Tales From Beyond the Brain Page 3

  “What’s this?”

  “Just a bit of film I shot,” Mr. Lambert said.

  Sam wondered if he had also shot the footage playing on the big screen. He noticed Mr. Lambert pick up something from the table. Sam turned. It was an old movie camera.

  The manager pointed the camera at Sam. “Say cheese!”

  “Huh?”

  “Good enough!”

  The manager pressed a trigger-like button. Even over the heavy clunking coming from the projector, Sam heard the film spin through the camera. The manager held the camera steady and aimed the lens right at Sam’s face.

  “That’s right, give us a smile!”

  Something was wrong. Sam knew he shouldn’t have followed this strange man into a movie theater by himself. And it had been a bad idea to come up to the projection booth, where it was only the two of them. But it was more than that. The sound of the film running through the camera made Sam dizzy.

  He blinked.

  It must have been a long blink, because when Sam opened his eyes, Mr. Lambert was huddled over the flatbed, threading a piece of film through the machine. He hit a button and the film advanced through the spools.

  The small screen connected to the flatbed editor lit up with an image that made Sam’s blood run cold. It was him, Sam, here in this place! He was staring right at the camera that the manager had pointed at him. The film kept moving, and Sam kept staring. He had no memory of doing this.

  Sam’s muscles tensed. Mr. Lambert must have hypnotized him somehow, taken this movie and—now what? Edited it? What for?

  Mr. Lambert didn’t appear to notice Sam anymore. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

  Sam slowly backed away from the manager, but he slipped on the filmstrips that littered the floor like autumn leaves. He crashed right into the projector, knocking his head hard. One of the reels fell right off the projector. It clattered to the floor and unspooled before Sam’s eyes.

  Sam grabbed the film and held it to the light. He stared at the strip of faded images. The boy in those frames had been hypnotized too, just like him.

  Where was the boy now? What had happened to him?

  The manager switched off the projector. He stretched out a bony arm. Sam lunged to get out of the way, but the manager wasn’t after Sam—he was after the strip of film.

  Sam watched in terror as Mr. Lambert yanked the strip from him and spooled it onto the reel. Then he turned to Sam and licked his lips with a dry, white tongue.

  Without breaking his stare, the manager slid the reel back onto the projector and turned it on.

  Then he backed away from Sam and looked through the window to the big screen.

  Sam got to his feet. He looked at the white light from the projector bulb shining through the window and out into the theater. The new image appeared on the screen below.

  Sam stared through the projection-booth window. He was gazing at his own image. But it wasn’t in black and white like that old movie that had been playing before. This time it was in full living color.

  “It takes time for the film to lose its color,” the manager said. He wasn’t looking at Sam. His eyes were wide and unblinking. He was staring at the screen and taking in long, deep breaths. He was gulping in air the same way his eyes were taking in the movie of Sam playing on the screen.

  “What’s happening?” Sam sputtered.

  “Didn’t you ever want to be a movie star? Well, now’s your chance. You’re a part of the movie now, kid. Up on the big screen for everyone to see.” The manager beamed. “Twenty-four frames per second. Looped over and over again so it keeps playing you to my audience. That other film is finished, you see. The color is drained. The projector creates too much wear and tear. The sprockets rip the frames apart. I can only fix the film so many times, and then it’s trash.”

  He motioned to the wraith-like people below. They had been splayed across the seats, but now, with the new color movie playing, they were sitting up straight again, on the edges of their seats. Sam saw their eyes bulging, like they were trying to take in as much of the movie as they could.

  “We’re so very hungry,” Mr. Lambert said. “You truly are a welcome feast for the eyes.”

  Sam felt sick. Hot bile rushed up his throat. He had to get out of there. He turned and shot his hand out to clasp the doorknob.

  But his hand went right through it, like it wasn’t there—

  No. The doorknob was there. It was Sam’s hand that had turned ghostlike, passed through the solid matter of the knob.

  Sam whirled around. He stared helplessly at Mr. Lambert, who somehow looked much younger now, his face rounder than it had been before.

  Sam opened his mouth to scream, to let out the loudest, most piercing shriek he could muster. But no sound came out. Not even when he tried filling his lungs to the max.

  Mr. Lambert shook his head. “Sorry, kid. My camera doesn’t capture sound. But the audience doesn’t mind. They’ve been around since the days of silent films, and it suits them—and me—just fine.”

  A while later the theater doors opened. About twenty people filed out into the dull gray afternoon, rubbing their eyes as if they had been asleep for days or even years.

  They were dressed in clothes that looked like they were from another time altogether. They helped brush the dust and cobwebs off each other’s old-fashioned suits and frilly dresses.

  As a group they stepped away from the theater, away from the marquee above that read NOW PLAYING: SAM’S STORY.

  In the theater, the film looped through the projector.

  And looped.

  And looped.

