Chapter 2

Over the next couple of days I couldn’t stop thinking about that woman and the weird remote sitting on my desk. Several times I picked it up but I couldn’t bring myself to push the “menu” button. I suppose I was afraid it wouldn’t work - or that it would. But my curiosity was getting the best of me about why it worked, so I pulled my little tool kit out of the drawer and took the back off the remote to see if I could locate a processor or a memory chip, maybe learn it from the inside out.

When I pulled the back off, I was totally dumbfounded! It was empty. I mean, I could see the little knobs on the underside of the buttons that were supposed to activate the sensors, but there were no sensors, nothing except the battery slots. No wires, no circuit board, no nothing! Of course, that was impossible. If there was nothing inside, it couldn’t possibly do anything to my TV!

Could it?

As I sat there feeling confused and totally creeped out, I had a passing concern about my own sanity. As far as I knew, there had never been a history of mental illness in our family, nobody going off the deep end and imagining things. I’d be the first.

But NO, damn it! Everything else around me was perfectly normal. Only the remote wasn’t right.

In a rush to reassure myself that I wasn’t hallucinating, I put it back together, aimed it at the TV, and pushed the “menu” key.

HI, BOBBY. ARE YOU READY FOR YOUR INSTRUCTIONS?

What the fuck?!

Sean and his family got back home the next day. I called him early the following morning, as early as I could do it without being rude, and asked him to meet me at the football field because I didn’t want anyone else around when I tried to explain what the hell had been going on for the past few days.

I was sitting on the bottom seat of the bleachers when he strolled up eating an Egg McMuffin. He settled next to me and asked, “So why all the cloak and dagger stuff, dude? Did you run afoul of the law or something?”

I’d been planning out how I was going to explain it all. I knew that unless he was in on it he’d never believe me, but I also knew I could prove what I was telling him if I had to. But first I wanted him to tell me where that farmhouse was so I could satisfy myself that that little round woman really existed and I could ride out and pay her the damned two bucks. That seemed important because the idea of being in her debt for any reason gave me the creeps. I’m not sure why, it just felt like as long as I owed her money, she had some kind of hold over me or something.

Yeah, I suppose you could say I was feeling a bit paranoid.

I leaned back on my elbows and asked, “Sean, the other day when we stopped at that yard sale, weren’t we on Mesa Road?

He swallowed a mouthful. “What yard sale would that be?”

“You know, the one where I got that box of old electronic junk. The one where you said the woman was gonna seduce me and screw my sox off.”

He kinda reared back and looked at me like I was some kind of a nut case. “What are you talking about? I remember being out on Mesa Road, but I don’t remember anything about a yard sale, and I sure as hell didn’t say anything about you getting your wick dipped. Did you smoke something extra nice for breakfast this morning?”

I wasn’t in the mood for it. “Come on, Sean, don’t be bustin’ my balls. This is important.”

“Bobby, mi amigo, I honestly don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. You’re either imagining things or you went to a yard sale with someone else. It sure wasn’t me.”

I looked him in the eye for several seconds and I knew he was telling the truth ... at least as he knew it, and trying to explain it to him would get me nowhere. That feeling of anxiety started coming back. I stood up and said, “Sorry I wasted your time. Guess I’ll see ya later, okay?”

I took off at a trot across the football field. Behind me, Sean shouted, “Hey, what the hell’s goin’ on, dude? If this is weed talkin’, I want some!”

Back home sitting on my bed, I was thinking that if Sean was in on some kind of a joke, he was a better actor than I ever gave him credit for. So where did that leave me? I had a strong inclination to take the remote down to the garage and pound it to splinters with a hammer ... except I couldn’t.

But wait!

All along I’d been assuming it was just a big joke, but I hadn’t even tried the damn thing out to see if it did what the instructions said it could do. That’d be the proof that it was all bullshit. I picked it up and looked at it, wondering who I should try it out on. Of course, first I had to decide what kind of behavior I wanted to alter, assuming it worked as advertised. Should I try to get Dad to start feeling generous and raise my allowance, or maybe even let me have a car? And I’d love to get Mom to quit nagging me to death about keeping my room clean. But after giving it a little thought, Sherry, my sister was the one I decided on.

Why Sherry? Well because she had this weird idea that she was too fat when in fact she looked like a damn scarecrow. Like probably half the teenage girls in the civilized world, she wanted to be a fashion model, and weighing anything over a hundred pounds was out of the question in her twisted mind. She worried my folks sick because she just sat at the table and pushed her food around the plate, never taking more than three or four bites. Dad threatened to take her to see a psychiatrist if she didn’t quit starving herself and start putting on some pounds.

So assuming there was a remote chance that this remote could actually have some affect on a person’s behavior, I’d find an opportunity sometime during the day to point it at her, push the proper combination of buttons, and make her start stuffing her face. Not that I believed for a moment that it would work, but at least it would be a worthy cause if it did. Of course, I had no idea how long it would take for it to work, if it was going to work at all. It didn’t say anything about time lines on the instructions.

I brought the text up on the TV screen again and read some of the different combinations of keys and what they were supposed to do. At first I was going to go with the one that stimulated hunger but I changed my mind. She was already hungry - hell, she had to be because she was starving herself. Then I found one aimed at enhancing a person’s self-image, so I assumed that had to be the one I wanted. I’d find some time and place to point it at her, hold down the buttons and think, “Sherry, you’re too damn skinny! You need to eat!”

I spent most of the day lurking around the house as I looked for the right time and place to carry out my experiment, and I almost blew it. Sherry grew suspicious of my constant close proximity, finally whirling around on me and asking, “What is it with you, Bobby? You lonely or something, or are you working up to asking me for a loan?”

I wasn’t prepared for a challenge, so I turned all defensive. “What’re you talking about, beanpole? It’s my house as much as it is yours, so I guess I can go wherever I want! You’re getting paranoid in you old age.”

She just gave me a roll of the eyes and headed up to her room, emphatically closing her door behind her. I mentally kicked myself for being so careless. I guess I wouldn’t make much of a spy.

Ironically the ideal opportunity came at dinner. Mom and Dad sit at the ends of the table while Sherry and I sit across from each other, so I figured I could covertly aim it at her under the table and push the buttons. I was carrying the remote in the loose side pocket of my khaki shorts. The tablecloth draped over my lap as I sat at my place, so no one could see the gadget when I pulled it out. I’d memorized the position of the two buttons I needed so that I could locate them by touch.

But then I started wondering if that would work. I wondered if the remote needed to be pointed at her head like it needed to be pointed at the TV. Of course she didn’t have an infrared receptor in her face, not unless her eyes carried out that function, but then without any guts inside the remote, it shouldn’t work at all anyhow, should it? Shit! I’d just have to try it and see.

In spite of her busy schedule, Mom served up a great dinner as usual; baked stuffed loin chops with cheesy potatoes and green beans. There’s nothing wrong with my appetite, so I dived right in stuffing my face. As usual, Sherry cut off a little tiny bite of pork chop, chewed on it forever and washed it down with a half a glass of water. Dad and Mom were watching every bite she took. I slid the remote out of my pocket, aimed it and located the two buttons. Taking a breath, I pointed it at her under the table, pushed the buttons, and thought to myself, “You’re too damn skinny, Sherry! Eat something for pete’s sake! Put some flesh on that skeleton!”