by R. L. Stine
Margaret stepped cautiously into the closet. The feet, she saw, were attached to legs.
“Margaret—let’s go!” Casey pleaded.
“No. Look. There’s someone back there,” Margaret said, staring hard.
“Huh?”
“A person. Not a plant,” Margaret said. She took another step. A soft green arm brushed against her side.
“Margaret, what are you doing?” Casey asked, his voice high and frightened.
“I have to see who it is,” Margaret said.
She took a deep breath and held it. Then, ignoring the moans, the sighs, the green arms reaching out to her, the hideous green-tomato faces, she plunged through the plants to the back of the closet.
“Dad!” she cried.
Her father was lying on the floor, his hands and feet tied tightly with plant tendrils, his mouth gagged by a wide strip of elastic tape.
“Margaret—” Casey was beside her. He lowered his eyes to the floor. “Oh, no!”
Their father stared up at them, pleading with his eyes. “Mmmmm!” he cried, struggling to talk through the gag.
Margaret dived to the floor and started to untie him.
“No—stop!” Casey cried, and pulled her back by the shoulders.
“Casey, let go of me. What’s wrong with you?” Margaret cried angrily. “It’s Dad. He—”
“It can’t be Dad!” Casey said, still holding her by the shoulders. “Dad is at the airport—remember?”
Behind them, the plants seemed to be moaning in unison, a terrifying chorus. A tall plant fell over and rolled toward the open closet door.
“Mmmmmmm!” their father continued to plead, struggling at the tendrils that imprisoned him.
“I’ve got to untie him,” Margaret told her brother. “Let go of me.”
“No,” Casey insisted. “Margaret—look at his head.”
Margaret turned her eyes to her father’s head. He was bareheaded. No Dodgers cap. He had tufts of green leaves growing where his hair should be.
“We’ve already seen that,” Margaret snapped. “It’s a side effect, remember?” She reached down to pull at her father’s ropes.
“No—don’t!” Casey insisted.
“Okay, okay,” Margaret said. “I’ll just pull the tape off his mouth. I won’t untie him.”
She reached down and tugged at the elastic tape until she managed to get it off.
“Kids—I’m so glad to see you,” Dr. Brewer said. “Quick! Untie me.”
“How did you get in here?” Casey demanded, standing above him, hands on his hips, staring down at him suspiciously. “We saw you leave for the airport.”
“That wasn’t me,” Dr. Brewer said. “I’ve been locked in here for days.”
“Huh?” Casey cried.
“But we saw you—” Margaret started.
“It wasn’t me. It’s a plant,” Dr. Brewer said. “It’s a plant copy of me.”
“Dad—” Casey said.
“Please. There’s no time to explain,” their father said urgently, raising his leaf-covered head to look toward the closet doorway. “Just untie me. Quick!”
“The father we’ve been living with? He’s a plant?” Margaret cried, swallowing hard.
“Yes. Please—untie me!”
Margaret reached for the tendrils.
“No!” Casey insisted. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”
“I’ll explain everything. I promise,” he pleaded. “Hurry. Our lives are at stake. Mr. Martinez is in here, too.”
Startled, Margaret turned her eyes to the far wall. Sure enough, Mr. Martinez also lay on the floor, bound and gagged.
“Let me out—please!” her father cried.
Behind them, plants moaned and cried.
Margaret couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m untying him,” she told Casey, and bent down to start grappling with the tendrils.
Her father sighed gratefully. Casey bent down and reluctantly began working at the tendrils, too.
Finally, they had loosened them enough so their father could slip out. He climbed to his feet slowly, stretching his arms, moving his legs, bending his knees. “Man, that feels good,” he said, giving Margaret and Casey a grim smile.
“Dad—should we untie Mr. Martinez?” Margaret asked.
But, without warning, Dr. Brewer pushed past the two kids and made his way out of the closet.
“Dad—whoa! Where are you going?” Margaret called.
“You said you’d explain everything!” Casey insisted. He and his sister ran through the moaning plants, following their father.
