Benjamin Franklinstein Meets the Fright Brothers

by Matthew McElligott

  “He sees us!” said Victor.

  Scott leapt to the ground. Victor tried to climb down, but slipped. The tower of garbage cans collapsed around him, crashing to the pavement. The boys took off down the alley.

  Across the street, they found Franklin waiting with the bikes, pretending to read a newspaper.

  “We have to”—Victor huffed—“we have to get out of here, now!”

  Franklin lowered the newspaper. “Haste makes waste, Victor. What’s happened?”

  Victor pointed back across the street.

  The brother stood at the entrance to the alley, squinting in the sunlight. “It is YOU!” he roared, shielding his eyes from the light. “Benjamin Franklin!”

  The brother started toward them just as the traffic light changed. Cars sped down the street, and he jumped back onto the curb, furious.

  “Forget what I said,” shouted Franklin. “Make haste! Flee! ”

  OTHER FRANKLIN APHORISMS

  Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.

  No gains without pains.

  Fish and visitors stink in three days.

  Eat to live, and not live to eat.

  Men and melons are hard to know.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Piecing It Together

  “Did we lose him?” Victor wheezed, glancing back. He ran alongside Franklin, guiding the old man’s handlebars to keep him upright.

  “I don’t know,” Scott said. “Follow me. I know a place!”

  He led them off the road into an alley. A chain-link fence blocked the exit. Scott skidded to a halt, jumped off his bike, and pulled up a patch of fence. “This way!”

  After Franklin and Victor wedged through, Scott pulled their bikes under.

  Victor looked around. “What is this place?”

  “It’s the Arthur Parker Art Park. My mom takes me here sometimes. She’s on the board.”

  “How come I’ve never heard of it before?” Victor said.

  “It’s private,” Scott explained. “This is where rich people keep their outdoor art when they don’t have enough room for it in their yards.”

  “I am confused,” Franklin said. “Where exactly is the art?”

  “Everywhere,” Scott said. “This place is gigantic.”

  He pointed across the field to a concrete cupcake the size of an automobile. Fifty yards beyond, a giant pair of stainless-steel tube socks wrestled on a taco shell. Franklin walked over to something that looked like a colossal roll of toilet paper.

  “Royal Flush,” Franklin read off a plaque. “Art certainly has changed since my day.”

  They collapsed onto the grass, hiding behind an enormous penny, and waited to see if anyone had followed them. The park was deserted. Once they decided they were in the clear, Victor and Scott filled Franklin in on what they had seen at the bicycle shop.

  “Interesting,” Franklin said. “But what to make of it all?”

  “Let’s look at this systematically,” Victor said. “What do we know for sure?”

  “We know the brothers run a bicycle repair shop.”

  “But they tear the bikes apart instead of fixing them,” Scott added.

  “They have a strange connection with me,” Franklin continued. “And they know who I am. What else?”

  Victor remembered the bicycle parade. “They also have some sort of connection with Mayor Milstead, Mr. Girard, and Dr. Kane.”

  “And they’re probably vampires,” Scott said. “Remember the bite marks?”

  Victor shook his head. “Scott, there are no such things as vampires.”

  “Are we forgetting anything else?” Franklin asked.

  Scott began to laugh. “I just thought of something. Those bicycle guys are brothers, right? And they work at the Right Cycle Company? That makes them ‘the Right brothers’! You know, like the inventors, the Wright brothers.”

  “The Wright brothers?” Franklin asked. “Who are they?”

  “Back in the early nineteen hundreds, two brothers named Orville and Wilbur Wright invented the airplane,” Victor explained. “An amazing achievement, considering that they started out as . . .”

  Victor paused.

  “They started out as what?” Franklin asked.

  “Bicycle repairmen!” He smacked his hand on his forehead. “Of course! Those aren’t the Right brothers. They’re the WRIGHT brothers!”

  “Hold on,” Scott said. “If they invented the airplane in the early nineteen hundreds, wouldn’t that make them over a hundred years old?”

