, my salmon should appear on the screen and whatever we say will come out on the adjacent speaker.”

“That’s it?” asked Bruno. “Come on, Elm, any camcorder could do
that
.”

“Ah,” Elmer’s eyes gleamed. “But could a camcorder beam the image across a pathway of positive ions at the speed of light?”

“Good point,” said Bruno. He reached for the
On
switch.

* * *

“Isn’t this movie exciting, William?” said Mrs. Sturgeon. “I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed an afternoon of television more. How do you think it’s all going to turn out?”

“We’ll know soon enough, Mildred,” Mr. Sturgeon replied, glancing at his wristwatch. “The picture ends in five minutes, so the climax must be coming up soon.”

The couple watched the action intently.

Suddenly there was a buzz of static and the screen went momentarily blank. The Sunday Matinee was replaced by a fuzzy image of a large fish, dead centre on the screen. It wavered once, then stabilized. The audio crackled into what sounded like distant cheering, and a garbled voice cried,
Attention, world! We bring you the Fish!

This was followed by what sounded like laughter.

“William, what in the world —?”

Her husband frowned. “A fish. This is very strange indeed.”

“But what is it?” she insisted.

Both stared in perplexed fascination for some time until at last the image of the mysterious fish faded out. It was replaced by the Sunday Matinee just as the words “The End” appeared on the screen.

“William, our movie is over!”

Mr. Sturgeon stared at the television screen. “
Attention world,”
he mused.
“We bring you the fish.”

* * *

“Hot gazoobies, Elmer, it works!” screamed Bruno ecstatically, jumping up and down in the little space there was left in the room.

“It’s fantastic!” cried Boots.

“Yes,” agreed Elmer, flushed with pleasure. “It would appear that I am on the right track.”

“Hey, I know!” exclaimed Bruno. “We can use this thing to show up on people’s TV sets and tell them how great Macdonald Hall is and how they should send all their sons here!”

“No, no,” Elmer smiled indulgently. “There is a problem in the equations. It’s a new theory in digital transmission — a curious contradiction, you might say. This is a preliminary experimental model. It will only broadcast to the screen and speaker on my black box. I might be able to work it out for what you want in a few more months,” he added eagerly.

But unaware of Elmer’s contradictory equations, all the television viewers within a forty-kilometre radius of Macdonald Hall were wondering why “the Fish” had invaded their homes.

In her five years as weekend switchboard operator at television station CHUT, Mary Webster had never had such a busy time as on that Sunday evening.

“Everybody wants to know what happened at the end of the Matinee movie,” she told her boss, Mr. Tupper. “They’re all telling me something about a fish.”

“A fish? What are they saying?”

Mary excused herself to answer another call. “CHUT, good evening … Oh, yes, madam. John married Louise, and the murderer turned out to be Pierre … Yes, madam, I know — a fish. We’re looking into it. Thank you for calling CHUT.” Mary looked up. “You see? There’s another one.”

Mr. Tupper frowned. “A fish? What about a fish?”

“They say it appeared, sir,” said Mary. “Just at the climax of the movie, the screen showed a big fish. Then there was the most diabolical laughter and someone said,
‘Attention, world, we bring you the fish.’
Then more laughter. That ‘attention, world’ business really scared some of our viewers.”

“Sounds like a broadcast from outer space,” laughed Mr. Tupper. “The invasion of the fish people.”

“Go ahead and laugh,” she grinned. “But I have to answer the phone. What shall I tell people?”

“Make up something about atmospheric conditions, and tell them we’re looking into it,” said Mr. Tupper. “That’s what we’re going to do.”

* * *

Elmer Drimsdale’s alarm went off with an ear-splitting jangle at six o’clock Monday morning, waking up the three boys in 201 and probably half the dormitory as well.

Elmer threw off the covers and bounded energetically out of bed. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, unable to do his customary deep knee-bends because of the lack of space.

“The beginning of another day!” he announced brightly. “Time to tend to all my little friends.”

A slipper whizzed by his ear. “Your little friends’ll be fine. It’s your big friends you’ve got to worry about,” growled Bruno from the depths of his pillow.

Boots sneezed five times, signifying that he was awake for the day. Slowly he began to crawl out of bed.

“Would you like to feed my goldfish?” Elmer offered generously.

