Brainwashed!

by R. McGeddon

  “What was that about?” Emmie demanded.

  “What was what about?” said Sam.

  “You went all weird when I said ‘good luck.’”

  Arty and Sam’s eyes glazed over once again. “Goode is good,” they said. “Goode is good.”

  “Okay, now you’re weirding me out,” Emmie said.

  “Why, what’s up?” asked Sam, suddenly back to normal.

  “It’s like you guys have been brainwashed,” Emmie told them. “It sounds hard to believe but then, hey, compared to zombies and aliens it’s actually pretty normal.”

  “Brainwashed?” laughed Arty. “Don’t be ridiculous. By who?”

  “By Doctor…” Emmie began, but she caught herself in time. “By the fifth candidate in the election.”

  “You mean—?” began Sam, but Emmie clamped her hand over his mouth before he could get any further. “Don’t say it! I think that’s some kind of trigger word.”

  “Doctor um, G., would never try to brainwash us,” Sam said, when Emmie had taken her hand back.

  “Doctor G. loves us,” said Arty. “And we love him.”

  “Now let’s get to sports club,” urged Sam. “Exercise is excellent.”

  “No, Sam,” corrected Arty. “Exercise is good.”

  “Goode is good.”

  Emmie stared at Arty in disbelief, as he and Sam headed for the sports field. “Okay, Arty looking forward to exercise?” she said, hurrying to keep up. “Now I know you’ve been brainwashed.”

  Things continued to go downhill for Emmie after that. Not only had her two best friends been hypno-zapped, but Coach Priscilla was up to something, too.

  Last time Emmie and the others had been there, the boys had all stared at Priscilla with their tongues hanging out, while the girls had crossed their arms, rolled their eyes, and generally looked a bit cross.

  Today, though, was different. Boys and girls alike lined up before her. They stared not at her, but through her, just like the guard at the Town Hall had done.

  What’s more, last time the group was bored stiff. Now they hung on her every word like a load of really nerdy dogs at obedience school.

  “Today we shall all be Goode citizens,” she said.

  Everyone responded in unison. “Goode is good.”

  “Oh yes he is,” Priscilla grinned. “Now, drills. One lap around the field, fifty jumping jacks, then pull-ups on the climbing frame until I say stop. Go!”

  As everyone set off, Emmie pretended to tie up her shoelace. Coach Priscilla was definitely in on whatever was going on, and Emmie was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  Before she could question the coach, though, Jesse came darting across the field. He frantically adjusted his hair and did the breathing-on-the-hand test to make sure his breath didn’t smell, then he jogged to a stop beside the coach.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I got held up. There’s some sort of voting thing going on.”

  “The election,” nodded Priscilla. “The election is good.”

  “Is it?” Jesse said. He shrugged. “Well, whatever. I’m here now.”

  “Yes, you are,” said Priscilla. “And that is good.”

  Jesse’s face brightened. “Is it? You think me being here is good?”

  The coach smiled. Jesse may not have seen the broadcast, but she still had him completely under her power. “I do. Now run along with the rest of them, there’s a good lad.”

  “Watch me go!” cried Jesse, his muscular legs powering him across the grass. He began to close the gap on the others in a matter of seconds, all the while looking back at Priscilla and grinning like a lovesick schoolboy, which, as it happens, was precisely what he was.

  It was then that the coach noticed Emmie kneeling on the ground tying her shoes. Emmie had hoped to get to Priscilla before the others made it around the field, but Sam and the others were almost back already. Her interrogation would have to wait.

  “Why aren’t you running?” asked the coach, eyeing Emmie with suspicion. “Running is good.”

  Emmie hesitated, then she stood up and tried to copy the same dead-eyed expression she’d seen on everyone else. “Goode is good,” she chimed.

  “Well done,” said Priscilla, smiling. “Now get going.”

  Emmie set off just as Sam and the others were arriving. They immediately launched into the jumping jacks, and it was only then that Emmie realized Arty was there, too. He had somehow managed to keep pace with the rest of them, and there he was, jumping along in perfect time.

