A/N: Here we go! This one's for you, NR!
Cloudy with a Chance of Gremlins
Tim Lockwood walked down a dark street deep in the heart of Chinatown. He was following a mysterious child who claimed to know where he could find a good present for his son, Flint.
"How far did you say it was?" asked Tim nervously.
"Not that far," said the child.
They reached the end of the street and the child took a turn, going down a small flight of stairs.
"Hey, wait a minute!" exclaimed Tim, stopping at the top step.
"What's the problem?" asked the child.
"This is your grandfather's store?"
"Yeah, come on," said the child, gesturing for Tim to follow.
Tim shook his head and hesitantly made his way down the stairs. "No wonder you gotta drag people in off the street," he muttered.
Tim made it to the bottom of the stairs and turned, following the cryptic child. He entered the small building through a doorway and was shocked at what he saw.
The building was filled with dozens of trinkets and items. The only light was provided by candles. At a desk in the back of the room sat an old Chinese man with a long beard, smoking a two foot long pipe. The craziest thing about this man were his eyes. His left eye was brown while his right eye was icy blue! Tim had never seen anything like it before.
"Go ahead, mister, look around," said the child. "See if there's something you like."
Tim slowly walked around, taking it all in. A couple times, he had to duck to avoid getting beaned by something hanging from the ceiling. He eventually came across a couple little golden statues.
"Are these things real?" he asked, pointing to them.
"I told you, everything's real," said the child.
Tim slowly came up to the desk. "Well, you've got some... interesting artifacts here, but there's one thing you don't have."
"And what's that?" asked the child.
"Well, let me show you. I've got it right here." Tim reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal device with a single black button and a small, clear sphere on top of it. "My son's an inventor. He made this. It's called the Lockwood Lighter. It's the invention of the century! It eliminates the need to carry around regular lighters or matches when you travel or go camping.
"Now imagine, for the sake of argument, that you were going camping with your family. It's getting dark and you want to start a fire, but then it starts raining! All your matches get soaked. Well, with the Lockwood Lighter, that's not a problem because it's waterproof. What you do is you-" A small chirping sound came from behind Tim. He quickly turned around, but saw nothing.
"Uh, what you do," he continued, "is you press this little black button, and... uh..." Tim turned and blew out the candle nearest him. "What you do is you aim at what you want to light, press this button, and..." Tim aimed the sphere at the candle wick and pressed the button. Inside the sphere, arcs of electricity jumped around, and a single large spark jumped across the gap between the sphere and the candle wick. A small flame sparked on the candle.
"There we go!" Tim reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small card. "This is my son's card. I could get you dozens of these if you like." As the man slowly took the card from Tim, the same chirping noise sounded and Tim whipped around again. After a minute, he shrugged it off and turned back around. "What do you think?"
The chirping started up again, and Tim turned fully around, craning his neck to try and see where the sound was coming from. "Where is that coming from?"
Tim slowly made his way into a dark corner in the shop. There was what looked to be a box, covered in a cloth. Tim slowly bent down and pulled the cloth back. Beneath the cloth was a box. He opened the lid. Inside he saw a small furry creature with the biggest ears he had ever seen! The creature continued making the chirping noises.
Tim smiled a bit. It was really cute. "W-what is that?"
"Mogwai," said the kid, who had followed Tim over into the corner.
The Mogwai started making a strange, soothing noise that sounded like humming.
"What's he doing?" asked Tim, mesmerized.
"Singing," said the child. "He does that sometimes."
Tim's smile grew even wider and he gently closed the lid of the box. He stood up, dusted himself off, and walked back to the Chinese man sitting at the desk.
"I've got to have him. He's incredible," said Tim. "Tell you what I'll do: I'll give you 100 dollars for him." Beside Tim, the child's eyes widened.
"No," said the man in a blunt voice.
"Look, I've got to have him. It's a present for my son for Christmas. It's exactly what I've been looking for, and I've been everywhere! I'll give you 200 dollars. That's 200 dollars!" exclaimed Tim.
"I'm sorry," said the man. "Mogwai not for sale." The man then began to walk away into a different part of the store.
