Marie Spengler was in the kitchen, finishing up the dishes, when she heard the front door open and close. Her well-tuned ear easily picked up the soft tread of her young son, Egon, as he walked through the living room, and towards the stairs.
"Hello, sweetheart!" she called out through the doorway, "Did you have a good time searching for samples today?" She was glad he had a hobby, even if it was a collection of mushrooms and mildew. Now if only she could convince him of getting rid of all those ants...
"Yes, Mom," he answered, "I found a wonderful specimen of tree mold growing down the block. Would you like to see it?"
Marie rinsed her hands, then reached for a dishtowel to dry them. "Of course, dear. Why don't you come here and show me what you have?"
She turned as the swinging door pushed into the kitchen, followed by her son. Marie dropped the dishtowel she was holding and gasped aloud at the sight of Egon, his face, neck and hands literally covered in deep scratches. The sweater he was wearing looked as if it had gone through a cotton gin, the threads pulled loose every which way.
She was at his side in an instant. "What on Earth happened to you?" she asked, grabbing the hand that was not proffering the mold sample, and inspecting it for signs of bone showing, or muscle damage. After looking at his face, and assuring herself that the wounds were minor, Marie promptly opened a cupboard, and brought out a first-aid kit, along with a clean washcloth.
"I was wrestling with the neighbor's cat," Egon explained, still holding up the sample while not paying the scratches any mind at all, as if it happened every day.
She looked into guiless blue eyes. "That huge Tom down the street?" That cat was large and mean enough to take on most dogs and win.
Egon nodded. "He's very...feisty."
Marie took the petri dish and set it on the table while she finished cleaning all the blood off of him. Egon stood there in stoic silence as she uncapped the bottle of iodine. Although he didn't yelp as she applied the disinfectant with the cotton ball, he did flinch a bit from the sting.
When she had finished, Marie sat back in one of the kitchen chairs, and regarded her son. "Why in the world would you want to wrestle that cat for?" she finally asked.
Egon managed to look sheepish. "I was testing a theory, Mom," he looked at his hands, absently, "and came up with unexpected results."
"A theory?"
"Yes..." Egon looked confused and puzzled. "Mom, why doesn't Tarzan get scratched up when he wrestles lions in the movies?"
"Marie!"
Ezekiel Spengler's booming voice fairly roared down from the upstairs bedroom. Marie ascended the steps as quickly as she could, wondering what would cause her husband to be so angry this time of the morning.
She entered through the open door, and came face to face with Ezekiel's dour look. He was tapping his foot impatiently, as if he had been kept waiting overly long for her to show up. Marie pulled on the most carefully neutral expression she could manage. "Yes, dear?" she queried, trying not to sound chipper.
"I am a very tolerant man," he began, "but I simply cannot abide my son wasting his time watching those insipid adventure movies!" His face flushed deeper as his voice rose in pitch. "All this pretending is warping his mind; keeping him from learning his more important studies, like Advanced Calculus!"
Marie blinked, nonplused. Egon certainly did not seem to be lacking in any of his studies, so what was Ezekiel raving on about? "What do you mean, dear?" she asked, cautiously.
Professor Spengler didn't answer, but picked up his suit coat from where it lay on the bed. Holding it by the shoulders, he turned it so Marie could see the back of the coat clearly.
On it, somebody had slashed a large, stylized "Z" across it, using some sort of blade.
"Oh dear." Was all Marie could say.
Marie stepped into the kitchen from the back door, holding a small basket of vegetables she had just picked from the greenhouse. Setting the basket by the sink, she stripped off her gardening gloves, and went in search of her son. He liked eating stuffed tomatoes for lunch, and he often helped her wash the fruits and vegetables, while she prepared the tuna.
Exiting through the swinging kitchen door into the living room, Marie instantly sensed that something was wrong; there was not normally so much dust on the rug right under the chandelier. Looking up, Marie saw that the chandelier was being pulled out of place by a rope, leading over to the stairway balcony, where a certain son of hers was precariously standing on a chair, holding said rope in his hands.
"Oh no you don't, young man!" she snapped, stamping her foot for emphasis, "I've had enough of these shenanigans, now off that chair, right now!"
Egon looked crestfallen. "But Mom," he protested, "I've always wanted to do this!"
She pointed in the direction of his room. "Now, Mister!"
With a disappointed mumble, Egon complied, jumping off the chair to head for his room. The rope, now freed, slithered over the edge of the balcony, and hung there right in front of Marie. She grasped the slightly swaying rope, looking up. "I wonder how he got it on there in the first place?" she mused, giving the rope a slight tug.
Only nimble reflexes kept her from being injured as the chandelier pulled loose from the ceiling and crashed to the rug below.
"Ooo, that boy," Marie grumbled, "someday, he's gonna get himself killed."
Egon's pouting face quickly popped up over the balcony. "That's not fair, Mom, you got to try it..."
The End???
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