  And—

  TWO BRAINS, ONE ALICE

  Alice barely noticed the brain at first. It was pushed against the curb, half buried under a blanket of dried leaves and garbage. It was the sort of thing you’d only notice if you happened to be walking home from school with your head down. Even then, the odds of actually spotting it were pretty remote.

  But Alice had stopped, and her head was down. She studied the half-hidden object lying before her. She was still trying to figure out what it was exactly. It definitely resembled something she’d seen before.

  Then her own brain began to piece the puzzle together. What Alice was looking at was an actual brain. A shiver of horror seized her. Alice checked over her shoulder. It was not a busy street, and there was nobody else around.

  Just her and the brain.

  A brain. A real human brain, the kind you’d see in movies or textbooks or even in jars at the museum.

  But whose brain was it? And how did it get here? These two questions bounced around in Alice’s brain while it juggled a third and the most important question: Why?

  Alice became aware that she was disobeying her first instinct—the right instinct—which was to walk away, find an adult, and call the police.

  Instead, she stepped to the edge of the sidewalk and got down on her hands and knees to stare at the disembodied organ.

  It was like inspecting fresh roadkill. Alice recalled the first time she had seen a dead animal on the road. It was a squirrel that had been crushed under the wheels of a car. The sight of its guts smeared across the blacktop was enough to put her off eating her pizza that night. In fact, it had taken a week for the memory to fade enough for her to have more than a few bites of her meals. So why on earth was she now crouched over what was clearly a human organ without an owner?

  But Alice continued to ignore her own brain, which was screaming, Get up and walk away!

  Here she was, on all fours, her face so close to the brain that she could almost lick it. The brain was soft and gray, so fragile without its protective skull. She eyed the bumps and grooves. Alice was convinced it even jiggled under her breath. It was a miracle the thing hadn’t been gorily dashed across the street like a hurled egg.

  And whatever you do, DO NOT touch it!

  Alice continued to ignore the warnings coming from her own brain.

  She reached forward and pulled a d
ried-up leaf off the brain. The leaf was coated in a slick fluid that had probably oozed out of the organ. Then Alice found herself plucking more bits and pieces of garbage away, until she was staring down at the whole brain.

  There was no brain stem to go along with it, no trace of any spinal column or the vertebrae that brains were normally attached to. Whoever had removed this brain had done so with the precision and care of a master surgeon. So why leave it here on the side of the road?

  Alice was certain it had to have been left here. You didn’t just toss a brain in the street and expect it to keep its shape. Come to think of it, the brain couldn’t have been left alone like this for too long. Otherwise, ants and flies and other creatures that broke down living things would have got to it by now.

  There were no bugs around the brain. Alice wondered if someone had deliberately hidden the brain on the street. Again, this only begged the question: why?

  It doesn’t matter why, Alice. It’s a human brain. Whoever put it here might still be close by. Might even be watching you. You need to get out of here now!

  But Alice had already picked up the brain and cradled it in her hands. It was cold and slimy.

  And all hers.

  Picking up the brain and taking it home with her—had that been her idea? Hadn’t she wanted to walk away and tell someone?

  Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Maybe the wrong sort of people would come for the brain. The police would take it with them to a coroner’s lab. The brain would be cut up and dissected into pieces to help the police answer their questions.

  Alice knew nothing of police procedures. Her parents never let her watch any of those forensic crime shows. Nevertheless, Alice had a picture in her head now of a cold metal table and men standing over it with scalpels and white surgical masks.

  The thought punched right through her, as if it was one of her own.

  Wasn’t it?

  Alice looked at the brain nestled gently between her fingers like a small animal. She wondered how she could get it home without being seen.

  Alice’s parents never checked her backpack. She always brought it straight up to her bedroom, because the first thing Alice was supposed to do when she got home was at least twenty minutes of homework.

  Safe in her room, Alice unzipped the backpack and reached inside. She’d squished her books to the bottom of the bag, leaving a sizeable space for the brain.

  She pulled the jiggly mass out as gently as she had placed it in the bag, trying hard not to bump it against anything. The brain didn’t do well with sudden jostles or moves.

  Alice carried the brain to her bedside table and placed it beneath the lamp. Then she dug back into the bag and pulled out her math textbook and notebook.

  Alice sat down on her bed and groaned. Why did teachers always assign math homework? Probably because it was easy for them. The questions were already in the textbook, and the teachers had the answers ready-made.

  But actually answering the questions by herself? Not so simple.

  Math and science had never been easy for Alice. Even reading didn’t come easily. It had taken her much longer than the other students to be able to read out loud without stumbling over each and every word on the page. Even in her head, she struggled with the longer words.

  Math and science were full of longer words.

  Alice flipped her textbook open and began to pore over the pages her teacher, Ms. Hoyle, had assigned. The first question had something to do with n plus 1 equaling 15. So what was s if n + 1 + s equaled 19?

  Alice huffed. Who wrote this garbage? Who cared what n or s equaled?

  Her teacher cared, and, by extension, so did her parents. Her parents were the gatekeepers to Alice getting her allowance and time outside with her friends. So the more quickly Alice got her homework done, the more time she would have for other things.