Tim turned to the shocked child still standing by his side. "I thought you said everything in your grandfather's store was for sale."
The child shrugged and walked after his grandfather. "Grandfather!" he exclaimed.
"With Mogwai comes much responsibility. I cannot sell him at any price!" said the man, never turning around.
The child stopped and stared after his grandfather, his face a mask of disbelief. He then turned around to face Tim. "Just wait outside, I'll be right out." Tim held up the 200 dollars, and the child said, "Just go..."
Tim shrugged and made his way out of the store. He stood outside the door waiting for about 10 minutes before the child emerged.
"Okay, mister, here it is," he said, holding the box. He handed the box to Tim.
"Great," said Tim. "What about your grandfather?"
"Forget what he said; he's crazy! And we need the money. Now come on, do you want it or not?"
"I want it," said Tim, handing over the promised 200 dollars. He started to leave, but the child stopped him.
"Look, mister. There are three rules you've got to follow," he said.
"Yeah, what kind of rules?" asked Tim.
"Keep him out of the light. He hates bright light. Especially sunlight. It'll kill him. And keep him away from water. Don't get him wet. But the most important rule, the one you can never forget: no matter how much he cries or how much he begs, never never feed him after midnight. You got it?"
"Sure, kid, whatever you say," said Tim. "Thanks. And have a Merry Christmas."
Snow covered the small island of Swallow Falls. Children were running and playing and a group of five teenagers were having a snowball fight to the death. People were picking up their Christmas trees at the tree farm owned by the McHale family.
Everyone seemed to be having fun...
… except for a young man in a lab coat trying to start his banged-up winged car.
"C'mon," muttered Flint, petting the dashboard as if he were trying to encourage his now flightless car to start working. He didn't fly to work, but the Flying Car was still supposed to serve as a means of ground transportation! And now it didn't even drive!
"Well that sucks," muttered Flint as he jerked the keys from the ignition.
Steve, in the passenger seat, jumped up and down. "No car?"
"We'll see, Steve," said Flint, giving his monkey an affectionate rub on the head.
"Steve!"
Flint got out of the car, stared at it for a moment, and then kicked it as hard as he could.
"OW!" yelped Flint, jumping up and down and holding his foot. Even if he was wearing Spray-On Shoes with snow boots on top of them, that still hurt like crazy.
With a moan, Flint limped around to the front of the car where the engine was. Smoke was coming out from under the hood. He lifted the hood and was immediately choked by the smoke.
"Where's Emma when you need her?" muttered Flint, waving his hand through the smoke, coughing. Flint's sister was in fact out of town, visiting some of her relatives in the States.
Flint heard a vehicle pull up in his neighbor's driveway. He looked over and saw Joe Towne hop out of the snow plow that he always drove around.
"Hey Flint, what's the matter?" he asked. "You need a jump?"
"No thanks," said Flint, standing up. "I'm pretty much already late for work."
"Goddamn foreign cars, they always freeze up on you," said Joe in his usual xenophobic manner. "You don't find American machinery doing that. Our stuff can take anything."
"Well, I built the car," said Flint "Just... not the engine..." He started to walk back around to the driver side door, wanting to grab Steve and get to work, but Joe kept talking.
"See that plow?" he asked, gesturing proudly to his snow plow. "It's 15 years old and hasn't given me a day's trouble. You know why? Kentucky Harvester. It ain't some foreign piece of crap you pick up these days. That's a Kentucky Harvester!"
"Mm hm, yeah, well, if I wanna keep my job, I better go," said Flint, moving back around his car. "He leaned down and looked in the door, where Steve still sat, playing with the mittens on his hands and feet. "C'mon Steve. We're gonna have to take the bike again."
"Steve!" exclaimed Steve, grabbing onto Flint's hand and sitting on his shoulder. Flint stood up with Steve on his shoulder and closed the car door.
"Well, say hello to you wife for me, okay?" Flint said to Joe.
He nodded and Flint ran off towards the shed next to his lab. Joe continued staring at the car for a moment longer. "Goddamn foreign machines."