  By the time Emmie finished her lap, the others were on to the pull-ups. She had barely started her jumping jacks when Priscilla’s mobile phone gave a sharp bleep in her pocket.

  The coach took out the phone, read the message, and then broke into a broad grin. “Good news, everyone!” she said.

  “Goode is good,” they all replied.

  “The election is over. We have a new mayor. Doctor Goode has won by an absolute landslide!”

  “Goode is good!” cheered pretty much everyone except Jesse, Emmie, and Priscilla herself.

  Emmie sidled over to Sam. “What about your dad?” she hissed.

  A flicker of concern passed across Sam’s face. “Oh yeah. I wanted him to win, didn’t I?” he said. He turned to Emmie and for the first time in as far back as Emmie could remember, he looked worried. “So how come I’m so happy that he didn’t?”

  * * *

  HELP! My Friend Has Been Brainwashed!

  So a friend or family member has been brainwashed and you’re not sure what to do. Have no fear! Here are some possible suggestions for ways you might deal with them:

  1. Lock them in a cupboard.

  2. Lock them in a different cupboard.

  3. Tie them to a tree.

  4. Stuff their ears with cotton balls so they can’t hear any commands.

  5. Remove their eyes so they can’t see any commands, either.

  6. Actually, forget that last one. Get a blindfold. Much less messy.

  * * *

  HELP! I Want to Brainwash My Friend!

  Oh, it’s like that, is it? You want to try brainwashing your friend or family member to do your bidding? You naughty person, you. Well, some of these might help …

  1. Wave your hands about in front of their face and say “Do as you are bid!” in a spooky voice.

  2. Jab them repeatedly with your finger while going, “Are you brainwashed yet? Are you brainwashed yet? Are you brainwashed yet?” over and over again.

  3. Invest billions of dollars in the development of a state-of-the-art brainwashing hypno-ray device. Or, alternatively …

  4. Buy a pocket watch on a chain and swing it back and forth before their eyes.

  5. Record yourself whispering “You shall obey my every command” and play it on a loop while they’re sleeping.

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Time passed, in that way that time tends to do. Morning became afternoon, which became early evening, and you can probably figure out most of the rest on your own.

  Twenty-four hours (ish) since everything that happened in the last chapter, Sam and Arty were making their way to Emmie’s house. This was most unusual.

  Emmie’s Great-Aunt Doris was not the easiest person in the world to get along with. To describe her as a nasty, vindictive old witch would be to do a grave disservice to nasty, vindictive old witches everywhere. She was the most unpleasant person Sam had ever met, and that included the ones who’d been turned into zombies and had tried to eat him.

  They stopped at a curb, letting four trucks with the spiral-pattern design trundle by in the direction of the Town Hall.

  “What do you think she wants to see us for?” Arty wondered as they made their way quickly but carefully across the road. “She never invites us to her house.”

  “I’m not sure. She didn’t say,” Sam said. “She just said it was important.”

  Now safely across the road, they stopped at Emmie’s gate. The garden was
overgrown and the path was barely visible through the tangle of grass and weeds. At the other end of it, the door stood silent and imposing, as if daring them to knock.

  “After y-you,” Arty stammered.

  They made their way along the path until the door loomed large before them. Taking a deep breath, Sam raised his hand and was about to knock when—

  “WHAT DO YOU WANT?” snarled Great-Aunt Doris, yanking open the door. She glared at the boys with her mad old eyes, and rattled her false teeth around in her mouth. “Is Emmie in?” asked Sam.

  “Who?”

  “Emmie.”

  “Never heard of her,” snapped Doris, and she began to close the door.

  Sam put his foot against it. “She’s your niece,” he reminded her.

  “G-great-niece,” corrected Arty, who had never been so terrified in his life.

  “Great? Great?” cried Doris, and she snorted like a racehorse. “There’s nothing great about her. She’s a waste of space. Great! She’s not even good.”

