I stole this wonderful idea from Dave Burnham and developed it into an amusing short story. Thanks Dave.
‘Good morning Mr Jeckyll, where are you? Oh there you are. Now what made you apply to the Agency?’
‘I want to be a superhero.’
‘Well you’ve come to the right place. This is the Superhero Agency. We specialise in finding roles for superheroes. Oh, you’ve gone again. I can see you Mr Jeckyll, peeping out from under the desk.’ He chuckled. Mr Rowntree was used to dealing with real superheroes – Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern , the Incredible Hulk and the like – all muscular, fit and dynamic, not like the scrawny youth in front of him. The idea of him being a superhero was amusing but he was happy to go through the formalities. Superheroes were few and far between. He did not have much to fill his days with and dreamed of a new discovery. You never knew. The most unlikely of places.
Mr Rowntree began shuffling papers and gave Gavin a stern look as the callow youth slid back into his seat. He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses back on his nose and blinked. His eyes were playing up today.
‘I think some paperwork is in order.’ His pen was poised over his application form as he began to take down some particulars. He glanced back up to find no sign of the young Mr Jeckyll. He’d gone again.
‘Ah, there you are,’ he muttered with a sigh of exasperation as he caught a glimpse of the young man’s head peeping out from behind the filing cabinets. ‘Let us start at the beginning. Now, what superpowers do you possess? I do wish you would keep still.’ He blinked to settle his misty eyes.
Gavin Jeckyll regained his seat. ‘I am super at hiding.’
‘Hmmm,’ Mr Rowntree murmured dubiously through pursed lips, not taking his eyes off the youth. ‘Hiding, eh? We don’t get too much call for that in this business – more the turning green and bursting out of your clothes to stop locomotives, or flying through the air to prevent disasters. That sort of thing. I’ve never seen hiding as a super-skill.’
‘Exactly,’ Gavin replied. ‘There’s no superhider. I’m your man.’
Mr Rowntree frowned dubiously across at the emaciated young man, blinking to settle his eyes, his pen poised. ‘And pray Mr Jeckyll, what possible use could this superpower be to humanity?’ He ground to a halt, scanning the room. The youth had gone again. He was certain he hadn’t taken his eyes off him yet he had disappeared. He must have glanced down. Now where was he? He perused the room. There was not a sign. No head peeping out from under the desk or behind the filing cabinet. Apart from those few items the room was bare.
‘I can listen in on secret meetings and gain valuable information about our enemies,’ a dissociated voice drifted from behind the curtains.
Mr Rowntree turned to study where the voice had emanated from. No sign.
‘I can tell you all the most dastardly plans. I can avert wars, halt tyrants in their tracks. I want to be a superhero.’
Mr Rowntree was beginning to see the possibilities but was still far from convinced. Nobody looked less like a superhero than Gavin Jeckyll. He couldn’t imagine comics being written about this dishevelled lanky youth and certainly not a film. Nobody could be less photogenic. He blinked and tried to keep his eyes trained on the stringy fellow.
‘Hmmm, if we were to confer superstatus on you Mr Jeckyll, what superuniform could we devise and what name could you assume?’
Mr Rowntree looked up from his form. ‘Oh, where are you now? Oh there you are.’
Mr Jeckyll was pretending to be a coat stand by the side of the door and very effective at it too, only when he waved back at Mr Rowntree did he become visible.
Gavin Jeckyll moved in front of the desk, pulled his shirt off and dropped his tracksuit bottoms.
‘Mr Jeckyll really!’ Mr Rowntree exclaimed. ‘You really can’t get undressed here. I was only referring to the possibility of a superuniform.’ Then he went quiet, staring at the naked Gavin Jeckyll in disbelief. ‘Oh. Gosh and golly. That is extraordinary.’
As he stared at the man, Jeckyll’s skin took on the colour and texture of his surroundings and seemed to melt into the room – ‘The Chameleon’ was born.
