It's Alive! It's Alive!

by R. L. Stine

  “Maybe it was the light,” Dad said. “It sounds weird. But maybe the light on the glass lab wall had a glare and made you think you were seeing me with my neck open.”

  Gates had been quiet. But now he took a step toward my parents. “There’s one way we can find out the truth,” he said in a low voice. He kept his eyes on me.

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  He motioned toward Dad. “Check out the back of his neck. See if he has a flap back there. See if his neck feels like a human neck.”

  Mom and Dad exchanged glances.

  “Is there a problem with that?” I demanded.

  They both shook their heads. “Of course not, dear. But it’s very silly.”

  “It isn’t really necessary, is it?” Dad said. “Livvy, you know us. You know we’re your parents.

  “It’s necessary,” I said.

  Dad shrugged. He gave Mom another glance. “Okay. Go,” he said.

  He turned around so we could see the back of his neck. “I hope you don’t have cold hands,” he joked.

  Only Mom laughed.

  Gates and I stepped up behind him. Dad’s curly, salt-and-pepper hair came part of the way down his neck. Under the kitchen light, his skin looked smooth and tight.

  My hand trembled as I reached up and wrapped my fingers around his neck.

  I pressed my hand over the back of Dad’s neck. The skin was warm. I squeezed my fingers tighter. I could feel neck muscles, tendons. Not metal or wires.

  “Can we pull down your collar?” Gates asked Dad.

  “Why?” Mom asked.

  “See if we can find the flap,” Gates said. “The little door that opens up.”

  Mom rolled her eyes. “This is too weird. I’m really worried about you two. I think you’ve lost your minds.”

  “Go ahead,” Dad said.

  I rolled down his collar. I rubbed my hand over his neck, his shoulders, the top part of his back.

  Perfectly smooth. He has a mole on his left shoulder. That was the only bump.

  “No flap,” I reported to Gates. “His skin is perfectly normal. He’s not a robot.”

  “Well … I’m glad we got that cleared up,” Mom said. She strode to the stove, picked up the teakettle, and filled it with water from the sink. “Do you two want to check my neck, too? Make sure I’m Livvy’s real mom?”

  Gates and I didn’t reply. I think we were both feeling numb. In shock. I mean, we knew what we saw. We both didn’t dream it.

  But now, here was my dad. Just my dad, not a robot.

  And how could we explain it? My mind was totally blown.

  “Well, I’ve lived to see a lot,” Mrs. Bernard said.

  What did that mean?

  “I’m going to my room,” she announced. She finally dropped the dish towel on the counter. “Call me if you need me.”

  “We won’t need you, Mrs. B,” Mom said. “We’re going out for dinner tonight.” She turned to Gates. “Would you like to join us?”

  “Uh … No, thanks,” he stammered. “I don’t think so. I’d better get home.” He gave me a little wave as he hurried to the kitchen door. I could see that he was as shaken as I was.

  Gates and I were so freaked out, we forgot to ask Mom and Dad what they discovered when they took Francine apart. I didn’t remember about it until halfway through dinner.

  We were at Dad’s favorite restaurant, The House of Meatballs. Dad loves meatball heroes and meatballs and spaghetti and anything with meatballs.

  Mom always laughs at him. “Why don’t you just have meat?” she says. “Why does it have to be rolled in a ball?”

  “Doesn’t taste as good,” he always says.

  Luckily, they have fried chicken and other food on the menu. I’m not really into meatballs.

  Dinner went okay. We talked about things at school and some stories about my crazy cousins who live across town. No one mentioned what happened in the basement. Mom and Dad didn’t bring up the subject of how Gates and I thought Dad was a robot.

  I was very grateful. I didn’t want to talk about it. I needed to think about it by myself. I needed to figure out exactly what had happened, and I knew Mom and Dad would not be helpful.

  But then Francine popped into my mind. And I realized Gates and I hadn’t asked about her, even though that’s what we’d spent hours waiting for.

  “I almost forgot about Francine,” I said, finishing my last French fry. “Tell me. You took the robot apart? What did you find?”

