Research notes of Dr. P. Allensen

Date: June 21, 1971

Time: 12:45 pm

Observation of Subject continues. Subject is male, approximately fifteen to sixteen
years of age, 5 ft 9 in height. Subject presents with six fingers on each
hand. Opportunity to study polydactylism in humans. Are all fingers functional?
Do they have full range of motion? Hereditary or genetic anomaly? Anomaly is
more likely, considering Subject's twin has the more "normal" five fingers. Further
study is impossible at this time without acquisition of Subject. Acquisition could
prove problematic, as Subject is often in the company of the aforementioned twin.
Although, this could present a unique opportunity to study the reputed connection
between twins. Can one feel the other's pain, duress, etc.? Future consideration of Twin as a second Subject is a possibility, although I may be getting ahead of myself. I need to focus on Subject #1 at this time. An opportunity for acquisition
will present itself. I am nothing, if not patient.

Allensen was trying to remember how many days he had come here and sat in
his car outside the old pawn shop, when the sound of a bell startled him out of his
thoughts. He looked up to see a teenage boy walk out the shop he was currently
parked in front of. The boy was tall and broad shouldered, wearing jeans and a Rolling
Stones t-shirt, with a black gym bag slung across his shoulder. Allensen noted to
himself that the boy would one day be a handsome man, but right now, he sported
the round baby face and acne scars of adolescence. The boy turned to the still open
door of the shop.

"Come on, Ford! I've seen dead snails move faster!"

"I'm coming! It's not like the boat's going anywhere without us! It doesn't
have a rudder yet!"

"I've got practice at two! We ain't got that much time and I thought you
wanted to get the decking in place today!"

Allensen smiled when another boy stepped out of the shop. This one was his
Subject. Lithe, where as his brother was built like an athlete, with curly hair, and
brown eyes behind black rimmed glasses. As discreetly as possible, Allensen
picked up his camera and snapped a few pictures, as the boys walked to a red car
parked on the street. Disappointed when he saw his Subject shove those beautiful
hand in the pockets of the jeans he wore. The Twin threw the gym bag in the
backseat before he got in the car. After waiting for his brother to put on his
seatbelt, the car pulled away from the curb. Allensen fell in behind them. He
tried to keep a few cars back. He didn't want the boys getting suspicious or
spooked.

After about an hour, they arrived at the less-than-impressive beach, that had
given the small town its name. The boys practically leapt out of the car and, after
retrieving a tool box from the trunk, walked to the derelict shape of what may
have once been a boat docked at the end of a short pier. He stepped out of his car,
closing the door behind him as softly as possible, with his camera in hand. He
snapped a few pictures of the sun glinting on the water and the birds, as not to
appear suspicious in any way. He moved the camera over to where the boys
worked on the boat, pretending to take pictures of the rock formations near by.
When he was satisfied, he climbed back into his car, picked up his notebook and
made a few more notes on the page, before backing the car out of the parking area.
He had waited a long time to find the perfect Subject, a few more days wouldn't
hurt.

Stanford Pines looked over his shoulder at the barely existent parking area.
The car that he had been almost sure was following them was still there, a tall dark
haired man stood near it, taking pictures of the beach. His twin, Stanley, noticed
his brother's inattention, and looked up from the deck boards he was nailing down.

"You okay over there?" he asked, his deep brown eyes flooding his concern.
It was a hot day for mid-June, and he didn't want his brother having a heat stroke, or
something. "Need to move to some shade?"

"Huh? Oh, no. I was- um, just looking around."

Stan rolled his eyes, "Jeez. You're a rotten liar."

"It's probably nothing."

Stan glanced in the direction his twin was looking, seeing the strange man as
he climbed back into his car and left. "It's just some guy taking pictures. Nice car,
though," he said, eyeing the blue and white Chevy Nomad station wagon. "Looks
like a '58."

Ford gave a non-committal hum, and went back to placing the deck boards.
He couldn't shake the feeling that this stranger, was looking right at him, for some
reason. He was used to people staring, due to his unusual birth deformity, but this
was different. It felt almost like the man was studying him.

In his distraction, he barely managed to move his hand before Stan swung the hammer down. Ford squawked and fell backwards, catching himself on his elbows.

"Shit, Sixer! I'm sorry! Are you okay?"

Stan was at his side in a second, holding out his hand to help him up.

"Yes, I'm fine."

"I didn't hit you, did I?"

"No."

"That fellow's got you real upset, huh?"

Ford sighed. He could never understand how, but his twin had always been
very perceptive. Not only to his moods, but the moods of other people. It was like
the larger boy didn't like to see anyone around him without a smile.

"No, that's not it. It's just, oh, I don't know."

"And you're still a rotten liar." Stan laughed and slung his arm around the
slimmer boy's shoulders. "Come on. We need to get going anyway."

"And just what do you suggest I do, while I'm waiting for you?"

"Well, I may have put a few of your nerd books, and your sketch pad in my
bag. I figured you could work some on the science project you've been going on
about. Are you ever gonna tell me what it is?"

"I'm still researching the probability of it even working, so no. Not yet
anyway."

"Eh. No big. I probably wouldn't get it anyway. Science ain't my best
subject."

"Neither is English, apparently." He grinned good naturedly, so his brother
would know he was joking. It bothered him when Stan put himself down like that, though.

"I can leave you here, you know." Stan stared at his brother over the white
convertible top of the car, returning his grin.

"You wouldn't. Because then, you'd have to answer to Mom."

A brief look of panic crossed Stan's eyes. "I'd rather go three rounds with
Bossi than explain to her why I made you walk home. Get in."l

Ford laughed as he slid into the car. "You could take him down in one round."

"Glad you're on my side."

"I'm always in your corner. You know that."

Ford relaxed into the vinyl seat as Stan backed the car out of the parking area, and headed back into town, unaware of the Chevy Nomad that followed them.