Short Story: A Goldfish Mastermind Named Benedict Cumberbatch and the League of Domesticated Assasins, Part One

I'm pretty sure my roommates goldfish is head of a pet syndicate trying to kill him

I’m not sure when I first noticed it, it might have been when I caught the parakeet watching me in his tiny mirror, following my every move around the room, or when I woke to find Max, my gray tabby cat, watching me sleep from the top of my chest of drawers at 3 AM.

But I finally realized something was wrong when I opened the bathroom door to find Sid, the mastiff, Max the cat, and Penelope, the litter trained Lopeared rabbit, all sitting right outside the bathroom door, seemingly peering under the gap between the door’s bottom and the hallway carpet. They scattered and pretended to be interested in bits of fuzz or beams of light, but I know what I saw, they were watching me.

It was a Thursday, so I had a late start day, which meant catching up on my Netflix cue and having a leisurely breakfast, then heading to the office around 10. I grabbed the raisin bran and a quart of milk, tucking a large bowl under one arm and clamping the spoon between my teeth, I managed to leave one hand free for a quart-sized tumbler of freshly squeezed OJ, perfect.

I dumped my breakfast on the coffee table and reached into the “remote drawer” in the end table, only to find that the aptly named drawer was not currently home to the control for the Roku. I scanned the room, and there, peering out from behind one chair, was Penlope, eying me suspiciously. I tossed over the chair cushions, discovering a long lost sock, but no remote.

I quickly scanned the higher surfaces in the room, the mantle, the bookshelf, the entertainment… and there was the mastiff, peering around the corner from the kitchen. What the heck was going on? Finally, I spotted the remote sitting squarely in front of the goldfish bowl, pointed toward the tv as if Benedict Cumberbatch, the evil eyed gold fish my roommate had arrived with, had been using it. Weird.

I shrugged it off and sat, hitting my tailbone on Ralph’s denta-chew, which he knew did not belong on the couch, and clicked on the TV and set top Roku streaming box, waiting for it to pick up a wifi signal while I poured cereal and milk. I positioned myself just the right distance from the arm of the sofa to make the reach to the coaster, holding my OJ tumbler, just right and sank back.

About two clicks into my normal content scrolling routine, I noticed a change.

I checked the user account, but it was mine, but I knew for a fact I had not watched nearly this quantity of police procedural documentaries. I turned and eyeballed Benedict, who, quickly looked away and pretended to nonchalantly lap his bowl, looking for food flake crumbs.

Must have been the new roommate, or so I convinced myself, and settled in to catch up on Fear of the Walking Dead. It was a successful morning. I’d been able to cram in three episodes, the milk to cereal ratio had been perfect, and the three cubes of ice in my OJ, were just enough to keep it refreshingly cold, without watering it down. Other than the stronger than usual scent of the almond milk, a nearly perfect breakfast.

I scraped the breakfast fixings up in an armload, grabbing the empty orange juice glass and clicking onto my morning news feed, as I went to the kitchen.

I froze.

There, sitting in a chair at the breakfast table, peering at the screen of my laptop, were Max, Penelope and Ralph, the 200 pound mastiff, all raptly attentive to something. They saw me.

The cat was the first to move, rubbing his butt past the rabbit as Ralph circled twice and collapsed into a sighing heap on his rug. Penelope, I swear, clicked at least two keys, then pretended to be interested in the wax fruit my mom insisted made a great centerpiece in here. It didn’t.

I stood a full ten seconds, surveying the scene, before I realized, Ralph had been wearing my reading glasses and was now drooling on them, in an effort to normalize the situation. I peered back around the corner to where Benedict floated, intently still, eyes closed, but definitely a part of all this.

I was beginning to wonder if I was still dreaming, when I dropped my cereal bowl, a heavy, clay pottery piece, squarely on my left little toe, bringing tears to my eye, “Mother Scratcher,” I said, doing everything I could to juggle the milk and keep it off the floor. Finally,

I bobbled the milk onto the counter and was able to grab my toes.

The tears in my eyes were enough to convince, me, it was real and I swear, that damn cat was laughing.

As I was leaving the kitchen, I turned back to find all three mamalians eagerly sniffing at the small puddle of almond milk I’d left, knowing the cat would quickly lap it up. He didn’t. In fact, they all three looked piercingly at me, accusing me of leaving the mess, but none of them darted a curious pink tongue out to even test the air.