“No, thanks,” said Boots. “Maybe some other time.”

“Perhaps you’d like to sprinkle a little sugar for my ant colony?”

“Oh, all right,” sighed Boots. He took the sugar dispenser over to the terrarium, removed the cover and switched on the lamp. He sprinkled a little sugar on top of the sand. Instantly several dozen ants broke to the surface. He sprinkled a little more and more ants emerged. Boots watched, transfixed. “Hey, Bruno,” he exclaimed, without taking his eyes from the terrarium, “you should see this. A miniature riot!”

“No, I shouldn’t,” mumbled Bruno, half asleep.

“Here, you guys,” said Boots to the ants. “I’ll give you some more.”

“No, no,” said Elmer quickly. “That’s enough for today.”

“Yeah,” Bruno agreed. “Too much sugar will rot their little teeth.”

“You know,” said Boots, “that’s really neat! I’m going to get me one of these.”

“Spare me!” moaned Bruno.

While Boots showered and dressed, Elmer began the long, careful process of watering his plants. Then he too got dressed. Bruno never stirred. Finally, at about 7:15, Boots and Elmer left for the dining hall.

Just as the door clicked behind them, Bruno hopped out of bed and went straight to Elmer’s invention. He switched it on and watched with delight as the salmon materialized on the screen.

“The Fish has arisen,” he announced in the deepest voice he could muster. “The Fish is everywhere. Beware the Fish!” He laughed with glee and switched off. This was the best new toy he had had for many a year.

Bruno sighed wistfully. It was too bad Elmer’s PIT technology could not deliver its broadcasts beyond the little screen on the black box. Bruno would dearly have loved to make his fish jokes via TV to Mr. Sturgeon himself, without the Headmaster’s being able to find out it was him.

Little did Bruno know that his message, along with the picture of Elmer’s salmon, had reached Mr. Sturgeon — and every other television viewer in the vicinity of Macdonald Hall — by means of the
Early Show
.

* * *

A class detention made Bruno and Boots late getting out of science class. It was after four when they strolled across the campus towards Dormitory 2.

“Boy, was Mr. Hubert ever mad!” said Bruno. “Who set fire to the counter anyway?”

“Who else?” replied Boots. “Old Butterfingers. But it was an accident.”

“With him it always is,” grinned Bruno.

The two boys entered the dormitory and walked down the hall to 201. When they opened the door an amazing sight met their eyes. By relocating some furniture and various experiments, Elmer had managed to set up an extensive chemistry laboratory. There was a long table. On it sat a hot plate, two alcohol burners, two Pyrex flasks, three dozen test tubes of various sizes, one high-powered microscope with a stack of slides and countless little bottles containing chemicals. There were also beakers, eyedroppers, applicator sticks, stirring rods and a scale.

“Elmer, what’s going on?” asked Bruno in amazement. “My cure for the common cold,” explained Elmer. “I think I’m on the right track.”

“But we have to live here!” Boots protested. “There’s no room!”

“Do you know the kind of publicity a cure for the common cold would bring to Macdonald Hall?” cried Bruno enthusiastically. “You go ahead and work, Elm. Take all the room you need!”

“Thank you,” mumbled Elmer.

Bruno climbed across Boots’s bed and carefully picked his way over to his favourite gadget. He switched it on and waited for the fish image to appear on the screen.

“This is the Fish Patrol,” he announced loudly. “We bring you salutations from the fishbowl.” He laughed diabolically. “Beware the Fish! You never know where he may strike next.” Bruno switched the device off. “Marvellous,” he exclaimed. “It’s so good for my morale.”

“The Fish would kill you if he heard all that,” observed Boots.

“How can he hear it?” scoffed Bruno. “We’re our own little TV station — one camera, one set” — he pointed to the salmon poster — “and one superstar.”

In the Headmaster’s residence an annoyed Mrs. Sturgeon, her favourite soap opera rudely interrupted by yet another fish broadcast, was dialling station CHUT.

* * *

At RCMP Headquarters in Ottawa, Deputy Chief Bullock sifted through a pile of memos and reports before leaving for the day. One in particular caught his attention.

Request received from Board of Broadcast Governors to investigate unexplained interruption of TV broadcasts in Chutney, Ontario, Station CHUT. Picture of fish, accompanied by veiled threats and unrelated commentary, blocking regular broadcasts at irregular intervals. Special Division suspects possible development of terrorist activity. Local residents becoming alarmed.