“I will. I will.” Breathing hard, Dr. Brewer strode quickly to the woodpile against the far wall.
Margaret and Casey both gasped as he picked up an axe.
He spun around to face them, holding the thick axe handle with both hands. His face frozen with determination, he started toward them.
“Dad—what are you doing?” Margaret cried.
19
Swinging the axe onto his shoulder, Dr. Brewer advanced on Margaret and Casey. He groaned from the effort of raising the heavy tool, his face reddening, his eyes wide, excited.
“Dad, please!” Margaret cried, gripping Casey’s shoulder, backing up toward the jungle of plants in the center of the room.
“What are you doing?” she repeated.
“He’s not our real father!” Casey cried. “I told you we shouldn’t untie him!”
“He is our real father!” Margaret insisted. “I know he is!” She turned her eyes to her father, looking for an answer.
But he stared back at them, his face filled with confusion—and menace, the axe in his hands gleaming under the bright ceiling lights.
“Dad—answer us!” Margaret demanded. “Answer us!”
Before Dr. Brewer could reply, they heard loud, rapid footsteps clumping down the basement steps.
All four of them turned to the doorway of the plant room—to see an alarmed-looking Dr. Brewer enter. He grabbed the bill of his Dodgers cap as he strode angrily toward the two kids.
“What are you two doing down here?” he cried. “You promised me. Here’s your mother. Don’t you want to—?”
Mrs. Brewer appeared at his side. She started to call out a greeting, but stopped, freezing in horror when she saw the confusing scene.
“No!” she screamed, seeing the other Dr. Brewer, the capless Dr. Brewer, holding an axe in front of him with both hands. “No!” Her face filled with horror. She turned to the Dr. Brewer that had just brought her home.
He glared accusingly at Margaret and Casey. “What have you done? You let him escape?”
“He’s our dad,” Margaret said, in a tiny little voice she barely recognized.
“I’m your dad!” the Dr. Brewer at the doorway bellowed. “Not him! He’s not your dad. He’s not even human! He’s a plant!”
Margaret and Casey both gasped and drew back in terror.
“You’re the plant!” the bareheaded Dr. Brewer accused, raising the axe.
“He’s dangerous!” the other Dr. Brewer exclaimed. “How could you have let him out?”
Caught in the middle, Margaret and Casey stared from one father to the other.
Who was their real father?
20
“That’s not your father!” Dr. Brewer with the Dodgers cap cried again, moving into the room. “He’s a copy. A plant copy. One of my experiments that went wrong. I locked him in the supply closet because he’s dangerous.”
“You’re the copy!” the other Dr. Brewer accused, and raised the axe again.
Margaret and Casey stood motionless, exchanging terrified glances.
“Kids—what have you done?” Mrs. Brewer cried, her hands pressed against her cheeks, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“What have we done?” Margaret asked her brother in a low voice.
Staring wide-eyed from one man to the other, Casey seemed too frightened to reply.
“I—I don’t know what to do,” Cas
ey managed to whisper.
What can we do? Margaret wondered silently, realizing that her entire body was trembling.
“He has to be destroyed!” the axe-wielding Dr. Brewer shouted, staring at his look-alike across the room.
Beside them, plants quivered and shook, sighing loudly. Tendrils slithered across the dirt. Leaves shimmered and whispered.
“Put down the axe. You’re not fooling anyone,” the other Dr. Brewer said.
“You have to be destroyed!” Dr. Brewer with no cap repeated, his eyes wild, his face scarlet, moving closer, the axe gleaming as if electrified under the white light.
Dad would never act like this, Margaret realized. Casey and I were idiots. We let him out of the closet. And now he’s going to kill our real dad. And mom.
And then… us!
What can I do? she wondered, trying to think clearly even though her mind was whirring wildly out of control.
What can I do?
Uttering a desperate cry of protest, Margaret leapt forward and grabbed the axe from the imposter’s hands.
