Stephen Walker - Mr Landen Has No Brain

So now Gary Yates was her bridesmaid. She’d said it would do him good since he was totally besotted with her. Seeing her marry another man would give him a sense of closure and finally convince him there was never going to be anything between her and him. He might blub now but he’d thank her for it later.

‘I take it you’ll be staying in a hotel for the rest of your holiday, what with your host being a psycho!’ Sally said.

‘And not be able to keep an eye on those two? No chance. I’m staying right here.’

Daisy doggie-paddled upside down between the two girls.

Teena glared at it as though ready to punch it. ‘And what’s that doing in here?’

‘Because she’s been such a good girl, helping me foam rubber the camp, I’m letting her live indoors from now on.’

‘And do I get a say in this?’

‘None. You don’t live here, remember?’

Teena fumed some more. She opened her mouth to say something then thought better of it. She opened her mouth again then thought better of it. She glanced around as though seeking inspiration. Then at last she said, ‘His reputation’s built entirely on me, you know.’

Sally frowned. ‘Your bridesmaid has a reputation?’

‘Not Gary – Landen.’

She frowned deeper. ‘Mr Landen has a reputation?’

‘Because he was my first college lecturer, the scientific press said he’d discovered me – like I was some lost tribe. I wasn’t lost. I knew precisely where I was – Oxford. And I’d discovered myself long before he came along. He thinks he’s so clever. Well … well …’ Her clenched knuckles turned white by her sides.

‘Well what?’

She just stood there, anger stopping her conceiving the revenge she thought he deserved. Then she spotted something, something on the worktop by the sink. She headed for it, ravenous strides devouring the ground between her and it.

At the worktop she unplugged the TV aerial, opened the window, shoved the TV out then shut and fastened the window. She clattered aside unwanted items, the electric tin opener, the whisk, the coffee blender. Each hit the floor with a clank until at last she lifted the one object she wanted. A yank at its cable tugged its plug free of the wall socket.

‘Could you treat my property with a little more respect please?’

‘Never mind that.’ She eagerly studied the object’s black plastic. ‘Let’s see how clever he is when this gets through with him.’

‘Teena?’

‘What?’ Her gaze was fixed to the thing like Cthulha’s had been fixed to her.’

‘That thing you’re holding?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Your deadly revenge?’

‘What about it?’

‘You do know what it is?’

‘Of course.’

‘And it’s …’

‘A sandwich toaster.’

Just so long as she knew.

Teena?’

‘Uh huh?’

‘What’re you doing to my sandwich toaster?’

‘The usual.’

‘Which is?’

‘Making a mind control machine.’

Sally sat facing Teena across the kitchen table as Teena reassembled the sandwich toaster. She’d already reassembled it five times, none of which had produced whatever result was desired. Each time, she’d point the thing at Sally, press its ON switch then look at her like she was a major let down. Then she’d start scrabbling away at the thing again. Frankly, Sally didn’t think she knew what she was doing.

In order to scavenge parts for her mind control machine, she’d dismantled every piece of electrical equipment Sally had and left it in pieces around them on the floor; her fridge, her microwave, her coffee blender, her radio, kettle, electric blanket, video recorder, her plastic flower that danced when you shouted at it – and the rest. If she wasn’t determined to be the best caravan park manager on Earth, Sally would have swung for her.

At a table covered with cogs, wires and assorted circuitry, Teena held a screwdriver to the sandwich toaster. Daisy watching intently over her right shoulder, she said, ‘It’s a simple yet complex device incorporating one connection for each connection of the human brain. Much as I’m loathe to take such action, finding it a plain nuisance, drastic steps are required if I’m to re-enter my mobile home.’

‘But mind control?’

‘Uh huh.’

‘Is it really that urgent you get back inside?’

She stopped screwdriving and watched Sally across the table. ‘Have you seen my face?’

‘It looks okay to me.’ Sally shrugged.

‘It looks okay? Do you know how beautiful I am?’

‘I’m sure you’re gorgeous.’

‘Yesterday morning I was one hundred and forty-seven per cent too beautiful. A burden but bearable. Now, according to Browning’s Attractivity Index, I’m two hundred and ninety-three percent too beautiful. Three hundred percent is the figure at which female beauty would kill.’

‘How can you be getting more beautiful? We’re all stuck with what we’ve got.’

‘Adversity makes a woman more attractive. Once I’m back in the mobile home and my adversity level retreats, so my beauty levels should normalize.’

‘You’re not a nuclear reactor, you know.’

‘Some forces are stronger than any nuclear explosion, Sally.’ She resumed screwdriving. ‘This sandwich toaster will turn Landen into a walking robot. Then I’ll make him open the door.’

‘And then?’

‘I’ll hit him.’

‘?’

Teena tightened a screw deep within the machine. ‘Concussion therapy’s a valid part of any psychiatrist’s toolkit.’

Sally watched the weedy device which looked like it couldn’t even toast sandwiches anymore. ‘And this thing could do all that?’

‘No brain can resist its waves – apart from mine.’

‘What’s so special about yours?’

‘I’m too strong-willed. Its rays would simply bounce off my cerebellum and hit bystanders.’

‘Isn’t there an obvious flaw in this plan?’

‘None. I’ve thought of everything. I even have the right sized fuse.’ She held up the plug as proof. ‘A luxury in mind control circles.’

‘But how could it work on a man with no brain?’

‘It couldn’t.’

‘But Mr Landen has no brain.’

‘Nonsense.’ She tightened a screw deep within the device.

‘No, listen to me.’ She reached across and held Teena’s arm to stop her working. ‘He’s got no brain. You know that wing nut on top of his head?’

‘What about it?’

‘When you first arrived, and you told him to pay the week’s rent while you went veil buying, he unscrewed the wing nut and removed the top of his head. I almost passed out. Then he reached inside and pulled out a wad of notes. Teena, I’ve seen inside his head. There’s nothing in there but a tub of margarine.’

Teena shook her arm free but kept working at the machine. ‘Mr Landen has one of the finest brains in England. I’ve seen it myself.’

‘When?’

‘Whenever he’s removed it.’ She tightened another screw.

‘Removed it?’ Sally’s gaze scampered all over her.

Then Teena stopped work. Then she did nothing. Then she put the screwdriver down. Then she stared at the far wall. Then she said, ‘Ah.’

‘Ah what?’

‘To enliven his lectures, Mr Landen often removes his brain. For demonstration purposes he passes it round his students. As a joke, one of them must have substituted a tub of margarine for his brain and he placed it back in his head; an easy mistake for a brainless man to make.’

‘What sort of idiot would play a trick like that?’

‘We shouldn’t be too hard on the students. I’m sure they were just being high-spirited.’

‘But they’d have to be complete morons.’

Teena said, ‘I remember hearing once about a young student who played the same trick using a goldfish she’d won at a funfair. Of course, in her case, she was very young and very sorry for any harm she’d caused and wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing now.’ She turned red and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘That goldfish was swimming round in there for two months before anyone got suspicious.