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An unusual sight played out early one morning in the Mystery Shack: Stan and Ford were both pacing in circles around a table in the living room, upon which a telephone rested. Somehow, the phone exuded a more intimidating aura than nearly any of the monsters either twin had fought throughout their long lives.
“It’s not that I’m not happy to talk to him again,” said Ford as he continued to pace, arms crossed behind his back. “It’s just… trying to explain the whole situation…”
“Well, you can at least take comfort in knowing he’ll be more pissed at me,” Stan replied.
“But I get phone call anxiety.”
“Oh, is that what that’s called? ‘Cause so do I.”
“Wait, really?” Ford stopped pacing, and Stan nearly bumped into him. “Have you always? I didn’t realize…”
“You know what, forget it,” Stan told him. “Why don’t you just flip a coin?”
“Fine.” Ford rummaged through his pockets. “Heads or tails?”
“Tails never fails me.”
Ford finally procured a coin, took a look at it, and frowned. “Oops, this isn’t from our dimension. Alien emperor, or eldritch rune?”
“I’ll take the alien, thanks.”
Ford flipped the coin, caught it, and grimaced as he looked at the result. “Shit.”
“Oh, thank god.” Stan placed his hands on Ford’s shoulders, and gently pushed him towards the phone. “Don’t stress about it. I’ll be right here by your side the whole time, listening awkwardly and cringing when we inevitably get cussed out.”
“You always know what to say,” Ford shot back dryly. With noticeable hesitation, and a lot more double-checking of the number than was required, he dialed the phone.
Shermie, always an early riser, picked up just after the first ring. “Morning, Ford! How’s it going over there?” he asked cheerfully.
Ford didn’t say anything, just stared off into the distance with his mouth hanging agape.
“You there, Ford? Did caller ID lie to me? I swear, I can usually wrap my mind around all the newfangled technology right away, but I’ve always been just lost when it comes to phones…”
“No, it’s me,” Ford finally replied. “Sorry, I just… it’s good to hear your voice again, Shermie.”
“Yeah, I could say the same to you. Thanks for actually calling for once, by the way! Is it so I can wish the twins a happy birthday?”
“Uh, no, actually. They’re not awake, though if you want I guess I can relay birthday messages once they wake up.”
“He can wish us a belated happy birthday, though,” Stan whispered, elbowing Ford.
“Then why did you call — hey, is someone else with you? Who’s that?”
“Uh, about that… that’s why I’m calling, actually.” Ford took a deep breath. “Are you sitting down?”
“Of course! I’m at my kitchen table with the morning newspaper and a coffee. Why do I need to be sitting, Stanford?”
Stan elbowed Ford, and hissed: “Just tell him already. Rip that bandage off.”
“Fine, okay,” Ford whispered back. Raising his voice, he continued:
“Sherman, I know this is going to sound absurd, but… Stanley’s not dead.”
Silence.
“And he’s in the room with me.”
Stan leaned in close to the phone. “Hey, Sherm, it’s me! Your fugitive ghost brother!”
The phone made a horrible hissing sound, which Ford could only assume was the result of Shermie spitting coffee all over his end of the line.
“In what world did you think that would help to break the news gently?!” he groaned.
“Look, how many times does a normal person have to reintroduce themselves to relatives who thought they died at thirty in a car crash? Not often, so excuse me for wanting to make it memorable!”
“Fuck you, Stan.”
“You fucking bastard!” agreed Shermie. “Where were you all those years? And why did it never occur to you to come by and visit?”
“Well, about that…” Stan began. “I kind of, uh… actually visited you a couple times.”
“He stole my identity,” Ford clarified. “And honestly? I think we all should have seen it coming.”
“So… you two… fuckers,” Shermie muttered, “faked Stan’s death together and spent three decades pretending to be the same person? Why the fuck would you —”
“Uh, not quite,” Ford cut in. “I had a… research associate who turned out to have ulterior motives for helping me, and dealing with that issue kept me far away from home for a very long time. While in the meantime, Stanley stole my name and house, which I’ve since forgiven him for — mostly. I’m still trying to understand how he got me banned from airplanes.”
Shermie was quiet for a moment. “That’s not even close to the whole story, is it?” he finally asked.
“No, but it’s the closest to the whole story that you’re going to get over a phone line that the government is undoubtedly monitoring,” Ford told him.
“Oh, of course! That’s not worrying at all,” Shermie groaned, but Ford made out a faint sniffling sound on the other end of the line. “I want both of you to get your asses down here for a visit soon. And when you’re here, I want you to tell me everything.”
Ford and Stan exchanged a look, as Ford covered up the phone’s mouthpiece.
“He deserves to know,” Ford admitted.
“Yeah, telling him is the least we can do,” Stan agreed.
“Okay,” Ford said, raising the phone up to his head again. “We’ll stop by in early September to give you the full story.”
“You’d better,” Shermie shot back. “Hey, wait. You guys are… good, right?”
“Pardon?”
“He means we’re not angry with each other anymore,” Stan explained. “Yeah, Shermie. We’re good.”
“It’s about time,” Shermie told him. “Finally beat the world record for longest petty grudge ever held, eh?”
“Watch it, Shermie, because I’m one more smartass comment away from starting a new petty argument with you,” Ford joked, and Stan barked out a laugh.
“I missed this! We haven’t gotten to banter like this in so long!”
“We really haven’t, have we?” Even over the phone, the smile in Shermie’s voice came through loud and clear. “I’m glad you two are both alright.”