59.
LISA
AND...
None of these people belong to me, except-well, that would be telling...
Interviewer:
Do you think there will be a Third World War?
Angus
Young: I'm the Third World War.
Lisa entered the house, closing the door behind her.
She noticed the woman on the couch; gray-haired, disheviled, squat but stately. She was watching
JERRY SPRINGER. ("Your Woman Is Really My Man!")
"Um...excuse me-"
The woman looked at Lisa, and smiled.
"You must be Lisa," she said. "Hagrid told me about you. I'm Professsor Sprout, dear."
Lisa nodded, smiling shyly. "That's me," she said. "Ma'am, the door-"
"Oh," Sprout said, "I thought I closed it. Before you ask, yes, I was born in a barn."
"That's okay," she said. "I closed it. I'm just going to the park, and I forgot my book-"
"What are you reading?"
"A biography. Are you familiar with Miles Davis?"
"Oh, dear...I'm not sure...I play music for my plants...I'm the herbology teacher at Hogwarts, you
see. Perhaps I've played Mr. Davis's music for them. Is it upbeat? Can you dance to it?"
"Sure," Lisa said.
Something occurred to her.
"Do you..."
Sprout smiled.
"Yes?"
"Don't you have a hat?"
"A hat?"
"I wouldn't want to encourage a stereotype, of course."
"Oh, of course. You mean, the one about all witches being covered in pustular warts and turning
little children into toads, all the while wearing a very cunning and witchly hat, is that it?"
"That's the one," Lisa said.
She held up her hat, a jaunty little cone. "Right here," she said. "Comes with a matching broom,
too."
This time, Lisa laughed.
"Come sit with me awhile," Sprout said. "I miss having children around."
"Well...will you be here later?"
"Professor Dumbledore asked me to house-sit," she said. "I suppose I will. Until then, dear."
"Okay," Lisa said.
She went into the kitchen.
The refrigerator door was open.
Lisa stared at it.
A can of Duff sat on the kitchen table.
Most of it had spilled on the floor.
She stepped over the brown puddle.
She thought about asking Professor Sprout about it.
She couldn't be this absent-minded. Her breath certainly hadn't smelled beerish.
Lisa closed the refrigerator door.
There was a piece of stationary pinioned to the door by a magnet.
It read LISA.
Lisa took it.
She unfolded it.
SUPERMAN
"Superman?"
A beer-flavored footprint had been preserved by the back door.
It belonged to somebody with impossibly big feet.
Lisa opened the door.
As she did, the wind picked up, tearing the knob from her hands.
Above her, tree branches swayed in the breeze.
The treehouse creaked.
"Hagrid?"
It was ridiculous, she knew, but she wondered if Hagrid had ever tried to play hide-and-seek.
She turned away.
lisa
She
just caught sight of a figure ducking out of the treehouse window.
That
can't be Hagrid.
-there was no way he'd be able to move around in there-
"Hey," she called. "Come out of there."
Nobody emerged.
"COME OUT OF THERE OR MY DAD-"
A paper airplane took flight from the treehouse window.
It looped, banked, and crash-landed at her feet.
This one also read LISA.
She unfolded it.
OBJECTIVISM
"Ayn Rand?"
She turned the paper over.
She went back into the kitchen, found a pen, and talked as she wrote:
"Objectivism...is an attitude...that promotes...rational...selfishness."
She thought a moment.
"Professor Snape," she said.
What would he be doing in the treehouse?
"And what-"
Something occurred to Lisa.
"Not the superhero Superman-"
Nietzsche.
"Would Snape blend Nietzche and Ayn Rand?"
-even if it wasn't Snape, there was still someone in the stupid treehouse.
Lisa sat there a moment.
Then, she hopped out of the chair.
She placed the paper in the middle of the table.
She tiptoed out of the kitchen, past Professor Sprout, and-
The front door was open.
"All right, that's it-"
She touched the doorknob.
A hand snaked around the doorframe, closing around her wrist.
Lisa gasped.
From behind the door, a man whispered "You're coming with me now, honey."