  Mom swallowed a mouthful of her chicken. “Not much,” she said.

  “We took the robot apart piece by piece,” Dad said. “Module by module. We examined every part of her.”

  “Of course, we spent most of our time on the memory module,” Mom added.

  I shoved my plate away. “And?”

  Mom shrugged. “Not much to report. We couldn’t find any reason for Francine to act the way she did.”

  “There was nothing in the program that would cause her to stomp on another bot,” Dad added. “I mean, nothing at all.”

  “So she decided to do it on her own?” I asked.

  “Not very likely,” Mom said. “Not with that simple programming. There’s no way the robot was smart enough to act on her own.”

  “And,” Dad said, “no way the robot was smart enough to program herself.”

  “Then how do you explain it?” I demanded. “Francine crossed the driveway and stomped on Chaz’s basketball bot. And I didn’t tell her to do that or program it or anything.”

  “As far as your dad and I could tell,” Mom said, “Francine had programming to crack open eggs and drop the yolks in a bowl. That’s all.”

  “But she never did that,” I said. “Not once. She did all these terrible things she wasn’t programmed to do.”

  Mom and Dad stared at me. “Frankly, we’re stumped,” Dad said.

  “We work with very sophisticated computers and bots,” Mom continued. “If there was a flaw in Francine’s memory program, we would have caught it. We took the robot apart piece by piece. But we didn’t find anything. Not a single line of bad code.”

  I thought about it for a long moment. “So it’s a total mystery?” I said finally.

  Dad nodded. “A total mystery.”

  Little did I know that the mystery was just beginning.

  The next day, Coach Teague held a meeting of the Robotics Club after school. Gates and I walked into the Art room and set down our backpacks. DeAndre Marcus, Sara Blum, and my old pal Rosa Romero were already gathered around a long table.

  I took a seat on the bench across from Rosa. DeAndre plugged the power pack into his bot, and it began to hum. “I’ve made some improvements,” he said in his whispery voice. “I speeded up the tempo. So now it can build its own bot in under a minute.”

  “Wow. Impressive,” Rosa said. For some reason, she had her eyes on me, not DeAndre or his bot. “Your bot is going to kill at the tournament.”

  Coach Teague stepped into the room, pulling a maroon sweatshirt off. “So hot today,” he muttered. He tossed it onto a chair and swept a hand over his hair to brush it into place.

  “Sorry I’m late. Budget talks,” he said, making his way to the table. “How is everyone today? Feeling stressed about the tournament? It’s only a few days away, as I’m sure you all know.”

  We all murmured answers.

  “Well, we have two awesome bots to go up against Swanson,” he continued. “Of course, they have a much bigger Robotics Team than we do. But I think we have something to show them.”

  Gates and I exchanged glances. I wondered if he felt as awkward as I did. I mean, we were the only ones without a project.

  Teague turned to us. It was as if he read my mind. “I know there’s only a week left,” he said. “But did you two come up with any new ideas?”

  Gates shook his head. He kept his gaze down, staring at the table. “Not really.”

  “It’s been a little weird at my house,” I said. “I haven’t been
able to think about a new bot.”

  Suddenly, I was desperate to tell Teague the whole story. Tell him about what Gates and I saw in my basement. My dad with his neck open and wires poking out.

  What would Teague think? That I was dreaming? That I was crazy? That I was just making it up to get attention since I didn’t have a bot to show off?

  I kept my mouth shut.

  Teague patted me on the shoulder. “Well, of course, you and Gates will be at the tournament as part of our team. Maybe you’ll get some good ideas for next year’s projects.”

  “Yeah. Maybe,” I replied.

  Gates just shook his head sadly.

  “I have lots of good ideas,” Rosa chimed in. “Maybe I could share some of my ideas with Gates and Livvy, since they don’t have any.”

  Coach Teague smiled. “Yes,” he said, “that’s what Robotics is all about. Cooperatition.”

  I wondered: If Gates and I strangled Rosa, would that be called cooperatition?

  But I smiled and didn’t say anything.

