For the second time in less than a week the enormous red GTO pulled up outside the gloomy, forbidding mansion on the ridiculously named Rosebud Lane. It was a very wary and nervous quartet who once again approached it, knocking on the door even more hesitantly than they had the last time.
“Doesn’t look like there’s anyone home. Oh well, let’s go,” Micky said, turning neatly on his heel. Mike reached out and grabbed Micky by the scruff of the neck.
“No, Micky,” he said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. “Look, man, Dr. Mendoza and his creepy little assistant and that monster are all gone, okay? The house is empty. Let’s just go in and do what we need to do and get out of here, okay?”
“Okay, Mike, but you’re going in first,” Micky said. He pressed himself up against Mike’s back; Peter and Davy took up positions behind him.
“Fine, then,” Mike muttered as he pushed the unlocked door open. They crept in, trying to move noiselessly over the worn floorboards.
The house looked somewhat the same as it had two days before. Some of the furniture had been moved and the makeshift stage had been dismantled; the books and papers that the police had rifled through had been carelessly strewn about the room. “Man, this place is just as creepy in daylight,” Mike murmured.
“Yeah, and the sun’s almost gone,” Peter said nervously.
“Thanks for reminding me, Peter,” Mike sighed. “Come on. The basement’s right over there.”
Mike led them to the door, wincing as it creaked loudly upon opening. As they reached the bottom of the stairs the sound of smashing metal and the thud of heavy objects could be heard. They peeked around the corner. The doctor’s machinery—including the massive wall to which they’d been strapped—was basically intact; a great number of the various vials and beakers had been emptied and smashed upon the floor. A girl—perhaps slightly older than Mike—stood in front of the main console, hefting a long sledgehammer over the machine.
“Wait!” Micky screamed, lunging forward. He grabbed the sledgehammer, which slipped easily from her startled grasp. The hammer’s five-pound head swung down and slammed into Micky’s shin.
“Owwwwww!!” he howled, clutching the injured limb with both hands. He hopped around on one leg while the others gathered around.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” the girl demanded.
“We’re the—whoa!” Micky bumped into Peter, sending them both crashing to the floor before Peter could finish the introduction.
Mike sighed and shook his head. “We’re the Monkees,” he explained. “We were here two days ago and—”
“You’re the ones,” she said, shaking a finger at Mike. She brushed a lock of her straight brown hair from her forehead. “The police told me when I arrived that my uncle had been doing some fairly nasty experiments with a quartet of musicians. They didn’t tell me any more than that, though. So . . . why have you returned?”
“Well, we—your uncle? Who-who are you, anyway?”
“My name is Eleanor Mendoza, but I hate the name Eleanor so you may call me Ella. Doctor—and I use the term lightly—Mendoza is my uncle. I’m here to dismantle his machinery and take stock of his possessions,” she replied with forced formality. “Now, I ask again: why have you returned?”
Mike took a moment to size her up. She was shorter than Peter but taller than Davy, with short brown hair that hung limply around her narrow face. Her dark brown eyes gazed steadily at Mike with no hint of fear or nervousness as she leaned against the reprieved machinery, sticking her hands into the front pockets of her faded jeans.
“Well, um . . . we managed to get our musical abilities back from the monster, but they got switched.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, switched?”
Mike quickly explained how he and Micky—and Davy and Peter—had exchanged playing abilities. Ella remained nonplussed as he finished.
“So?” she said.
“Huh?” Mike said, exchanging bewildered glances with Peter and Davy.
“You have your musical talents—why does it matter who plays what?”
“You don’t understand,” Peter said. “I-I can’t play my bass or the piano anymore. All I can do is sing, and . . . ” He trailed off, nervously wringing his hands.
“And you miss playing those instruments,” she said, her voice softening. “You must be the one who named the android ‘Andy.’ When they asked the android what its name was that’s what it . . . he . . . answered.”
Peter smiled. “Yeah . . . he was my friend. What happened to him?”
“He left with my cousin—Dr. Mendoza’s daughter. She figured, rightly so in my opinion, that people wouldn’t understand. She took him away somewhere where he’ll be safe.”
“Figures,” Davy muttered. “The monster gets the beautiful girl.”
“Well, you can’t win ‘em all, man,” Mike replied.
“So what is it you want from me?” she asked.
“Well, we were hoping we could use the doctor’s machine to switch us back.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” she said doubtfully. “Some of the equipment is damaged internally—when the police came through here they left the place in sort of a shambles and it’s going to take some time to sort everything out . . . and I’m afraid I have no idea how any of it works. I’m no scientist. I can help with the wiring but not much else.”
“Well,” Micky said. “I did it once, I can do it again.”
“Yeah, right, Micky,” Davy snorted. “May I remind you that it’s your handiwork that got us into this mess?”
“I was rushed!” Micky bristled. “You try transferring musical talents from an android to four humans while you’re watching the door and waiting for a mad scientist to burst through it!”
“Hey, guys, quit it!” Mike ordered. “Fightin’ isn’t gonna do anyone any good.” He looked to Ella. “How long you think it’s going to take?”
Ella sighed and massaged her eyes. “Well, it’s not going to happen tonight, that’s for sure. You’re free to stay here in the meantime. The house is empty except for us.”
Micky moaned. “Man, I don’t want to stay in this house again!”
“Well, if you prefer to hike down the hill to the village and back up again tomorrow morning, that’s fine with me.”
“No, look, man, we should stay. You shouldn’t be here all by yourself,” Mike said.
Ella’s eyes narrowed sharply. “How gallant of you. Look, I don’t need any of you to stay here to protect me. I can take care of myself.”
“I have no doubt about that,” Mike said darkly. “We’ll stay all the same.”
“Hmph,” she grunted. “Suit yourself.”
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