  “So?” Victor nodded toward Franklin. “Ben’s at least three hundred years old. Which must mean—”

  “That they’re members of the Modern Order of Pro-metheus!” Franklin said. “If these brothers did invent the airplane, they must have been remarkable men. It makes sense that the Order would have preserved them before they died.”

  PLANS FOR THE 1903 WRIGHT FLYER 1

  “That would explain why they were drawn to Scott’s harmonically charged radio,” Victor said, “just like you were.”

  “But how come they’re acting like bad guys?” Scott asked. “You should have seen them ripping those bikes apart. That’s not what the Order is supposed to be about, is it?”

  “No, it is not,” agreed Franklin.

  “Plus, they’re vampires. You’re not a vampire, are you?”

  “They are not vampires!” Victor snapped.

  “Whatever they are, we need answers.” Franklin scratched his chin. “Our best strategy is to repair the damage I did to the electrophone. We must return to the laboratory at once!”

  A COMPARISON OF HUMAN AND VAMPIRE TEETH

  CHAPTER TEN

  A Close Call

  Before they could fix the electrophone, they needed new parts. That meant a visit to Ernie’s hardware store.

  Victor loved his cousin’s store. Sure, it was dark, musty, and completely disorganized. But if you were looking for just the right part to make your project work—and were willing to do a little digging—you could find it at Ernie’s.

  Franklin, Scott, and Victor found Ernie behind the counter, thumbing through an old copy of Popular Quantum Mechanics.

  “Hey, cousin!” Ernie said. “What’s goin’ on, electron?”

  Victor smiled. “Hi, Ernie. You remember Mr. Benjamin, right? And this is my friend Scott.”

  “Salutations, brothers,” Ernie said.

  Ernie sported a ten-gallon cowboy hat. Dozens of loops were sewn around its hatband; they held pens, pencils, fingernail clippers, screwdrivers, a jeweler’s hammer, a small flashlight, and, of course, Tootsie Rolls.

  He popped one into his mouth and tossed one each to Victor, Scott, and Franklin. “So, Victor, what can I do ya for?”

  “We’re working on a project and need a few things. Some freon metacoiling, an Ehlinger switch, a couple of strontium diodes—”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Ernie interrupted. “I was just about to step out and grab a bite. Would you guys mind watching the shop? Dig up whatever junk you’re looking for, throw it in a bag, and I’ll ring you up when I get back.”

  After about a half hour, they had found everything they needed. Victor and Franklin put it all in a bag. As they waited for Ernie to return, Scott played with a stapler he found behind the counter. “Staplers are cool.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Franklin said. “Throw it in the bag.”

  Victor’s cell phone rang.

  “That’s odd,” he said. “Usually the caller’s name and number appear on the screen.” He pressed a button. “Hello?”

  It was a man’s voice. “I must speak with Dr. Franklin.”

  FLOOR PLAN OF ERNIE’S HARDWARE STORE

  “What?” Victor was stunned. “How do you know—who is this?”

  “I must speak with Dr. Benjamin Franklin immediately,” the voice insisted. “This is the Modern Order of Prometheus!”

  Victor stared at the phone for a moment, then handed it to Franklin.
“It’s for you. He says he’s from the Order.”

  “The Order!” Franklin gasped. “Is it the same voice from the electrophone?”

  Victor shook his head. “I don’t think so. This guy has an accent.”

  Franklin took the phone and held it to his ear. “Hello? This is Dr. Franklin. Who is speaking?”

  A piercing siren blasted from the phone. Franklin’s face suddenly went blank. He stood stock-still.

  “His eyes!” Scott said, pointing at Franklin. “They’re changing color.”

  Red!

  “Come on!” Victor dragged Scott down an aisle toward the back of the store.

  They peered through a shelf. Franklin flung the phone into the air. He pressed his hands against his ears and roared.

  “He’s acting the same way he did when my radio got wet!” Scott said.

  “It must be the phone,” Victor said. “We’ve got to shut it off!”

  Franklin snapped his head at the sound of Victor’s voice. He thrust his arms toward the boys, fingers clutching the air, and charged down the aisle.