He gaped in surprise as she steadied her grip on the handle. It was heavier than she’d imagined. “Get back!” she screamed. “Get back—now!”
“Margaret—wait!” her mother cried, still too frightened to move from the doorway.
The capless Dr. Brewer reached for the axe. “Give it back to me! You don’t know what you’re doing!” he pleaded, and made a wild grab for it.
Margaret pulled back and swung the axe. “Stay back. Everyone, stay back.”
“Thank goodness!” Dr. Brewer with the Dodgers cap exclaimed. “We’ve got to get him back in the closet. He’s very dangerous.” He stepped up to Margaret. “Give me the axe.”
Margaret hesitated.
“Give me the axe,” he insisted.
Margaret turned to her mother. “What should I do?”
Mrs. Brewer shrugged helplessly. “I—I don’t know.”
“Princess—don’t do it,” the capless Dr. Brewer said softly, staring into Margaret’s eyes.
He called me Princess, Margaret realized.
The other one never had.
Does this mean that the Dad in the closet is my real dad?
“Margaret—give me the axe.” The one in the cap made a grab for it.
Margaret backed away and swung the axe again.
“Get back! Both of you—stay back!” she warned.
“I’m warning you,” Dr. Brewer in the cap said. “He’s dangerous. Listen to me, Margaret.”
“Get back!” she repeated, desperately trying to decide what to do.
Which one is my real dad?
Which one? Which one? Which one?
Her eyes darting back and forth from one to the other, she saw that each of them had a bandage around his right hand. And it gave her an idea.
“Casey, there’s a knife on the wall over there,” she said, still holding the axe poised. “Get it for me—fast!”
Casey obediently hurried to the wall. It took him a short while to find the knife among all the tools hanging there. He reached up on tiptoes to pull it down, then hurried back to Margaret with it.
Margaret lowered the axe and took the long-bladed knife from him.
“Margaret—give me the axe,” the man in the Dodgers cap insisted impatiently.
“Margaret, what are you doing?” the man from the supply closet asked, suddenly looking frightened.
“I—I have an idea,” Margaret said hesitantly.
She took a deep breath.
Then she stepped over to the man from the supply closet and pushed the knife blade into his arm.
21
“Ow!” he cried out as the blade cut through the skin.
Margaret pulled the knife back, having made a tiny puncture hole.
Red blood trickled from the hole.
“He’s our real dad,” she told Casey, sighing with relief. “Here, Dad.” She handed him the axe.
“Margaret—you’re wrong!” the man in the baseball cap cried in alarm. “He’s tricked you! He’s tricked you!”
The capless Dr. Brewer moved quickly. He picked up the axe, took three steps forward, pulled the axe back, and swung with all his might.
The Dr. Brewer in the cap opened his mouth wide and uttered a hushed cry of alarm. The cry was choked off as the axe cut easily through his body, slicing him in two.
A thick green liquid oozed from the wound. And as the man fell, his mouth locking open in disbelief and horror, Margaret could see that his body was actually a stem. He had no bones, no human organs.
The body thudded to the floor. Green liquid puddled around it.
“Princess—we’re okay!” Dr. Brewer cried, flinging the axe aside. “You guessed right!”
“It wasn’t a guess,” Margaret said, sinking into his arms. “I remembered the green blood. I saw it. Late at night. One of you was in the bathroom, bleeding green blood. I knew my real dad would have red blood.”
“We’re okay!” Mrs. Brewer cried, rushing into her husband’s arms. “We’re okay. We’re all okay!”
All four of them rushed together in an emotional family hug.
“One more thing we have to do,” their father said, his arms around the two kids. “Let’s get Mr. Martinez out of the closet.”
By dinnertime, things had almost returned to normal.
They had finally managed to welcome their mother home, and tried to explain to her all that had happened in her absence.
Mr. Martinez had been rescued from the supply closet, not too much the worse for wear. He and Dr. Brewer had had a long discussion about what had happened and about Dr. Brewer’s work.