  At once, all three of their faces took on that empty, hollow expression.

  “Goode is good,” they mumbled. “Goode is good.”

  They all blinked and then carried on as if nothing had happened.

  * * *

  Avoiding Great-Aunt Doris

  Sometimes you just have to face Doris head-on, but other times it’s entirely possible you’ll want to find a way to sneak past her. Thankfully, getting past the crazy old bat isn’t difficult. Because of a rare medical condition, Doris is unable to see the color orange. Back when she was first figuring out how to escape her house, Emmie used that knowledge to create this Doris Avoidance Suit:

  * * *

  “Getchoo foot out of my door,” Doris growled. “Unless you want to lose it.”

  “We’d really like to see Emmie,” Sam said. He flashed his most winning smile, the one he saved for special occasions. “Please?”

  To Arty’s amazement, Doris seemed to soften a little. “She’s out back in the shed,” she grunted. “But you ain’t coming traipsing through here leaving muddy footprints on my carpets. Go around the outside.”

  “Thanks!” Sam said, and he pulled his foot out of the way just as Doris hurled her full weight against the door. There was a thud and an “Ooyah!” as her face clattered against the other side.

  The gap between the side of the house and the fence was narrow, the ground overgrown with prickly bushes and other things no one likes. When Sam and Arty were halfway through the tangle, they spotted Doris’s cat, Attila, perched on a fence post like a fat black cat perching on a fence post.

  Attila was one of Emmie’s greatest enemies, second only to Phoebe. The cat acted like a guard dog, only smaller and more cat-like. He skulked around everywhere, hissing at everyone and attempting to block Emmie’s every escape plan.

  The cat’s eyes narrowed as they drew closer. Attila opened his mouth and let out a hiss.

  “Nice kitty,” soothed Sam. “Nice little kitty.”

  But Attila was having none of it. He swiped with his claws right for Sam’s face. Quick as a flash, Sam leaned out of reach, accidentally pulling off a perfect backward head-butt on Arty.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry!”

  Attila seemed to smirk for a moment, then he hopped down off the fence and vanished in the undergrowth at their feet. Sam pressed on toward the back garden, with Arty following behind rubbing his aching forehead.

  The shed was a ramshackle old thing tucked right away at the bottom of the garden. Sam approached the door and had just raised his hand to knock when—

  “What kept you?” demanded Emmie, tearing the door open.

  Sam lowered his hand. “Doesn’t anyone knock in your family?”

  “Come in, quickly,” Emmie said. She pulled them inside, glanced around to make sure they weren’t being watched, then closed the door and slid a series of heavy bolts into place.

  “What’s up?” asked Sam.

  “Why are you locking us in a shed?” said Arty.

  “For your own goo—” began Emmie, then she stopped herself.

  “For our own goo?” frowned Arty. “I don’t have any goo. At least, I don’t think I do have goo.”

  “For your own benefit,” Emmie said. She took a heavy hardback book down from a shelf and slammed it on a rusted old workbench.

  “Brainwashing for Dunces,” Sam read. “Not this again.”

  “We haven’t been brainwashed,” protested Arty.

  “Goode,” said Emmie.

  “Goode is good,” replied the boys.

  “See, why did you say that if you haven’t been brainwashed?”

  Arty and Sam exchanged a slightly puzzled glance. “I, er, felt like it,” said Sam.

  “Me too,” agreed Arty.

  “Yeah, right,” snorted Emmie. “Your brains have been well and truly washed by that Doctor Goode. Whatever was on that broadcast completely messed up anyone who watched it. But don’t worry, this book tells me how to fix you. Repeat after me: Goode is bad.”

  “Goode is good.”

  Emmie tutted. “Ugh, so much for that,” she said, slamming the book closed. She paced around her friends, looking them up and down.

  “I don’t get how you two could have been hypno-rayed or whatever so easily,” she scowled. “We’ve fought zombies, defeated alien invaders, and then you just go and let some goggle-eyed old guy make you his puppets. It’s disappointing.”