  “Or we could just get out of here!” Scott said, running for the exit.

  SMASH!

  A bathtub sailed over their heads, crashed onto the floor, and slid to a stop, blocking the door. The boys whirled around to see Franklin searching for something else heavy to throw.

  “Rrrrrrrrraaarrrrrrrggghhhhh!”

  Victor and Scott fled down another twisting aisle.

  You could get lost in this place, Victor thought. Good thing!

  At the end of the next aisle, Scott scrambled up a tall shelf stacked high with hubcaps.

  “Where are you going?” Victor whispered.

  “Up!”

  Victor struggled to the top. They lay flat on their stomachs, inches from the ceiling, and listened to Franklin’s heavy footsteps below them. Victor tried hard not to breathe.

  “That noise is making him crazy,” Victor whispered. “Did you see where he threw the phone?”

  “I can hear it, but I can’t see it,” Scott whispered. “Uh-oh.”

  “What?”

  “Dust. I’m . . . allergic. . . . Aaaaa-choo! ”

  Franklin’s head jerked up. He swung his arm and struck the shelf, tipping it over. Victor, Scott, and hundreds of hubcaps crashed onto the hard floor below. The clatter enraged Franklin.

  Victor froze.

  Scott sprang to his feet. He picked up one of the hubcaps, aimed, and flung it Frisbee-style. It flew through the air, past Franklin’s head, and crashed against the ceiling.

  Franklin swatted at the air. He roared and shook his fists.

  “Cut it out!” Victor said. “You’re just making him angrier!”

  Scott grabbed another hubcap and hurled it. Again, it narrowly missed Franklin and bounced off the ceiling.

  Franklin’s eyes burned brighter. He clambered over the fallen shelf toward the boys.

  “Even if you hit him, it’s not going to do any good,” Victor insisted. “He’s too powerful!”

  “I’m not aiming at him.”

  Scott picked up a third hubcap, squinted into the distance, and flung it. The hubcap whizzed over Franklin’s head and ricocheted off a broken ceiling fan. A small object fell from one of the fan’s blades.

  Victor’s phone!

  “I’ll distract him!” Scott said. “Get to your phone and turn it off!”

  Scott grabbed another hubcap, aimed, and hurled it at Franklin. It bounced off his forehead. Franklin shook his head, and Scott flung another. Then another.

  Victor scrambled around the rubble, dove for the phone, and pushed the Off button. The noise ceased.

  Franklin froze. His eyes slowly softened back to their natural blue.

  Scott ran to Victor’s side. “You okay?”

  “Thanks to you,” Victor said. “That was genius.”

  Franklin blinked. He looked confused. “Weren’t we just ... somewhere else?”

  They tried their best to clean up Cousin Ernie’s store, but it was impossible. Franklin had done too much damage.

  “Am I to understand,” Franklin said, “that I took a phone call from someone claiming to be from the Modern Order of Prometheus, my eyes went red, and I came at you?”

  “You threw a bathtub,” said Scott.

  “Heavens! I shall never answer a telephone again. It seems Victor and I owe you a debt of gratitude, Scott.”

  “We have to get to the bottom of this, before someone gets hurt,” Victor said. “Ben, did you recognize that voice? Do you remember anything at all?”

  “Only rage . . . confusion . . . It felt as if someone other than I was controlling my actions.”

  A bell rang and the front door opened. Ernie walked in, holding half a cheesecake in his hand.

  “Hey, guys. Thanks for watching the place.” He stopped and looked around the room, stunned. “What happened here?”

  “Ernie, I can explain everything,” Victor began. “You see, we had a minor—”

  “It looks fantastic!” Ernie said, a broad smile on his face. “Thanks for tidying up. No charge for the stuff.”

  OTHER USES FOR A BATHTUB BESIDES THROWING IT

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A Mysterious Message

  By the time they got back to Victor’s house, it was late afternoon and they were exhausted. Franklin needed to recharge his battery belt, so they agreed to meet after dinner in the basement laboratory. Scott biked home to ask his parents if he could sleep over at Victor’s.