“A picture of a fish?” Deputy Chief Bullock muttered in disbelief. He swivelled in his chair, found Chutney on his map, then sat back in perplexity. Why Chutney?

“Probably a joke,” he decided. Still, if it was something serious and he ignored it … A smile spread across his face. Sergeant Harold P. Featherstone, assigned to his division just two weeks before, was young, eager and in need of field experience. And he had twice stolen his superior’s parking space at Headquarters. Deputy Chief Bullock flipped on the intercom.

“Send Sergeant Featherstone to my office,” he told his secretary. “I have an assignment for him.”

* * *

“Okay, you guys,” announced Bruno, consulting his watch, “it’s after midnight. Time to go to Scrimmage’s.”

“Bruno, are you crazy?” Boots protested. “The Fish said —”

“The Fish said he never wants to catch us over there again,” finished Bruno. “If anyone catches us, which isn’t due for another million years, it’ll be Miss Scrimmage. So let’s go.”

Their discussion was interrupted by loud, angry voices from down the hall. Boots crawled across his bed and opened the door just in time to see Sidney Rampulsky tearing towards him, trying to outrun a broken lamp that Larry Wilson had thrown at him. Sidney hit the bed and catapulted into the room. He came to rest in a tangle of TV wires and cables.

“And don’t come back!” bellowed Larry from 204.

The door of room 200 burst open and Housemaster Alex Flynn, the school’s athletic director, rushed out into the hall in his underwear. “Pipe down out here!” he hollered. “It’s the middle of the night!” He stormed back into his room and slammed the door.

Bruno helped Sidney up off the floor. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Larry threw me out,” complained Sidney. “Gee, he’s crabby. It was just an accident.”

“Another accident?” said Boots. “What did you break this time?”

“His lamp,” admitted Sidney. “It fell when I overturned the desk on his foot.” He looked anxiously at the three faces around him. “Well, don’t look at me like that. Anyone can have a little run of bad luck.”

“We have an appointment,” said Bruno. “You’ll have to go back to your own room.”

“But Larry won’t let me in!” protested Sidney. “He’s really mad!”

“Well, we can’t leave you here or you’ll wreck the place. You’ll just have to come with us to Scrimmage’s. There’s always room for one more.”

“I’ll stay here,” offered Elmer quickly. “I wouldn’t want to jeopardize the expedition. Four people may be noticed more easily than three.”

“Good thinking,” replied Bruno. “All right, Elm. You stay here and mind the store. Boots, Sidney, let’s go.”

Bruno and Boots climbed easily out the window and stood flush against the wall. Sidney tumbled out after them, going head over heels across the sill and landing flat on his back in the shrubbery.

Boots flashed his roommate a look of hopelessness as the two of them picked Sidney up. They hustled him across the campus, and with only one further mishap, when he caught his foot in the fence, they finally reached Miss Scrimmage’s. Cathy and Diane were already at the window. Pushing Sidney ahead of them, Bruno and Boots climbed up the drainpipe and into the room.

“Hi,” Cathy greeted them, “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Butterfingers Rampulsky,” Bruno said. “He breaks things a lot — usually his own neck.”

The girls greeted Sidney in a friendly manner.

“What happened to you two?” Diane asked. “Miss Scrimmage said she turned you over to The Fish. He must have been boiling!”

“Oh, he was,” replied Bruno, “but mostly at Miss Scrimmage. He went easy on us — we just got a day’s confinement.”

“How did you people do with those suggestions?” asked Boots. “How do we make the Hall famous?”

“Most of the girls are pretty stupid,” said Cathy. “They suggest that you rob a bank and stuff like that. Then when you get caught you’ll get your names in the paper.”

“Small minds think alike,” Bruno muttered. “We got a lot of that from the guys too. Don’t tell me that’s the best you can do.”

“Not to worry,” she announced brightly, “because I, Catherine Elizabeth Burton, using my very own personal brain, thought up the idea that’s the answer to your problem.”

“What is it?”

“Not so fast,” said Cathy, smiling broadly. “What’s in it for me?”

“Our undying thanks,” said Bruno.

“And a potted philodendron,” added Boots, “courtesy of Elmer Drimsdale.”