  “Don’t talk about him like that,” warned Arty.

  “Why not? He is a goggle-eyed old guy,” Emmie said.

  “Well … yeah,” Arty was forced to agree. “But still.”

  “And he’s controlling everyone like puppets,” Emmie continued. “Doesn’t sound very good to me.”

  “Goode is good,” droned the boys.

  “So you keep saying,” Emmie said. “But if that’s right, why didn’t he help fight the zombies? Or the aliens? He’s a scientist, right? He could have given us a hand.”

  Arty and Sam shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe he was busy,” said Sam, all defensive.

  “Busy designing a hypno-ray or whatever he used to make you his slaves,” Emmie said. “I mean, think about it,” she said. “The guy lives inside a volcano! Name one genuinely good person who lives inside a volcano.”

  “Goode is … good,” said the boys, but they sounded much less convinced than they had just a moment ago.

  “And what about your dad, Sam?” Emmie pressed. “You wanted him to win. Think of all that work you put in trying to help him.”

  Sam’s eyebrows knotted in the middle, like two caterpillars having a fight.

  “My … dad?”

  “And did you know the lovely Coach Priscilla is the doctor’s daughter? Oh yes, I looked it up. They’re in cahoots,” said Emmie, then she said the word “cahoots” again because she really quite liked it.

  “They’re up to no good,” she concluded. “And we need to stop them.”

  “Goode is good,” both boys said, but they sounded really close to not actually believing it.

  “He stopped your dad from becoming mayor!”

  “Goode is … good?” said Sam.

  “She made you run laps and do jumping jacks!”

  “Goode … is … good,” said Arty, grimacing.

  “And you enjoyed it, Arty!” Emmie cried. “You enjoyed it!”

  Arty’s eyes widened. He let out a sharp gasp. “The monster!”

  Sam blinked. “Hey, wait a minute. Goode is…” He gave his head a shake. “… Bad. Goode is bad.”

  “He brainwashed us!” Arty yelped.

  “Used us like puppets,” said Sam.

  “And he’ll do the same thing to everyone else in town,” Emmie said, “unless we stop him.”

  * * *

  How to Fix a Brainwashed Best Friend

  Oh boy. So a friend or family member has been brainwashed. First of all, you should try not to panic. Actually, forget that. Panic. Panic lots. There�
��s probably no way of getting them back.

  Oh, all right. One of these might snap them out of it.

  1. Point out that only really nasty cheats go about brainwashing people all the time and that they don’t want to be under the command of a cheater.

  2. Slap them across the face with a fish.

  3. Remind them of how they used to be. Try to do one of their favorite activities with them.

  4. Put live spiders down their pants.

  5. Look at photographs of you and your friend together in happier times.

  * * *

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sam, Arty, and Emmie tiptoed through the streets of Sitting Duck. Then they realized they looked weird and walked properly instead.

  All through the town, speaker systems had been installed. One had been attached to the roof of the roof shop. Another had been fastened to the Zip and Button Emporium, and the walls of the ice-cream-cone store were covered in them.

  The speakers were being put up by … well, everyone, really. Dozens of townsfolk clambered up ladders or shimmied up drainpipes or formed human pyramids in order to mount the megaphone-like devices nice and high.

  None of them said a word as they worked, and Sam and the gang found themselves surrounded by an eerie, unsettling silence.

  “What are they up to?” Emmie wondered.

  “By the looks of it, they’re installing a sound system across the whole town,” Arty said.

  “So either someone’s planning a music festival,” said Sam. “Or else…”

  A screech of feedback blasted out from all of the speakers at once, forcing everyone to cover their ears, which did the guy at the top of the human pyramid no favors, let me tell you.

  When the din had faded, another sound emerged from the speakers—a continuous tone that rose and fell in pitch, and wobbled a bit in the middle. It was an odd sound. A curious sound.

  A hypnotic sound.

  As one, all of the nearby townsfolk turned and began marching in the direction of the Town Hall. Emmie moved to follow, but Sam held her back.