So far as I have been told, or what documents I have read, show that no laboratory has been able to manufacture life in any form. Oh, yes, they can monkey with a virus that already 'active' and with tweezers with tiny prongs, change their complex DNA structure, but that is not creating life. It's as life creating as what a plastic surgeon does.
Many years ago, probably in the early 80s, Curt Clevenger had a mobile home in Timber Cove. He was a skilled lab technician in Ten-U-us laboratories. Curt had problems, usually problems that affected his life away from the labs. Some of the other tenants talked about seeing him stroll down our drive wearing nothing but his Hanes briefs. Other times, in the middle of the night, he imagined that he was an opera singer. He did have a powerful voice, but could not sing in tune. It must have been terrible for the other residence to hear "Figaro, Figaro...Largo al factotum della citta.
Presto a bottega che l'alba e gia.
Ah, che bel vivere, che bel piacere
per un barbiere di qualita!"
Clevenger also drove an old rusty 47 Pontiac that he often left in the middle of the drive, and others had to drive over those little gardens to get around it. After six months of this behavior, Curt was asked to vacate Timber Cove. Instead of complying, he locked himself up in his home, and refused to come out. When the cops arrived, he stood on the roof and threw balloons at them, water balloons. He was furious when they scaled his home to the roof and wrapped him in a straight jacket. His angry voice could be heard by every resident in the park, vowing revenge.
The main manager of Clevenger's department investigated when he didn't show up for work for several days, and when he found out he was in jail on an assault charge, he fired him immediately. At his trial, the kindly judge realized that he had mental problems, and assigned him to a high security mental institution.
So then Curt Clevenger aged in this institution. He had set up a secret lab, hidden behind his locker, and the medical staff were often annoyed when stethoscopes and flasks disappeared. One morning, a fine electronic microscope disappeared. He became a secret pharmacist. He was great at creating LSD, so he became quite popular with the other inmates. The 'chalk' he made had a smooth taste, chalk being a version of moonshine. He made some effective medicines as well, that helped cure his fellow cellies illnesses.
In 2020, Curt had gone bald except for a pure white cluster of hair around his ears and the back of his neck. In March, he heard about the concern over the pandemic. He thought about its potential. He decided to gather some viruses and change them around with some contraband DNA. It took a few months to perfect his deadly virus, but his poor little caged mice, when sprayed with a mist of it, would lift up on their hind legs, do a couple of dancing circles, and fall over dead. It works. He was ready for his escape.
Most of the daytime security guards, he had established a tolerance for. He could call them by name and they helped him get things and stuff. He didn't want to spray them. Actually, most of the night crew he found easy to get along with. It was the odd balls that came in to run the place on holidays that he didn't like. He decided to wait. Hallowe'en was coming up. It was a good night to spray.
Meanwhile, Curt hoarded as much lemon peel, apple cider vinegar, and primrose flower as he could. His hole in the wall lab was barely big enough for his small distillery, but he wanted to make sure he had a large supply, enough for the guards, enough for the office staff, enough to get even with the Timber Cove people. He planned to walk along next to the fence in his very quiet slippers and spray his evil brew into every open window that he could find, from one end to the other, and then travel the other side, and then, up the drive to escape detection.
While he waited, watching the calendar, he fashioned a fine outfit for his evil plans. It was made of a hooded sweatshirt, dyed a deep black, and sweat pants. His slippers were made of a soft rubber, and memory foam soles. He enjoyed the goggles he made for the hood. They were made of tiny led lights, a strange flourescent green that he could flash on if detected. He foresaw that device as frightening anyone who saw him at the window. It had a button he carried to make them turn on. They were shaped like large cat eyes.
The night before Hallowe'en's eve was a night of no sleep for Curt. He shivered with anxiety. He had watched the 'changing of the guard', and the unfriendly holiday guards had signed in, the regulars signed out, off to enjoy the holiday. He smiled when he saw Bruno Costello, the big guy with black curly hair, and unkept beard. His thick eyebrows were always set in a frown, his pale green eyes glaring beneath. He saw the fat girl named Sheila walk past with her pouty face, strutting as though she was better than the inmates. He did the breakfast, the salami sandwiches of lunchtime, and finally dinner came and went. Then the sun went bright gold with red rim and seemed to be silently yelling for help as the distant hills ate 'im;
It is dark. He stood outside his cell door, waiting for Bruno to make him go inside while he secured the lock. He could hear Bruno's heavy steps. Here he comes.
"You! Thirty eight. Get back inside. Hear me, get back inside!" Clevenger was holding a magazine open to hide the spray bottle. He said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm using the hall light. I'm almost finished reading." Bruno grabs the magazine and tosses it. Then sees the spray bottle and gets mist in the face. His fat arms flail at the spray. Then they are palms up at his sides and he does a little dance, then, staring at inmate 38, drops dead. Curt steps over him, and goes down the hall. He hears two big guards and Shiela yell, "Hey, no, no, no pal, you need to get back in your cell, right now!" They are taking big steps toward him, but Curt fills the space with spray from his concoction. They do the circles, almost timed together, and fall over. Curt puts on Sheila's baseball cap with the guard logo on it, and her circle of keys, and heads for the door. He does the two locks, and heads for the highway. There, he hitches a ride for the trip back to Campbell, and the Hallowe'en moon shines through the clouds.
Little Herby Minor watched with glee. He was across the hall from Clevenger's assigned room, and decided to follow him. He found it creepy to step over the dead guards, but Clevenger had left the front door wide open, so he gingerly followed, keeping just far enough back so the evil Clevenger wouldn't know he was following.
Will Herby rescue Timber Cove residents this Hallowe'en? Stay tuned.