Bird’s mind reeled. Where…? He squeezed his eyes, trying to recall. Yes… the studio… He’d been doing a bit with Oscar about snow… shoveling snow from the Street. He’d said something to Henson. Some crack he’d made… about how the cheap warm-up suit he was wearing made him look like a broke Russian track star. He remembered Ernie laughing hysterically, but then, he’d been riding Henson all morning as well for some reason.

He tried to reach out, felt panic as his wings wouldn’t move. The world looked glassy and flat. He could see Henson’s face, laughing, twisting as if distorted by waves of heat. He felt trapped. Alone. The panic rose. Then, another presence in the unnerving flatness.

“Who’s there?” Bird whispered.

The voice that came back chilled his soul. “Oh, silly bird. You know. It’s me. Ernie. Welcome. Welcome to the Phantom Zone.”

“Tell us the story again Grandma? About the before times?”

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“Yup, that’s her!”

“Oh, man! Is she looking this way?”

“Nope. She’s talking with Mrs. MacKeever. Suck-up.”

“Hey! You’re talking about the girl I love!”

“Sorry dude. Ope — here she comes. You ready?”

“Should I have worn the turtleneck? Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“Too late now, man!”

“Oh. Hi, Jessica.”

“Hi, Jeremy. Mrs. MacKeever says to tell you your fly is open.”

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“We’ve got a problem with this page.”

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Betty pondered her options. SO many to choose from this year. And the sizes? Three up to eight years old, my! She admitted she didn’t care much for the outfits they came in these days, but she still had some serviceable jumpers from the previous two girls that should work just fine. It was too bad that last girl—Rhonda they had called her?—had been damaged in shipping. Poor thing kept knocking over the cat’s water bowl and bumping into walls. But that’s what you get when you use Space Available Mail, I suppose. Fortunately she had kept her receipt and photo. She had already decided she was going to splurge for Airlift Military this year. No sense saving a few pennies if your girl arrives all scuffed and bent. Now for a name... Well, “Girl” had sufficed for the previous ones, so why change? Besides, she didn’t want to have to change the name on the cardboard box in the kitchen.

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“Yeah, not gonna lie, ma’am, it’s a mess. Gonna take two, maybe three days, and then we’ll have to have the fans on at least a day to dry it all out.”

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“I’m sure it’s down there somewhere, honey. Please keep looking.”

“For Pete’s sake, Lorraine, I’ve been looking for your lousy gherkin fork for almost fifteen minutes. The game’s coming on soon!”

Rats. Maybe it wasn’t going to work. Jeanie had said this same pattern had worked on her husband in only five minutes. Maybe just a few minutes more… “I know, dear, but I so need it for Cindy’s Tupperware party this weekend.”

“Well, if you hadn’t picked out such a crazy pattern for the new floor I might have found it by now. I told you to go with the Sunset Gold brick pattern. Jeez Louise, my eyes are starting to… get kind of… weird…”

“What’s wrong, Jim?”

“What’s… wrong… Jim…”

Was it working? How to test it... “Um, you will let me hold Cindy’s Tupperware party in your basement bar, won’t you, Jim?”

“I will let you hold Cindy’s Tupperware party in my basement bar, won’t I, Jim.”

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“I don’t know, man. The shot looks good to me.”

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“I’m afraid it’s worse than that, Mrs. Macgillicutty. Here, see, these two scans on the left? Those are from just three months ago. The disease had only affected about sixty percent of your husband’s body.”

“Oh, poor Jim!”

“Now, the turtleneck treatment has kept the disease somewhat at bay, but as you can see from these three scans from yesterday…”

“How long does he have, Doctor?”

“Well, it’s… hard to say. Conservatively, I’d say he has about four weeks until total plaid coverage.”

“And… and then?”

“Well, we have some patients who have gone on to live happy, productive lives as a couch, or even a settee. Tell me, do you have a sunken living room?”

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“Yeah, I’d say saucer-shaped.”

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“I don’t get it.”

“Look, see, the guy is a vampire.”