  Alice tried to think of the solution, but even the question was making her anxious. She stretched out her hands, like she always did when she got frustrated, and her fingers brushed against the side of the brain.

  Fourteen, Alice thought, n is fourteen.

  Another thought occurred to her just as quickly and just as reasonably: s is four.

  Alice nodded as she mentally played around with the numbers a second time, watching them fit where the letters n and s had been saving places for them in the equation.

  Then Alice glanced at a few more questions in the textbook. She blinked. Normally the words and images and numbers on the page tended to blur into one pile of gobbledygook. Not now. It was as if someone had stuck a pair of magic glasses over her eyes. Alice blinked, then zipped through the questions as easily as she might tie her shoes.

  When she’d finished the work Ms. Hoyle had assigned, Alice turned the page and continued working.

  Might as well get this work done while I’m on a roll.

  She whipped through the next few pages in only a few minutes. She wondered briefly at her newfound speed and effectiveness. The doubt was a nagging tug at the corners of her thoughts. Something was wrong. Alice didn’t get her math homework done this fast, this quick, this easily, ever.

  But she was also confident—certain even—that this math homework was child’s play. She continued to flip through the book, eyes scanning the words and numbers for something more challenging. But the textbook now felt to her like something she’d give to a toddler.

  There was a knock at the door. “Alice? Are you coming for dinner?”

  Dinner already? Alice looked up from her work. “In a minute, Mom!”

  She put down her pencil, closed the textbook and looked over at the clock on her bedside table. She’d been working steadily for an hour and a half.

  Her eyes dropped from the clock down to her left hand. It was still touching the brain.

  Of course, Alice brought the brain with her to school the next day. But this time she was prepared. She’d found some Styrofoam packaging in her basement and had reinforced the brain with bubble wrap, so the organ wouldn’t get bumped around while she walked.

  The brain, Alice determined, needed a challenge. It wasn’t a muscle, but much like a muscle, the brain needed to be flexed. And so what if it helped her with her schoolwork? What did that matter?

  She raised her hand when Ms. Hoyle asked if anyone wanted to review the previous night’s math homework in front of the class.

  Ms. Hoyle gave a surprised blink. “Really, Alice? The algebra?” Alice, who had put her bag under her desk and was now touching the brain, smiled.

  Ms. Hoyle thinks I’m a dummy.

  Alice removed her hand, wiped the brainy slime off on her pants and marched up to the board. She ignored the guffaws and snorted laughs bubbling up around her. They all thought she was a dummy, Alice realized, but that wasn’t going to get in the way of things this time.

  Normally, when Alice found herself at the front of the class, her knees knocked and her breath got ragged. She hated having to stand in front of others and not be able to do anything right.

  But today she plucked a piece of chalk off the ledge and twirled it between her fingers like you would a key.

  She turned to her peers, saw their silly grins and—

  POW!

  Alice blinked. She stared at the sea of faces, but they weren’t her classmates. Not the ones she was used to seeing.

  Instead, Alice was staring at a group of students in oldtimey school uniforms, sitting at sturdy wooden desks. They were staring and laughing too.

  It was a memory, all right, but was it Alice’s? She couldn’t tell. She knew the names of the students, especially that redhead in the front: Derek Michaelson. He was looking her way and taunting her. “Curry’s in a fury! Curry’s in a fury!”

  Curry?

  Her name was Alice.

  But this must be Curry’s memory, she decided.

  Alice blinked and—

  The other students were gone, replaced with her own classmates. They sat in their chairs, staring at her.

  “Well?�
� a voice called out. Alice followed the voice to Ms. Hoyle, standing a few steps away from the board. “Are you all right, Alice? Do you need some help?”

  Alice took another moment. Moving from the memory to the here and now was disorienting, like spinning around and trying to walk straight afterward.

  Alice shook her head. Then she turned around to face the board and started to scrawl the answer to the homework question.

  She was done in less than a minute and had even explained her thinking. She turned around to face the class.

  It was Ms. Hoyle’s turn to stand there. She looked like she’d been hit by a bus. Finally she spoke.

  “Alice, that’s…amazing.”

  Alice put the chalk down on the blackboard ledge and secretly smiled. Starting from now, things were going to be a lot different for her.

  After school Alice turned her backpack around so the pack was strapped to her front. That way she could unzip it and look down at the brain on her way home. She only unzipped the top part of the bag, so no one else could see the organ contained within.

  Alice stared into the grooves and fissures that lined the surface of the brain.

  It pulsed like a heart. Like a complete organism.

  No. This was not right. But she couldn’t look away either. The brain wanted Alice to place her hand on it.

  Wanted her to.

  Needed her to?

  Alice’s hand pressed against the slimy surface of the brain.

  And she remembered.

  Remembered looking up from the cold metal table. The men and women (it was hard to tell who was who under those white surgical masks) were standing over her, holding sharp metal scalpels.

  Alice exhaled.

  That’s not your memory, she told herself.