  So, we ran the two bots through their paces. Teague had a few suggestions for the LEGO-building bot built by Sara and Rosa. Nothing major.

  DeAndre’s bot ran perfectly. It built its own little bot in under a minute.

  Coach Teague congratulated everyone again, and said we were ready to “kick butt” against Swanson. Then Rosa and DeAndre carefully packed up their bots, and we left the school.

  Heavy clouds hung low in the sky, and the air had grown chilly and damp. The gray weather matched my mood perfectly as I started to walk home.

  I had crossed Palm Place and was halfway down the next block when I heard running footsteps behind me. I turned to see Rosa waving to me, calling for me to wait up.

  Her perfect long wavy hair flew behind her as she ran. Her blue eyes were wide. Her cheeks pink from running.

  “Hi,” she said breathlessly, coming up beside me.

  “Hi,” I said. I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice. Rosa had never wanted to walk with me before.

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” she said, brushing her hair off one shoulder of her silky blue jacket.

  I squinted at her. “Sorry?”

  She nodded. “Sorry about what happened to your robot.”

  Was she serious? I saw the big grin on her face when Coach Teague said that Francine couldn’t compete in the tournament.

  “You didn’t look sorry,” I blurted out.

  Her cheeks turned a little pinker. “I thought about it. A lot,” she said. “You and Gates worked hard on that … thing. I know you did.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Apology accepted.” I stopped at the corner of Maple Avenue.

  “I was serious about wanting to help you,” Rosa said.

  “Really?”

  She nodded. Her perfectly round blue eyes flashed. She reached into her backpack. “I thought maybe you and Gates could use this.”

  She pulled out a paperback book with a bright yellow cover and shoved it into my hand. “This might help,” she said.

  I turned the book over and read the title: ROBOTICS FOR DUMMIES.

  I held the book up to her. “Seriously?”

  “It looks like a joke,” Rosa said. “But there are some really good project ideas in there.”

  She knew it was a joke. A cruel joke—on me. But somehow she kept a straight face and a sincere expression. Like she really wanted to help.

  I’m not a violent person. But for the second time that afternoon, I thought of strangling her.

  “Hey, thanks,” I said, shoving it into my backpack. “Gates will like this.”

  She looked a little disappointed. I guessed she wanted a bigger reaction from me. Maybe I was supposed to get angry. Or cry. Or rip the stupid book to pieces.

  “See you tomorrow,” she said. She turned quickly and hurried away.

  What a weird person she is, I thought. I never did anything to her. It’s like she was programmed to be mean.

  Dinner at our house was quiet that night. Mom and Dad seemed to have a lot on their minds. They didn’t talk much at all.

  They usually batter me with questions about my school day. But today there were no questions at all. Just “Pass the string beans” and “Could I have a little more macaroni, please?”

  “We had a Robotics meeting after school,” I said, just to break the awkward silence. “The club has two good bots to compete against Swanson next week.”

  Mom flashed me a pitying look. “Sorry about your bot, Livvy. I know you worked hard.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “It’s a shame, okay.” Then I told my parents about Rosa. “She gave me a book called ROBOTICS FOR DUMMIES.”

  Mom laughed. Dad didn’t. “Was that supposed to be a joke?” Dad asked.

  “Uh … yeah.”

  “I’d like to see that book,” Dad said. “See who wrote it. It may be someone I know.”

  “I’ll take it out of my trash can for you,” I told him.

  After dinner, Dad and I washed the dishes. My parents were totally tech savvy, but they didn’t own a dishwasher. Dad always washed and I dried. We never switched jobs.

  Usually, we talked about music. Songs we liked. We’d even sing a little to each other. Dad likes eighties hair bands and old heavy metal stuff. He’s always trying to convince me they were so much better than the stuff I listen to.

  Tonight, for some reason, we didn’t talk. The mood was totally strained in my house. I mean, both my parents were acting gloomy and quiet. I had no idea why.

  Dad rinsed off a big carving knife and handed it to me. I tried to grasp the handle, but it was slippery. It started to slide from my hand. I made a grab for it.