  Around seven o’clock Victor grabbed the equipment he had collected at Ernie’s and headed downstairs to Franklin’s apartment. He pulled open the secret bookcase, lowered the bag of parts down the shaft with a rope, then climbed down the ladder. Franklin was busy at the workbench poring over a book on the history of famous inventors. It was open to a chapter on the Wright brothers.

  “Look at this photograph!” Franklin mused. “Can you imagine the thrill the first time their invention actually took flight? They must have felt like gods.”

  Franklin handed the book to Victor. The men in the picture were younger, but there was no mistaking their similarity to the brothers in the bicycle shop.

  “Such a fantastic machine!” Franklin continued. “It saddens me to think that they may be using their genius to do the world harm.”

  “I know,” said Victor. He emptied the bag of parts onto the workbench and began to sort through them. “But I can’t help feeling there’s more to the story. If we can just get the electrophone fixed, maybe the mysterious voice at the other end can help us figure it out.”

  “But can we trust the voice on the electrophone?” Franklin asked. “After what happened to me at Ernie’s—”

  “No, the voice on the cell phone was different, I’m sure of it,” Victor said. “The voice on the electrophone is on our side. Plus, I’ll be here to turn it off if anything goes wrong.”

  For the next hour, Victor and Franklin worked on the electrophone. Scott arrived with his backpack and sleeping bag as they were finishing up.

  “Sorry I’m late. My dad came home and tried to squeeze through the front door wearing his bicycle seat costume. We spent an hour pulling him free. He says hi.”

  “You’re just in time,” said Victor. “I think we’ve got the electrophone fixed, and we’re about to turn it on.”

  “Do you think it’s safe?” Scott asked. “The bad guys might still be listening in.”

  “I fear we have no other choice,” Franklin said. “The urgency of our situation demands we try.”

  “We’ll keep it short,” Victor agreed. “Ben, I think you should speak this time. The voice specifically asked for you.” He opened the broadcast valves and cranked the charging wheel. Franklin picked up the copper speaking cone and held it in front of his mouth.

  “This is Dr. Franklin,” he announced. “We need to speak to you urgently about the Wright brothers. Are you there? I repeat: are you there?”

  The speaker bubbled and crack
led. For several minutes, they listened to the empty static. Finally, a faint voice said, “Mérida, Mexico.”

  The three looked at one another. Mexico?

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Franklin said into the cone. “You want us to meet you in Mexico? That will not be possible. Please clarify.”

  “Niort, France.”

  “Scott,” Victor whispered, “hand me that pen and paper.”

  “I’m afraid we cannot meet you in France, either,” continued Franklin. “Perhaps—”

  “Edinburgh, Scotland . . . Neryungri, Russia . . . Five Finger, Alaska . . . Nejran, Saudi Arabia.”

  Victor scribbled furiously. The voice repeated the entire list once more, and then the electrophone went silent.

  Half an hour later Victor, Scott, and Franklin were enjoying a snack in the Godwin kitchen, huddled around a large map of the world. Mrs. Godwin was in the living room watching TV.

  “There’s Five Finger, Alaska,” said Scott, pointing at the map. “Maybe we’re supposed to go there.”

  Victor shook his head. “I don’t think that’s what this is about. The last time we spoke, the voice said that someone might be listening in. What if these locations are actually some sort of coded message?”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Franklin said. “When General Washington commanded the Continental Army, his coded messages helped us win the war. Let us find the other locations on the map.”

  “Here’s Edinburgh,” said Victor, circling it in red. “And Neryungri, Russia. There’s Saudi Arabia . . .”

  “I see Niort,” said Scott.

  “There’s Nejran,” said Franklin. “And there, near the tip of Mexico, I see Mérida. But what does it all mean?”

  Even with all the cities plotted on the map, the message wasn’t any clearer. There didn’t seem to be any logical order to the locations. Victor tried rearranging the letters in their names. Franklin suggested connecting the cities with lines, with the thought that they might form some sort of shape, like an arrow. Scott wanted to buy tickets and fly to each city.