“How is he a vampire? I don’t see any fangs or anything.”

“He got bit by a computer.”

“A computer bit him?”

“Yeah, see, we’ll say a computer byted him, get it? And now he’s a computer. A TMS 9000 16 bytes microcomputer, to be exact. We’ll put it on his t-shirt or something.”

“TMS 9900 16 bit. The SS-16.”

“Right, sure.”

“Okay, and this sells our product how?”

“Well, computer dudes will think, ‘hey, uh, I love computers, and there’s nothing I’d like better than to be a computer, so what if, like, hey! I just got bit—byted—by a computer! Just like… Spider-man, yeah? And now I’m a computer and I’ll be cool just like, uh.. Mr. Spock?’ ”

“Hmmm… Nah, I don’t think—”

“How about I add in two chicks about to bite his neck?”

“Done.”

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“Hi, you’re on with Bobby Berg The Burgermeister on Midnight Madness. Who’m I yakkin’ at?”

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“I’m afraid you gentlemen are mistaken. I am a just a simple Christmas tree salesman—”

“Oh, we are very familiar with who you are… Swede.”

“Swede? I am not famil—”

“Come now, Swede. The JKGB have known of you for years. Officer in Swedish KSI, Service Code Number 40N83100F, dashing looks. It is just now we have been having pleasure of meeting you face to face.”

“JKBG?”

“Junior Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti.”

“I see. And I suppose you want me to defect?”

“Not at all. You see, we no longer work for JKGB. We are now part of F.O.R.T.R.E.L.”

“Fortrel?”

“Fanatical Organization for Revolution, Terror, Ransoms, Extortion & Larceny.”

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It had been seventy-two gruktars since Plarquon had last fed, and he resisted the urge to shummer with eagerness. Not only might it frighten away his prey, but Gozoon and Rrrrtup would certainly glownch derisively at his amateurism.

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“It’s a permanent condition, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, Darren!”

“Isn’t there something you can do? Surgery or something?”

“Acute Bifurcation of the Lower Girdle is rare and I’m afraid we have no current means of correcting it. We do have her in one of our ELB outfits—”

“ELB?”

“Sorry—ELB… it stands for Eyelets, Laces, and Bows. It’s clothing specially designed to hide the condition.”

“She looks like a top. A red top.”

“Darren!”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…”

“I suggest something that might ease her into the clothing transition, such as a party or—”

“We’ll take her to Disneyland.”

“Uh, remember Sharon, we looked at that last Christmas and we thought it was way too expens—”

“We’re going. To Disneyland.”

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Even though he’d been working homicide for eight years, Detective Morrisey almost lost his lunch burrito. “Five this time?” he managed, his eyes barely able to comprehend the ghastly scene.

Burke nodded, his eyes buried in his notebook. “Up from four last week, out near Fashion Highway. Now these five at the gravel pit.”

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“That’s right, Dickey-boy. Double. And just so you know I mean business, the last two guys who didn’t pay up… well, let’s just say they’re seven inches shorter… from the top down.”

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“She hasn’t ridden it yet?”

“No. I just checked on her. She’s still in the garage.”

“She’s been in there since we opened presents this morning! What’s she doing?”

She’s… talking to it.”

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“Approach, shaglings! Your obesciences are middling but acceptable. What news bringest thou?”

“O, gracious Greenthor, whose throne room stretches from foyer to rumpus room, may your nylon always be soft and your pile be —”

“Yes, yes, get on with it!”

“Most benevolent Greenthor. We… fear we have ill tidings not heard since the times of Formica.”

“Silence! You were told never to speak that name!”

“Apologies, oh verdant one. But we have heard clashes and quarrels at the table of Kit-Chun of a coming change.”

“Change? Of what change do they speak?”

“They speak of one called only… ‘The Remodeler’”

“Oh, crap.”

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“Nope, I’m doing fine too!”

“Yes, we have our two magazines and our TV and our two magazines. Why wouldn’t we be fine?”

“Yes, there’s no need to think about water yet. Or food. Not about food!”

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