Meanwhile, Flint opened his shed door and pulled out a rusty old bike that looked ready to fall apart at any minute. Flint hopped on and pedaled for his life. If he got fired from his part-time job as a bank teller, then he was dead! He slipped and skidded on the ice all the way down Main Street, narrowly avoiding other cars. It was only when Flint was just half a block away from the Town Hall Bank that he hit a thick patch of ice. Flint's bike skidded sideways right into the side of the curb.
CRACK!
The bike completely fell apart, and Flint and Steve tumbled to the cold hard ground! After a minute, Flint sat up and looked at the decimated bike. His eyes fell on one piece of what was once the main body. It had cracked in half in a way that it was long, sharp, and could probably decapitate someone.
"Yikes," muttered Flint.
"Ouch," said Steve, jumping on Flint's shoulder.
Flint stood up and brushed all the snow and ice off of him. He then gathered up all the pieces of what used to be the bike and brought them with him, running the rest of the way.
A few minutes later, Flint burst through the door of the Town Hall Bank. He ran behind his desk and pulled off his overcoat and lab coat, hanging them both on a rack. Underneath his lab coat, he was wearing a formal looking suit and coat.
Looking around to make sure Daniel or Mr. Faris weren't anywhere in sight, Flint shoved all the broken pieces of the bike into his drawer. He pulled Steve off of his shoulder and shoved him in the leg space under his desk. He tied a rope around Steve's waist.
"Stay down there and don't say anything," whispered Flint, making sure Steve's mittens were secure so that he wouldn't untie the rope holding him to the desk.
"Quiet," whispered Steve, smiling and putting a finger to his lips.
"Good," whispered Flint. He quickly finished leashing Steve and stood up, pulling up a chair and putting his name plate out, not even realizing it was upside down. The then pulled a clip-on tie out of his pocket and clipped it to the front of his shirt.
The owner of the desk next to Flint's, Sam Sparks, stood up when she saw Flint. She grabbed a piece of paper off of her desk and quickly went and stood next to Flint, all the while on the lookout for Daniel or Mr. Faris.
"You just made it," she said to Flint.
"Again," Flint muttered.
"Flint, will you sign this petition?" asked Sam as she put the piece of paper on Flint's desk.
"Sure," said Flint. "What's it for?"
"We're trying to have Dorry's Pub declared a landmark. Mayor Shelbourne is trying to take his lease away," said Sam, handing Flint a pen.
"His too?" muttered Flint, signing the paper. Sam's petition must have been going really well, judging by all the signatures on the paper. It made since though; Dorry's Pub was a cozy little bar that everyone older than 18 in Swallow Falls visited.
"Yeah, he says it's a dive; a public nuisance," growled Sam.
"That's where my dad proposed to my mom," said Flint, looking up.
Sam laughed a bit. "That's where everybody's dad proposed to their mom." She glanced down at Flint's signature. "Cross your 't'."
Flint blushed and fixed his grammar error. He looked back up and Sam and handed her the pen, smiling at her.
Sam blushed a bit and looked back down at the paper. "Thanks," she whispered, grabbing the petition and rushing back to her seat.
Half an hour later, a strange sight came stalking down Main Street: it was Mayor Shelbourne, looking extremely ticked off, holding the head of a large ceramic snowman.
As he walked down the street, a nervous person walking by him said: "Good morning, Mayor Shelbourne!"
"What's so good about it?" growled Mayor Shelbourne.
The person gasped and fled the scene.
Meanwhile in the bank, Flint was helping a customer.
"$40, $60, $80..." he counted out. That was when, from outside, he heard car horns going off. He looked up to see Mayor Shelbourne, carrying the severed head of a ceramic snowman, walking in the middle of the street. Cars screeched to a stop to avoid running him down.
"Uh... $200. Thank you," said Flint, smiling nervously at the person he was helping.
Outside, Mayor Shelbourne made a beeline for the bank door, but he was intercepted by a young woman with two children at her side.
"Mayor Shelbourne?" the lady asked.
"What? What?" snapped the Mayor.
"I-I just wanted to let you know that Tom got another job," said the woman.
"Who?"