  But the knife dropped and the big blade sliced right through the back of Dad’s hand.

  “Nooo! Sorry!” I cried.

  Dad was sponging off a dinner plate. He didn’t seem to notice.

  I stared at the back of his hand. The blade had cut a two-inch line in the skin. Dad didn’t seem to feel the pain.

  “Hey, Dad—?” I started.

  He handed me the dinner plate.

  “Dad? Your hand?” I said.

  I grabbed his hand and raised it so he would notice. Then I realized the hand wasn’t bleeding. The cut appeared to be pretty deep. But no blood seeped out onto the skin.

  “Dad?”

  He finally lowered his gaze.

  “Your hand is cut,” I said. “But it isn’t bleeding.”

  He nodded. He raised the cut hand to examine it better.

  “Didn’t you feel it?”

  “Not really,” he said.

  “Dad, that’s totally weird!” I exclaimed.

  “Yeah. Weird,” he murmured.

  Dad went to bandage his hand. I finished the dishes without him. Then I made my way upstairs to my room to do homework.

  I finished a section of my science notebook. Then I stopped and shut my eyes and thought about a lot of things.

  Everything galloped past me, as if my thoughts were having a race. Again I saw Francine tossing eggs across the kitchen … stomping on Chaz Fremont’s bot in his driveway … Dad with the wires dangling from inside his neck … Dad’s cut hand with no blood coming out … Rosa …

  “Whoa.” I suddenly remembered I hadn’t told Gates about the book Rosa gave me. I texted him. Then I called him.

  He wasn’t very impressed with Rosa’s gift. “Don’t think about it,” Gates said. “It’s just Rosa being Rosa.”

  He was right. I had bigger worries.

  I tried to get to sleep. I was really tired, the kind of tired where it’s hard to move your arms, and even your hair hurts. Probably stress.

  And the stress was keeping me awake. Because I couldn’t get the picture of Dad with his cut hand out of my mind, Dad not even noticing that the knife blade had sliced him. Dad with the wires in his neck … Yikes.

  True, when he came upstairs, there were no wires. He had no flap in the back of his neck. He was perfectly normal. />
  But I saw what I saw. And so far, no one had been able to explain it to me.

  I sat up in bed with a thought pulsing in my mind.

  I’m going down to the basement. Mom and Dad are asleep. I’m going down to their lab. I can sneak down. I can be silent.

  With no one down there, I could explore. Maybe I could find some clues as to what the real story was. Something that would explain the horrifying things Gates and I had seen.

  My thoughts raced even faster. My whole body tingled with the excitement of doing something forbidden, something sneaky.

  I’m such a straight arrow. I try to be good. I never do anything dishonest or against the rules. But for the second time I had to go against my parents’ wishes.

  I had to sneak down to the lab and see what I could find.

  I climbed out of bed and tiptoed across the rug to my bedroom door. I took a deep breath. I felt as if an electric current were running through my body. My heart thudded rapidly in my chest.

  I pulled open my bedroom door, poked my head into the dimly lit hall—and gasped.

  I covered my mouth to keep from crying out in shock.

  And, my whole body trembling, I stared at Francine … Francine all in one piece … standing outside the door.

  “N-no—!” I stammered. “You—you can’t be here. They took you apart. They dismantled you.”

  I heard a low hum inside the robot’s chest, like a machine starting up. And a tinny voice came from somewhere inside her. “Listen to me.”

  “No!” I cried. “No! I’m dreaming this! My parents took you apart. Besides, you’re not programmed to talk.”

  “Listen to me.” The tinny metallic voice again.

  “How did you get up here?” I cried. “What are you doing here?”

  The robot didn’t have a chance to answer.

  My parents’ bedroom door swung open, and the two of them staggered sleepily into the hall. “I … heard voices,” Dad said, adjusting the top of his pajama pants.

  Mom brushed her hair down with both hands. Then she clicked on the hall light. Yellow light poured over Francine and me. Mom and Dad were both blinking at us in disbelief.