The Mysterious Benedict Society

The other children looked at Mr. Benedict. It was rude of Constance to say it that way, but she was right.

Mr. Benedict nodded. “Now pay attention, please. Number Two, engage the Receiver.”

Number Two sat at the computer and with quick, agile fingers, typed a string of commands. The television screen flickered; its picture grew distorted. The children could still make out the wavery image of the news reporter gesturing toward the crowd behind her, but her voice faded away, replaced by that of a child.

“What in the world?” Kate said.

“Just listen,” said Number Two.

The unseen child — it sounded like a girl about Kate’s age — spoke in a plodding, whispery monotone, her voice half-drowned in static. At first only a few random words were clear enough to be understood: “Market . . . too free to be . . . obfuscate . . .” Number Two typed more commands into the computer; the interference lessened considerably, and the child’s words came clearly now, slipping through the faint static in a slow drone:

“THE MISSING AREN’T MISSING, THEY’RE ONLY DEPARTED.

ALL MINDS KEEP ALL THOUGHTS — SO LIKE GOLD — CLOSELY GUARDED. . . .”

Again the words were overcome by static. Number Two muttered under her breath. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, and the child’s slow, whispery voice returned:

“GROW THE LAWN AND MOW THE LAWN.

ALWAYS LEAVE THE TV ON.

BRUSH YOUR TEETH AND KILL THE GERMS.

POISON APPLES, POISON WORMS.”

It went on like this. The child’s voice never faltered, never ceased, but delivered the curious phrases in an eerie, chantlike progression. The news reporter, meanwhile, had vanished from the distorted picture, replaced by a cheerful-looking weather forecaster, but it continued to be the child’s voice they heard. Mr. Benedict signaled Number Two, whose fingers flew over the computer keyboard. The child’s voice faded. The weather forecaster was promising clear skies by afternoon.

Mr. Benedict switched off the television. On the blank television screen the children could suddenly see their reflections. Every one of them was frowning. When they realized this, their faces all adopted looks of surprise, then of intense curiosity.

“What does ‘obfuscate’ mean?” asked Constance.

Sticky, as if someone had pulled a string in his back, promptly answered, “To make so confused or opaque as to be difficult to perceive, or to otherwise render indistinct.”

Constance looked frightened.

“It means to make things muddled,” Reynie said.

“Thank you for the dictionary definition, Sticky,” said Mr. Benedict, “and thank you, Reynie, for the translation.” He crossed his arms and regarded the children. “This child’s voice is currently being transmitted on every television, radio, and cell phone in the world. Which means, of course, it is being absorbed by millions of minds. And yet, although in an important part of every mind this child’s messages are being heard, understood, and taken seriously, in another part — the part that is aware of itself — the messages remain undetected. But this Receiver I’ve invented is capable of detecting and translating them, much as Reynie translated Sticky’s definition a moment ago.”

“But how could people who speak different languages understand that kid?” Kate asked. “What about people in Spain?”

“The messages transmit in every language. I’ve tuned the Receiver to English only because that’s what we all speak.”

“This is too creepy,” Sticky said, glancing nervously behind him. “It’s like . . . like . . .”

“Like having a strange person whisper in your ear while you sleep?” Mr. Benedict suggested.

“Okay, that just made it creepier,” Sticky said.

Reynie was shaking his head wonderingly. “How is this happening, Mr. Benedict? These messages — whatever they are — how are they being sent?”

“To put it simply,” Mr. Benedict began, “they depend for their mobility upon external agents —”

“Mr. Benedict, that’s hardly putting it simply,” interrupted Rhonda with a significant look at Constance, whose face had darkened with frustration.

“Forgive me. You’re quite right. Simply put, the messages ride piggyback on signals. Television, radio, cell phones — all these things make use of invisible signals, and the Sender has found a way to take advantage. The messages aren’t picky; they will ride on any kind of signal. The Sender has discovered how to control the adhesive property of thoughts.”

“The what?” asked the children all together.

“The adhesive property of thoughts. That is, the way thoughts are drawn to signals and then stick to them — much as little pieces of metal may be drawn to a magnet. They’re attracted to all kinds of signals, even other thoughts.”

“So the messages are just thoughts?” Kate said.

“Indeed,” Mr. Benedict replied. “Although I wouldn’t say ‘just.’ Thoughts carry a great deal of freight.”

“But why does the Sender use children to send them?” Reynie asked.