"My husband, Tom Harris," she stammered. Mayor Shelbourne tried to step around her, but she stepped in front of him. "A-and I've taken up some sewing on the side."
"Mrs. Harris, what are you trying to tell me?" snapped the mayor.
"I... I'm afraid that neither one of us will be paid for two weeks. Couldn't you get Mr. Faris to just... give us a little more time?"
Mayor Shelbourne narrowed his eyes. "Mrs. Harris, the bank and I have the same purpose in life: to make money. Not to support a lot of..." he glanced at the two children, one of which had started coughing, "... deadbeats!"
The mayor stepped away from the distressed woman and walked to the bank door.
"But Mayor Shelbourne, it's Christmas!" exclaimed the woman.
He stopped with his hand on the door handle. Snarling, he turned back around and stalked towards Mrs. Harris and her children.
"Now you know what to ask Santa for, don't you?" he snarled. With that, he turned and walked through the bank doors, leaving the poor woman and her children in the dust.
Inside, Mayor Shelbourne shoved his way to the front of the line in front of Flint's desk. He slammed the ceramic snowman head onto the desk, and Flint shrank into his chair.
"This is what's left of my imported Bavarian snowman! Your monkey broke it this morning!" screamed Mayor Shelbourne.
"I-I-I... I'm s-sorry," stammered Flint. "J-just tell me how m-much I owe you a-and I'll-"
"I don't want money!" the mayor interrupted. After a dramatic pause, he hissed: "I want your monkey."
Under Flint's desk, Steve's ears perked up and his eyes widened.
Flint's eyes widened and he grew paler. "Steve?" he managed to croak out.
"Give him to me," growled Shelbourne. "I'll take him to a kennel. They'll put him to sleep. They do it for dogs; I'm sure they can do it for monkeys too. It'll be quick and painless, compared to what I could do to him."
Flint, who was now paler than the snowman head sitting on his desk, stammered: "W-what could you do?"
An evil smile slowly spread across Mayor Shelbourne's face. "I'll catch the beast myself. Then he'll get what he deserves: a slow painful death!"
When Steve heard this, he bit down on one of the gloves on his hand and pulled it off. He then took off the glove on his other hand and began untying himself.
Above the desk, Mayor Shelbourne continued talking about Steve's demise. "Maybe I'll put him in my spin dryer on high head."
"That would do it all right," muttered a man standing next to the mayor.
Suddenly, Steve, who had just finished untying himself, exploded from behind the counter. Mayor Shelbourne produced a very high-pitch feminine scream and stumbled backwards.
"STEVE!" shouted the monkey. He lunged at Mayor Shelbourne, knocking the snowman head off the desk where it shattered into a hundred pieces on the ground.
"STEVE, NO!" shouted Flint, jumping over the desk as Steve tackled Mayor Shelbourne to the ground. Steve was now jumping on Shelbourne and tearing at his coat.
Flint lunged forward and grabbed Steve, pulling him off. Mayor Shelbourne continued screaming until Mr. Faris, the owner of the bank, rushed forward.
"Sir, are you all right?" asked Mr. Faris as he helped Mayor Shelbourne stand up. Mr. Faris was really good at faking worry. At that moment, Daniel Faris rushed out and helped Mayor Shelbourne stand up.
"I have a weak heart! I can't stand a shock like that!" shouted Mayor Shelbourne.
"What is that monkey doing in here?" shouted Mr. Faris.
"Lockwood, this is a bank, not a pet store!" exclaimed Daniel.
"Very good, Daniel," said Mr. Faris.
"Steve wouldn't have hurt you, Mayor Shelbourne, honestly!" exclaimed Flint as Steve squirmed in his arms.
"You're just like your father," growled Mayor Shelbourne. "I've listened to his miserable excuses for ten years, the loser!" Flint's jaw dropped, but Mayor Shelbourne wasn't finished yet. "As for you, you mangy cur," he snarled at Steve, "I'll get you... when you least expect it!"
Steve reached for Mayor Shelbourne's face, saying: "Angry!"
The mayor snarled at Steve and then rushed out of the bank, with Mr. Faris following him, apologizing.