He expressed total bewilderment as to what Dr. Brewer had accomplished, but he knew enough to realize that it was historic. “Perhaps you need the structured environment the lab on campus offers. I’ll talk to the board members about getting you back on staff,” Martinez said. It was his way of inviting their father back to work.
After Mr. Martinez was driven home, Dr. Brewer disappeared into the basement for about an hour. He returned grim-faced and exhausted. “I destroyed most of the plants,” he explained, sinking into an armchair. “I had to. They were suffering. Later, I’ll destroy the rest.”
“Every single plant?” Mrs. Brewer asked.
“Well… there are a few normal ones that I can plant out back in the garden,” he replied. He shook his head sadly. “Only a few.”
At dinner, he finally had the strength to explain to Margaret, Casey, and Mrs. Brewer what had happened down in the basement.
“I was working on a super plant,” he said, “trying to electronically make a new plant using DNA elements from other plants. Then I accidentally cut my hand on a slide. I didn’t realize it, but some of my blood got mixed in with the plant molecules I was using. When I turned on the machine, my molecules got mixed in with plant molecules—and I ended up with something that was part human, part plant.”
“That’s gross!” Casey exclaimed, dropping a forkful of mashed potatoes.
“Well, I’m a scientist,” Dr. Brewer replied, “so I didn’t think it was gross. I thought it was pretty exciting. I mean, here I was, inventing an entirely new kind of creature.”
“Those plants with faces—” Margaret started.
Her father nodded. “Yes. Those were things I made by inserting human materials into plant materials. I kept putting them in the supply closet. I got carried away. I didn’t know how far I could go, how human I could make the plants. I could see that my creations were unhappy, suffering. But I couldn’t stop. It was too exciting.”
He took a long drink of water from his glass.
“You didn’t tell me any of this,” Mrs. Brewer said, shaking her head.
“I couldn’t,” he said. “I couldn’t tell anyone. I—I was too involved. Then one day, I went too far. I created a plant that was an exact copy of me in almost every way. He looked like me. He sounded like me. And he had my brain, my mind.”
&n
bsp; “But he still acted like a plant in some ways,” Margaret said. “He ate plant food and—”
“He wasn’t perfect,” Dr. Brewer said, leaning forward over the dinner table, talking in a low, serious voice. “He had flaws. But he was strong enough and smart enough to overpower me, to lock me in the closet, to take my place—and to continue my experiments. And when Martinez arrived unexpectedly, he locked Martinez in the closet, too, so that his secret would be safe.”
“Was the head full of leaves one of the flaws?” Casey asked.
Dr. Brewer nodded. “Yes, he was almost a perfect clone of me, almost a perfect human, but not quite.”
“But, Dad,” Margaret said, pointing, “you have leaves on your head, too.”
He reached up and pulled one off. “I know,” he said, making a disgusted face. “That’s really gross, huh?”
Everyone agreed.
“Well, when I cut my hand, some of the plant materials mixed with my blood, got into my system,” he explained. “And then I turned on the machine. The machine created a strong chemical reaction between the plant materials and my blood. Then, my hair fell out overnight. And the leaves immediately started to sprout. Don’t worry, guys. The leaves are falling out already. I think my hair will grow back.”
Margaret and Casey cheered.
“I guess things will return to normal around here,” Mrs. Brewer said, smiling at her husband.
“Better than normal,” he said, smiling back. “If Martinez convinces the board to give me my job back, I’ll clear out the basement and turn it into the best game room you ever saw!”
Margaret and Casey cheered again.
“We’re all alive and safe,” Dr. Brewer said, hugging both kids at once. “Thanks to you two.”
It was the happiest dinner Margaret could remember. After they had cleaned up, they all went out for ice cream. It was nearly ten o’clock when they returned.
Dr. Brewer headed for the basement.
“Hey—where are you going?” his wife called suspiciously.
“I’m just going down to deal with the rest of the plants,” Dr. Brewer assured her. “I want to make sure that everything is gone, that this horrible chapter in our lives is over.”