Logan and The Secret of NIMH Chapter 1

Chapter 1

*Somewhere, there is a speck of land with a ton of acres. This was the Fitzgibbon farm, a farmland owned by the Fitzgibbon family. On one corner of the property sits a seemingly abandoned threshing machine. Over by that area, what appears to be a tiny shooting star falls just over the machine. Simultaneously, there is an explosion that shakes the machine and smoke begins to rise from its seams*

Female Voice (OOV): Mr. Ages? Mr. Ages, is anybody home?

Male Voice (OOV): Go away!

*Inside the threshing machine, a small mouse garbed in a red cape looks around nervously. This is the mouse simply known as Mrs. Brisby*

Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages!

Mr. Ages (OOV): What is it?

Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages, may I please speak with you?

Mr. Ages (OOV): What?

Mrs. Brisby: I said, may I please speak…

*Suddenly, in the midst of her request, Mr. Ages pops up from inside the tangle of machinery behind Mrs. Brisby. His coughing causes Mrs. Brisby to while about with a gasp of surprise. The mouse known as Mr. Ages was a rather short white mouse with a pair of spectacles on his face. Clearly, he did not look happy seeing Mrs. Brisby. Then again, he looked as though he's hardly happy*

Mrs. Brisby: *gasps* … With you. Oh thank goodness! I'm so glad you're home!

Mr. Ages: *still coughing* Confounded machine! You never know when it's going to up and blow!

Mrs. Brisby: Yes… I don't suppose you would remember me…

Mr. Ages: Yes, you're Mrs. Brisby. And I am sorry about your husband's death. Now if you'll excuse me…

*Shortly after, Mr. Ages disappears back into the machine. Mrs. Brisby calls after him*

Mrs. Brisby: *calls out* Mr. Ages!

Mr. Ages pops up again, in a different place this time.

Mr. Ages: Great Jupiter, woman, what do you want?

Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages, I know you don't like visitors, but this is an emergency! Please!

*Suddenly, a second explosions shakes the thresher. Ages is knocked from his perch and goes sliding and tumbling down into the inner recesses of the machine, finally vanishing down a large vertical shaft. Mrs. Brisby races after him and peers over the shaft's edge. To her relief, Ages is lying in a basket suspended by a rope*

Mr. Ages: Madam, that is an emergency.

*Ages pulls on the rope, sending the basket rising up to the top of the shaft where Mrs. Brisby awaits*

Mrs. Brisby: Oh Mr. Ages, my son TImothy is so sick!

Mr. Ages: Timmy? The one with the spider bite? Oh, just give him some pepsissiwa root and…

Mrs. Brisby: No! *grabs Ages by the shirt and shakes him* No, he's sick with a fever!

Mr. Ages: *grudgingly* Well… I suppose I could fix up something…

Mrs. Brisby: Oh thank you!

Mr. Ages: Follow me, but don't touch anything! Understand?

*Mrs. Brisby nods and slides into the basket alongside Ages. Still muttering to himself, he pulls the rope again, and the basket begins it's descent into the shaft. It's not just suspended from a pulley, apparently, for it seems to be motorized additionally*

Mrs. Brisby: I do appreciate it…

Mr. Ages: Just how high is his fever?

Mrs. Brisby: He's burning hot to the touch.

Mr. Ages: Hmmmmmm, yes.

Mrs. Brisby: He's soaking wet with perspiration…

Mr. Ages: … Yes?

Mrs. Brisby: ... And there's a raspy sound when he breathes.

Mr. Ages: A raspy sound you say? Well!

*After a while, the basket reaches the bottom and the two mice climb out. Ages leads Mrs. Brisby towards a round door with light streaming out of it*

Mr. Ages: Doe he have a chill?

Mrs. Brisby: Yes, he does.

Mr. Ages: Have you wrapped him in a blanket?

Mrs. Brisby: Yes.

Mr. Ages: Now step inside, but keep your hands to yourself! I'm right in the middle of…something very important.

Mrs. Brisby: I understand.

Mr. Ages: Oh, do you?

*The laboratory is brightly lit, and it's filled with all sorts of equipment. It's dominated by a human sized oil lamp in the center of the room, and a variety of chemical equipment, also human sized, runs along the walls and ceiling. A Bunsen burner is heating the contents of a large flask to a gentle boil. Ages crosses the room to his work table*

Mr. Ages: Look at this mess… Oh, shoo, shoo, go on! *tosses a ladybug off the table like a cat* Your son has pneumonia.

Mrs. Brisby: Pneumonia?

*As they talk, Ages begins mixing powders and herbs in a bowl and grinding them with a pestle*

Mr. Ages: It's not uncommon, but you can die from it.

Mrs. Brisby: Oh please dear God, no.

Mr. Ages: Your son must stay in bed. Bundle him up.

Mrs. Brisby: Yes.

*Ages pulls a string running over his head, and the bunsen burner turns to high, heating the fluid inside a large flask. A tube runs from the flask to just above Ages' head. The fluid expands, forcing a single drop out of the tube. Ages deftly catches it in his bowl*

Mr. Ages: Not to go outside...

Mrs. Brisby: But how long must…?

Mr. Ages: Three weeks. He cannot be moved for at least three weeks.

Mrs. Brisby: But Moving Day is nearly here!

Mr. Ages: You asked my advice, and I gave it to you!

Mrs. Brisby: I'm sorry.

Mr. Ages: He must stay in bed. Now, mix this…this powder in a broth and make him drink it. It'll bring down the fever.

Ages pours the contents of the bowl into an envelope and hands it to her.

Mrs. Brisby: Oh, bless you sir!

Mr. Ages: And bless yourself, you'll need it. Now, you must excuse me... You know the way out.

Mrs. Brisby: Oh, of course.

*Ages leads Mrs. Brisby to the door and hustles her through it*

Mrs. Brisby: Thank you once again…

Mr. Ages: Shoo shoo shoo. Go on now. Go on.

Mrs. Brisby: Thank you so…

*The door practically slams shut in her face*

Mrs. Brisby: … Much. Goodbye.