Daniel walked by Flint and muttered: "Way to go, klutz."
All Flint could do was wish he was invisible.
Later that night at Dorry's Tavern, Flint sat at the bar, drawing. However, he wasn't drawing with paper. A small metal square, only an inch long, sat on the bar table. In the center was what looked like a tiny camera lens. Hovering a foot above the device was a holographic piece of paper. In Flint's hand was a thin metal holo pen; a pen that let him draw on holographs.
"What do you think?" Flint asked the man sitting next to him, Mr. Jones, a friend of his mother's.
Mr. Jones looked at the drawing. It was a picture of a dragon with Mayor Shelbourne's face. The dragon was being stabbed through with a sword.
"Hm. The old rat never looked better. It's great," said Mr. Jones.
"Thanks," said Flint. He smiled and went back to adding blood. He was in the mood for blood after Mr. Faris made him leave work early and take Steve (and his shattered bike) home.
Next to him, Mr. Jones said something that made Flint tense up: "Hello, Daniel."
Daniel strutted up behind Flint. "Well, if it isn't Captain Clip-On." Daniel took a seat beside Flint. "Hey, guess who almost applied for unemployment today?"
"I give up," said Flint sarcastically.
"You," said Daniel in a cheery voice. "Buuut, Mr. Faris had second thought. He gets so sentimental about the holidays..."
"Imagine that," muttered Flint, absorbed in his drawing. What he was really wondering was why Daniel called his father Mr. Faris instead of Dad.
"I would have fired you in a second," said Daniel in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Well Merry Christmas to you too," said Flint. He waved his hand downwards through the hologram, and it disappeared. He put the device and pen in his pocket and turned to Mr. Jones. "Excuse me, Mr. Jones." With that, he stood up and left the bar, sitting at a table where he brought the holo-picture back up and continued drawing.
"Hey, Lockwood," said Daniel, following him and sitting across from him. "Look, I'm a junior vice-president at 23. By the time I'm 25, I'm going to have Mr. Faris's job. By the time I'm 30, I'll be a millionaire! Look at you." Flint took a moment to glance up at Daniel. "You're practically supporting your whole family. The world's changing, Lockwood. You gotta change with it. You gotta be tough!"
"Tough? And no one's tougher than you, eh, Dan?" asked Flint.
Daniel leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. "Don't call me that. My name's Daniel."
At that moment, a waitress came to their table. "Can I get you a drink?" she asked.
"Give me a vodka martini. Shake, don't stir," said Daniel. However, Flint recognized the voice and looked up to see that their waitress was... Sam!
"You're working here?" he asked.
"Weeknights, so Dorry doesn't have to pay an extra waitress," said Sam.
"That's great," nodded Flint, smiling up at her.
"Yeah, if you like working for nothing," muttered the always optimistic Daniel. He turned back around to face Sam. "Oh, Sam, you haven't seen my new apartment!"
"I haven't seen your old one," deadpanned Sam. With that, she turned and walked away.
All Flint could do was smile, roll his eyes, and hope that Sam told the bartender to spit in Daniel's drink.
Flint opened his front door and walked inside. He was immediately greeted by Steve jumping in his arms.
"Hey, buddy," said Flint.
"Steve!"
Flint smiled and closed the door. When he did, the blade-like piece of his bike next to the front door fell to the ground. Flint turned around and propped it back up against the wall.
"Flint, is that you?" came a voice from the depths of the house.
"Yeah, Ma, it's me!" Flint called.
"I'm in the kitchen!" Fran called back.
Flint took his jacket off, replacing it with his lab coat. He walked into the kitchen to find his mother making dinner, watching a black-and-white Christmas movie.
"Hey Mom," said Flint.
"Hey sweetie," said Fran, giving Flint a kiss on the cheek.
"Do you need any help?" asked Flint, gesturing to the chopped up vegetables on the counter top.
"Yeah, you could do the eggs," said Fran, gesturing to a strange contraption on the counter top behind her.
"Okay," said Flint, walking over to the contraption. It was one of his inventions that had been acting up lately. What was supposed to happen was that you load it up with eggs, turn it on, and a little plastic chicken head with a sharpened beak would swing down and crack open the eggs. It had been acting up lately, so Flint didn't know how it was going to work this time.