It was at that moment, the alarm I set to remind me it was time to shower, or face the wrath of the intern supervisor at work, went off and I forgot all about it.

Later that afternoon, I returned home from work, to find my roommate, Ludwig, ensconced among the animals on the sofa, watching scifi. “Ludwig, did you use my Netflix user account?”

“I’m sorry?” He peered up at me, my dog’s head in his lap, glaring up at me, the cat on his shoulder and Penelope eating toasted edamame out of his palm. “Oh, hey, you’re home, I mopped up some almond milk, I think, in the kitchen, nearly slipped on it. Surprised the cat hadn’t cleaned it already.” He said, returning full attention to his show.

“Could you turn that down?” I picked up the remote and paused the show. “Dude, they are not supposed to be on the so…” Ralph growled at me, in a way that let me know, I needed to get my hand off his backside. “What the hell? Ralph, you don’t ever growl at me, what is wrong with you?” Ralph got down from the sofa, picked up the remote and positioned it directly in front of the goldfish bowl. The program resumed.

Ludwig seemed oblivious to what had just happened, “Did you not see that?”

“Oh, yeah, the dog turned the show back on, I think he was really into it,” Ludwig said.

I didn’t argue, but I did notice the goldfish smiling smugly as I went to the kitchen to grab a trashbag and the dustbuster. I left them on the coffee table, hoping Ludwig would get the hint and clean up the couch.

He smiled, “Oh, thanks!” and began to vacuum his shirt with the miniature vacuum.

It was two o’clock in the morning, when I finally had to admit that either I needed psychiatric help, or my animals were out to get to me. I was awakened by the television.

“…and here, in the laboratory, the CSI technicians will test the
sample for toxicology. Unfortunately, in the majority of these cases,
we don’t finish our analysis, the DA gets a plea bargain and the crime is labeled solved before the evidence is even really examined.”

I rolled over and checked the clock. Okay, Ludwig, time to have it out. I don’t need the money that bad. The rent here hadn’t changed in 30 years, and couldn’t so long as the apartment was continually occupied, and so it had been handed down from roommate, to roommate.

I stumbled into the living room, rubbing my eyes, as the television went dark. In the glow of the streetlamp, coming in through the windows framing the fireplace mantle, I became aware that Ludwig had either mastered the art of invisibility, or he wasn’t there.

Instead, Ralph, Max and Penelope sat on the sofa, pretending to sleep, while near the fish’s bowl, I caught the red blink of a light on the remote. This was getting out of hand.

“Listen, Cumberbatch,” I said, “I’m on to you. I don’t know what you’re planning yet, but when I find out...”

“Dude! Are you talking to my goldfish?” Ludwig asked, peering out from the hallway. “I thought I heard the TV, could your turn it down, if you need to watch it so late? I have work at 6, sorry to be a jerk about it, but if you could, please?”

I started to explain, but I was pretty sure I knew where this one was going. There was a long and storied history behind the reasons that Ralph was my first dog since the second grade. It hadn’t ended well for either of us and landed me in therapy, probably for life. I decided to keep the pet’s conspiracy a secret, at least for now.

“No, uh, rehearsing lines from a uh, training video they’re making the intern staff do, sorry, couldn’t sleep.” I lied. He squinched his face in a way that let me know, he hadn’t completely bought my lie, then waved me off as he turned and headed back to bed.

I sat down on the couch, I wasn’t feeling so good.

Ralph shifted over, grudgingly, as I dug behind me for what I thought was Ralph’s chew toy, my hand closed on a hard, glass cylinder. I sat the bottle on the table, it was brown bottle glass, with a black eyedropper top, like the bottle I buy lavender in for head colds, there was no label.

Ludwig’s bowl was still on the table from his dinner, I clucked, disgustedly.

He wasn’t a pig, I had to give him that, he’d likely wake up and clean up the mess before I saw it. But, there it was. I picked up the bottle and unscrewed the lid, a somehow familiar scent escaped, the fumes creating a slightly bitter taste in my mouth, like almonds!

Oh, my god, it was cyanide!

Trembling, I carried the bottle to the kitchen sink, and lowered it in, resting it gently in the bottom of the porcelain basin. What the hell? I turned back to the living room. Ralph was setting up, peering over the sofa at me, and both Max and Penelope sat on the sofa’s back, watching my every move.

I was afraid to find out, but, I had to know. What the hell was that gold fish making my pets watch?

*Part Two, the Conclusion can be found here! Enjoy!*

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