Late Night Lab Hijinx

“A pair of ice-cold hands!”

         “Oh, for the love of…” Dr. Petersen exclaimed, weariness evident in his hushed tones.  “I’m trying not to wake up my wife, it’s two in the morning, you call me about a disturbance in the lab, and you give me some cock-and-bull story about a pair of hands?  This is why you’re calling me at two in the morning.”

         “I’m so sorry, Doctor, but I have no else to call.  Even if I called the police, they wouldn’t come for a story like this.  You know that, and it’s not like you would want the police snooping around your lab…”

         Maureen, Dr. Petersen’s assistant, trailed off letting the words hang in the air knowing they would twist into him like a knife.  Dr. Petersen lectured constantly about the short-minded nature of those outside of the scientific community, but he didn’t want the police turning an unwanted eye onto his labs.

         “Doctor?  Please hurry.”

         Maureen hung up, not waiting for an answer.  She knew Dr. Petersen well enough that he would come.  As silently as possible, he threw on his clothes and crept out of the bedroom.  Luckily for him, his wife was sleeping like the dead tonight.  Not knowing what he would find at his lab, he grabbed a near-by golf club and tore out of the driveway.  Usually a twenty minute trip, he made his lab in half that time.

         Club in hand, he rushed into his lab not knowing what he would find.  He watched his normally level-headed assistant, Maureen, creeping around the lab with a large butcher’s knife firmly in her grasp.

         “For Heaven’s sake, Maureen.  Aren’t you being a little overdramatic?”

         “Overdramatic?  Overdramatic?  A pair of disembodied hands just tapped me on the shoulder.  I’m going to find them and put them out of their misery.”

         “Have you…”

         Maureen’s face turned as red as a tomato, and she stormed right at the Doctor not allowing him to finish his sentence.  “Quit trying to calm me down!  I hear that patronizing tone in your voice.  You can just cram it!  Why did you bring that club?  Going to do a little night mini golfing after this?”

         “Well, obviously, something has happened…”

         “What has happened, you pompous jerk, is there is a pair of ice-cold hands running around free somewhere here in your little shop of horrors!  By the way, consider this my resignation.  I’m killing those hands, and you can find a new assistant.”

         Having said her piece, she turned her back to Dr. Petersen and went back to her search.  He slowly began walking the other half of his lab, away from Maureen, trying to wrap his mind around this turn of events.  A pair of disembodied hands moving around the lab.  Ice-cold hands, she had said. 

         “How cold were the hands?”

         “What?  Why is that important?”

         “You said ice-cold.  Is that what you meant?”

         “Yes, I felt the chill through my shirt.  They were as cold as ice.  I thought maybe it was you playing a prank with an ice cube, until I turned around to see a pair of hands floating in mid-air.”

         “Did you get a good look at the hands?”

         “No, I only turned on all the lights after they darted away.”

         Dr. Petersen laughed out loud.  “Ice-cold hands!  Don’t you see what this means?”

         Maureen stopped her search, turning around to face the Doctor.  “I’m missing it.”

         “The computer, Maureen.  I’ve been running the Creator program 24/7, and it looks like it finally bore some fruit.”

         Dropping his club, he ran over to the computer.  In bold flashing letters still glowing on the screen, it said: PROGRAM COMPLETED. 

         Maureen gave up her search and followed the Doctor to the computer.  “Program completed?  But…”

         “Where’s the rest of the body?  Why just a pair of hands?  There’s got to be some bugs somewhere, or the program is simply limited,” Dr. Petersen explained with a slight shrug.

         “Where are these hands, though?”

         “Given the temperature you keep it in here, I’d imagine they are in a puddle somewhere.”

         “There is a puddle by the bathroom I saw just before you pulled up.  I assumed there was some faulty plumbing.”

         “Never assume, my dear.  That’s enough problems out of you for one night,” he said, turning off the computer.

         “Oh, Dr. Petersen, I feel so foolish.”

         “Don’t give it a second thought.  I trust, though, I will see you at 9 A.M. tomorrow.”

         “Oh,” Maureen said, remembering her hasty resignation.  She turned red again, blushing mightily.  “Of course, Doctor.”

         “Very good.  Lock up behind you.  A pair of ice-cold hands will bother you no more.”