Please work, please work, he thought to himself. He turned it on.
CRACK!
Egg guts spilled all over the counter.
"Crap," muttered Flint. He tried to turn the machine off, but almost got stabbed in the process.
Fran turned around and saw the mess. She smiled a bit. "You know how machines are; they work so well the first couple of weeks, then..." She shrugged. "Use the sink."
Flint picked up the bowl of egg guts and brought them over to the sink. As he started to crack them and get the shells out, he looked over at Fran. She looked... troubled.
"Mom, is something wrong?" he asked.
"No, it's a sad movie," said Fran, gesturing to the television screen. Flint finished up with the eggs and brought them over to Fran. "So how was your day?" she asked.
"It was fine," lied Flint. After a minute, he asked: "Mom, c'mon, what is it? What's wrong?"
"Well... Mayor Shelbourne called again this afternoon-" Fran was cut off by the sound of the front door opening and the sound of Flint's bike parts falling. Then she and Flint smiled as they realized what that meant. "Let's not talk about it right now. Don't say anything to Dad."
"Fine with me," said Flint as he and Fran walked towards the front door.
Once Tim had set the bike part back where it had been, he turned around and greeted Fran and Flint with a big hug. Steve jumped on his head.
"Steve!"
"Hello to you too Steve," said Tim.
"I'm glad you're back," said Fran, taking Tim's scarf and coat and hanging them up. "How was the trip?"
"It was great," said Tim. He turned to Flint. "That company you were telling me about; they just might be interested in the Lockwood Lighter!"
"Really?" exclaimed Flint, his face brightening with excitement.
"Mm hm," said Tim. He then turned around and picked up something that he had set down when he came in. It looked like a box covered in red wrapping paper with an enormous red bow on the top. He held it up to Flint.
"Thanks, Dad," said Flint, taking the present.
"You're gonna like this," said Tim.
"What is it? A bird cage?" asked Flint, looking at the box. He shook it a bit and whatever was inside made a chirping noise.
"No, don't shake it," said Tim. "We're gonna have to open it now. It won't wait for Christmas."
Steve jumped on Flint's shoulders, bouncing up and down with excitement.
"It's a puppy, isn't it?" guessed Flint. Tim shrugged. "Yeah it is, I can tell."
"It's a new car," joked Tim.
Flint brought the wrapped box over to the couch, where he set it down on the coffee table. Steve hopped on the couch next to him and stared intently at the package.
Tim pulled a chair up and sat across from Flint. As Fran came over, he turned to her. "Honey, would you dim the lights please?"
As Fran turned off a lamp, Flint said: "Dim the lights? Dad, what does it do, glow in the dark?"
"It's important," said Tim. "Just trust me."
Once the room was dim enough, only lit by the light from the fireplace, Fran stood behind the sofa and Steve hopped up on Flint's shoulder.
"Go ahead, open it," said Tim.
Flint quickly tore off the wrapping paper, but he hesitated to open the box. After a minute, though, he undid the latch and slowly opened the lid.
A small furry creature jumped from the depths of the box, only visible for a moment before if fell back in. Flint yelped and flung himself backwards into the sofa. Steve leaped off of his shoulder and lunged for the box, yelling: "WHAAAAT!"
Flint just barely caught him. He turned to Tim. "What is it?"
"It's your new pet," said Tim.
"Steve, be a good boy," said Flint as he set Steve back on the sofa. Flint then looked into the box, a shocked smile plastered on his face.
Slowly, a furry pair of three-fingered hands gripped the edge of the box. And slowly, a large furry head emerged. The creature had big ears, brown eyes, and soft looking brown fur. Well, most of his fur was brown. The right side of it's face was covered in white fur, as was it's belly and hands.
"Dad, this is..." Flint could only think of one word to describe the creature. "... AWESOME!"
"Where did you get this?" Fran asked.
"In some little junk store in Chinatown," said Tim.
"Can I pick him up, Dad?" asked Flint excitedly.
