One day as Arthur and Buster were browsing at a locally owned toy store called
Toys-4-U, they heard a threatening mechanical voice from the action figure
section. "Puny earthlings!" it bellowed. "Welcome your new overlords!
Resistance is useless!"
Intrigued, the two boys hurried toward the origin of the voice. Between the Bionic Bunny figures and the Speak-and-Smell games stood a large display filled with moving, talking, twelve-inch-high alien creatures. Next to each creature was a box with the words "Mezmo the Talking Alien" emblazoned in large yellow letters.
"Cooool," marveled Buster.
As if following his voice or movements, all the alien toys turned toward Buster and started to flash red laser beams on their oversized green foreheads. "Your primitive human brains cannot withstand my hypno-ray!" they intoned in unison. "You will do as I command!"
"I wish I had a hypno-ray," said Arthur. "I'd use it on D.W., and make her..."
But Buster seemed oblivious to him. "Must...buy...toy," the rabbit boy droned, slowly stretching out his hands.
"Oh, cut it out," said Arthur, elbowing him.
"Sales...resistance...weakening," Buster mumbled.
"They're $29.95 a pop." Arthur gestured toward the price tag underneath one of the Mezmo units.
Buster shook his head vigorously. "Hypno-ray...wearing...off. Free...will... returning."
"All humans will become my slaves!" roared the alien toys, their armored chests swiveling back and forth. "Your primitive weapons cannot save you!"
Buster made a despondent face. "Oh, I wish I could afford a Mezmo," he lamented. "It's the coolest toy ever."
"Well, don't try to steal one," Arthur warned him. "We don't want to go through another mess like the one with the cyber toy."
"They're a little too expensive, if you ask me," came a man's voice. Arthur and Buster turned to find a short, graying goat man dressed in a loud red suit. "I'm Mr. Fillmore," the man introduced himself. "I'm the owner of the store."
"I'd have to save up my allowance for twenty years to buy a Mezmo," groaned Buster.
"Maybe not," Mr. Fillmore reassured him. "You look like a strong, healthy little boy. If you do odd jobs around the neighborhood, you can make enough money in no time."
Buster thought for a moment, then his face lit up. "I'll do it!"
For the rest of the week, Buster became a one-rabbit flurry of activity every day after school. He mowed the Molinas' lawn, helped Mrs. Tibble to clean out her cellar, put another layer of paint on Binky's house, trimmed Fern's hedge, and fed insects to Mrs. Armstrong's carnivorous plants.
The money started to pour in. Six dollars...seven dollars...eight dollars...
But it wasn't enough, and Buster was getting tired. Not only were his muscles sore, but he had missed new episodes of all his favorite cartoons.
He gazed dreamily and sadly at the Mezmo toys in the display, occasionally walking back and forth to allow the aliens to follow him with their motion sensors. "I am not your toy," they gloated. "You are mine! Muwahahaha!"
Mr. Fillmore, still wearing his garish red suit, found the boy moping in the back of his store. "I remember you," he said with a kindly tone. "Have you raised the necessary funds yet?"
Buster's face fell. "All I have is twelve dollars. I've been working all week. I'll never get enough."
"Of course you will," Mr. Fillmore encouraged him. "Just work another week and a half, and you'll have thirty dollars."
"But I'm tired of working," Buster groused. "I'm tired of waiting. I want a Mezmo now!"
Then a wicked glint appeared in Mr. Fillmore's eyes. He started to wring his hands greedily.
"I'll make you a deal," he said sinisterly. "I'll give you a Mezmo for twelve dollars, if you'll throw in one other thing."
"What's that?" asked Buster hopefully.
The light from the setting sun cast a weird glow around Mr. Fillmore's horns.
"Your soul!"
TBC
Intrigued, the two boys hurried toward the origin of the voice. Between the Bionic Bunny figures and the Speak-and-Smell games stood a large display filled with moving, talking, twelve-inch-high alien creatures. Next to each creature was a box with the words "Mezmo the Talking Alien" emblazoned in large yellow letters.
"Cooool," marveled Buster.
As if following his voice or movements, all the alien toys turned toward Buster and started to flash red laser beams on their oversized green foreheads. "Your primitive human brains cannot withstand my hypno-ray!" they intoned in unison. "You will do as I command!"
"I wish I had a hypno-ray," said Arthur. "I'd use it on D.W., and make her..."
But Buster seemed oblivious to him. "Must...buy...toy," the rabbit boy droned, slowly stretching out his hands.
"Oh, cut it out," said Arthur, elbowing him.
"Sales...resistance...weakening," Buster mumbled.
"They're $29.95 a pop." Arthur gestured toward the price tag underneath one of the Mezmo units.
Buster shook his head vigorously. "Hypno-ray...wearing...off. Free...will... returning."
"All humans will become my slaves!" roared the alien toys, their armored chests swiveling back and forth. "Your primitive weapons cannot save you!"
Buster made a despondent face. "Oh, I wish I could afford a Mezmo," he lamented. "It's the coolest toy ever."
"Well, don't try to steal one," Arthur warned him. "We don't want to go through another mess like the one with the cyber toy."
"They're a little too expensive, if you ask me," came a man's voice. Arthur and Buster turned to find a short, graying goat man dressed in a loud red suit. "I'm Mr. Fillmore," the man introduced himself. "I'm the owner of the store."
"I'd have to save up my allowance for twenty years to buy a Mezmo," groaned Buster.
"Maybe not," Mr. Fillmore reassured him. "You look like a strong, healthy little boy. If you do odd jobs around the neighborhood, you can make enough money in no time."
Buster thought for a moment, then his face lit up. "I'll do it!"
For the rest of the week, Buster became a one-rabbit flurry of activity every day after school. He mowed the Molinas' lawn, helped Mrs. Tibble to clean out her cellar, put another layer of paint on Binky's house, trimmed Fern's hedge, and fed insects to Mrs. Armstrong's carnivorous plants.
The money started to pour in. Six dollars...seven dollars...eight dollars...
But it wasn't enough, and Buster was getting tired. Not only were his muscles sore, but he had missed new episodes of all his favorite cartoons.
He gazed dreamily and sadly at the Mezmo toys in the display, occasionally walking back and forth to allow the aliens to follow him with their motion sensors. "I am not your toy," they gloated. "You are mine! Muwahahaha!"
Mr. Fillmore, still wearing his garish red suit, found the boy moping in the back of his store. "I remember you," he said with a kindly tone. "Have you raised the necessary funds yet?"
Buster's face fell. "All I have is twelve dollars. I've been working all week. I'll never get enough."
"Of course you will," Mr. Fillmore encouraged him. "Just work another week and a half, and you'll have thirty dollars."
"But I'm tired of working," Buster groused. "I'm tired of waiting. I want a Mezmo now!"
Then a wicked glint appeared in Mr. Fillmore's eyes. He started to wring his hands greedily.
"I'll make you a deal," he said sinisterly. "I'll give you a Mezmo for twelve dollars, if you'll throw in one other thing."
"What's that?" asked Buster hopefully.
The light from the setting sun cast a weird glow around Mr. Fillmore's horns.
"Your soul!"
TBC