"Eat my shorts," Lisa said, and bit down hard on the hand.
On the other side of the door, a man grunted. Then:
"HARDER-"
Lisa took the stairs two at a time.
She ran into her room and slammed the door.
She backed away from the door.
Lisa thought about hiding under the bed.
"No," she said, "Oh, c'mon, Lisa, think-"
Why couldn't she have hidden in Bart's room?
There were hundreds of potential weapons in there.
She put her hands to her head.
"I'm safe," she said, "I'm perfectly safe in here."
Her room was safe, and neat as it always was.
It was just that her closet door was open.
Lisa didn't know whether to be angry or afraid.
Someone was toying with her, assuming she was as intelligent as an expendable character in one of
those stupid movies, like The Re-Deadening or Attack Of The Obscene Mimes. On the other hand,
someone was trying to scare her. In her own home. In her own room. Either way, it was insulting.
It made her so angry.
She gritted her teeth.
"Come and get me," she said.
Then, in one motion, she whirled around, grabbed the doorknob, and twisted it.
She threw herself into the hallway.
Lisa threw the door shut.
She took a step towards the stairs.
Then she froze.
(what if they knew I wouldn't look in the closet?)
Lisa stood there, in the middle of the hallway.
The stairs were a million miles away.
The house seemed so huge.
I have to get out of here.
Her bedroom door swung, as if the wind blew it open.
A shadow spilled over the floor.
It ascended up the opposite wall.
For a moment, the two of them stood still.
"Who are you?" Lisa asked.
"Mio nome e non importante," said the shadow. "Mein name ist sehr wichtig nicht. My name is not
important. In my situation, I've transcended mere identity."
He stepped into the hallway, a big man with badly mussed head of brownish hair.
"I hate to steal a line from Herman Melville, but...call me Ishmael."
Lisa backed away.
He reached into his pocket.
please don't pull out a gun or a knife or-
He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket.
"Can I trouble you for some unguent?"
"What?"
"For my hand, you little monster."
Lisa backed towards the stairs.
"You're not going to get away," he said. "We have your brother. Bart, I believe?"
"Who are you?"
He put a hand to his forehead.
"Where are my manners? Professor Ishmael Ch-"
His eyes bulged.
"Ishmael Ch-"
His knees gave out.
"I used to be one person," he said. "I was supposed to kill-who was I supposed to kill? I'm certain
it wasn't you, you don't-"
Lisa grabbed him by the collar. "WHERE'S MY BROTHER?"
"I...can't feel them. Oh my God."
Lisa let go.
They stared each other down.
"I'm going to get Professor Sprout, and we're going to call the police."
"Right," he said, "That was Sprout downstairs, was it?"
Lisa blinked, his question sinking in.
"Don't run," he said.
Lisa turned and ran down the stairs.
She tripped on the very last step, bringing her eye to eye with the underside of the front door.
A shadow slid under the doorframe.
Lisa gasped.
She scrambled to her feet, and lurched into the living room.
"Professor Spr-"
Professor Sprout had spilled onto the floor. A pool of blood crept away from her head, matting her
hair into the carpet.
"Oh, Professor, I'm sor-"
Her feet left the ground.
He pulled her into his rough grasp, and pressed a strange-smelling cloth against her face.
She screamed into his palm.
Then she bit him again.
She sank her teeth into his finger, through the cloth.
Chillinger felt his eyes bulge, and then he screamed right along with her.
Someone began banging on the front door.
"Hey-hey, is everything ding-dang-doodley-do-right in there?"
He dropped her to the floor.
Lisa took a step towards the front door.
Her legs felt rubbery.
"Mr. Flanders-"
She could barely speak.
"I'm going to hurt you now, honey," Chillinger said, through gritted teeth. "You and him."
He never got the chance, because Lisa crumpled to the floor.
He scooped Lisa from the floor, into his arms.
"Like shooting fish in a bloody barrel," he said.
He took a hard look at the front door.
This chapter was originally called LISA AND THE DEVIL, but there's already a movie by that name. Check it out if you can find it. Telly Savalas plays Satan.