"Sure, go ahead," said Tim. "Just be careful. You've got to be gentle."
Flint slowly reached into the box and gently picked up the little creature. It welcomed the touch and began twittering again. Flint gently cradled the little creature in his arms.
"Oh, I hope he's housebroken," muttered Fran.
Flint rubbed the creature on it's head. "Isn't he cute?" Steve slowly touched the creature's ear and then quickly looked away. Flint looked up at Tim. "Does it have a name, Dad?"
"Yeah, Mogwai," said Tim.
"What?" asked Flint.
"Mogwai." In Flint's arms, the little Mogwai made a chirping sound that sounded like he said 'Mogwai'.
"I don't know, it's some Chinese word," said Tim. "I just call him Gizmo. He seems to like it."
At that moment, Fran stood up and got her camera. She stood in front of the sofa, facing Flint, Steve, and Gizmo. "Okay, Gizmo, look up here a minute," she said.
"Hey," Flint said to Gizmo, "we're gonna get our picture taken. Smile."
"Ready?" asked Fran. "One. Two. Three."
FLASH!
Gizmo squealed and jumped out of Flint's arms. He somehow managed to land on Tim's lap in a single bound, which was impressive for his size.
"Bright light! Bright light!" Gizmo squealed, hiding his face in Tim's shirt.
"What?" asked Fran. "What happened?"
"He hates bright light," said Tim, giving Gizmo a reassuring pat on the back to try and calm him down. "There are some things I forgot to tell you, and it's really important. Number one: he hates bright lights. But you gotta keep him out of the sunlight," he said, looking at Flint. "Sunlight will kill him. Number two: keep him away from water. Don't give him any water to drink. And whatever you do, don't give him a bath! And probably the most important thing: don't ever feed him after midnight."
Flint sat in his room with Steve on his bed and Gizmo on his desk. He had found an old keyboard and was just hitting random notes. After every note, Gizmo would sing a different key.
Just to try something out, Flint hit a whole set of keys on the keyboard. Gizmo shook his head a bit and pressed another key on the board.
"Ooh," muttered Steve.
Flint smiled at Gizmo. That was when his eye caught a Santa hat sitting on the desk next to Gizmo. Flint reached over and picked it up. He then gently placed it on Gizmo's head, over his ears.
Flint picked up a hand-held mirror to show Gizmo how he looked, but the mirror caught some of the light in the room, bouncing it back right in Gizmo's face. Gizmo squealed and fell backwards off the desk, landing in a wastebasket.
"Oops," said Steve.
"Bright light! Bright light!" exclaimed Gizmo, only his feet visible sticking out of the basket.
Flint quickly came around the desk and gently picked Gizmo up. There was a bit of blood on top of the Mogwai's head.
"Oh, you cut yourself," muttered Flint. He carried Gizmo into the bathroom and, after turning out the 'bright lights,' set him down on the counter next to the sink.
"Just sit there, and don't fall off, okay?" said Flint. He reached into the medicine cabinet and pulled out a roll of bandages. Sitting down, he gently wrapped the bandages around Gizmo's head. "Try not to move so much, okay?" Gizmo just went on chirping.
After the cut on Gizmo's head was all bandaged up, Flint took Gizmo back to his room. He made Gizmo comfortable on his bed, using a ball of red yarn as a pillow for Gizmo. Steve sat next to Gizmo.
"Steve," said Steve.
"Gizmo," chirped Gizmo.
Flint sat on the bed. "Looks like you two are getting along," he yawned.
"Night night," said Steve, curling up in a ball next to the pillow Gizmo was lying on.
"Good night Steve," said Flint. He curled up under his blanket and turned off the lamp. "Good night, Giz. See you in the morning..."
The only response he got from Gizmo was a yawn...
A/N: There we go! That was longer than I thought it would be, but I really wanted to end on that note. NR, I'm sorry it took so long to get done, but I hope it was worth the wait. Who wants a Lockwood Lighter? I know I do! You'll see more of Flint's awesome inventions later. =) And if any of y'all want, you can request an invention and I'll try and fit it in. =) The next invention is a Whack-A-Shelbourne game! =D R&R please!