This is a list of stories I'm working on, hope to work on soon, and am developing ideas for. Keep in mind that this list can and will change depending on what I'm interested in at any given time and what else is going on in my life.
Currently Working On:
Match Game 1973-1982
Novels/Novellas
Richard Dawson: Spy Blank
Charles Nelson Reilly: Star Blank
Charles Nelson Reilly: Fairy Tale Blank
Coming Up Next:
Match Game 1973-1983
Novels/Novellas
Brett Somers: Beauty & the Blank
Richard Dawson: Wild Wild Blank
Charles Nelson Reilly: Dr. Jekyl & Mr. Blank
Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Novels/Novellas
Resistance Kids: The Last Good Cop (Alternative Universe - 1950's) - Rey is the first student at Luke's new police school, but he's wondering if he should give up teaching after the destruction of his previous school. Meanwhile, the First Order Gang is back on the street, including Ben Solo, and they're gunning for blood. Then Poe's beloved sports car blows to bits in front of his eyes, and Hank vanishes and his business is ransacked.
Troop Beverly Hills (Alternative Universe - 1980's Comedy) - Leia Ortez-Solo is one of LA's best criminal defense attorneys, but her home life is a mess. Her husband, race-car driver and car repair shop chain owner Harry Solo, is threatening divorce. Her son Ben just got out of jail for arson and armed robbery. On a suggestion from her best friend, romance novelist and amateur astrologist Amilyn Holdo, she takes a position as the head of her niece Rey's Wilderness Girls troop. No one else has been able to figure out what to do with this motley assortment of rich girls and tough tomboys who aren't into the usual cookie-selling and craft-making. Good thing Leia isn't, either. She's determined to show everyone - including Edgar Snoke, the militant head of the First Order Troop - that it takes all kinds to make a Wilderness Girl, whether she lives in the wilds, or the wilds of Beverly Hills.
Hello Leia! (Alternative Universe - Musical-Inspired) - Leia Solo-Levi is the best-known matchmaker in New York City in 1907. She's hired by her ex-husband Harold Solo to find a match for their son Benjamin, who can't make up his mind between the severe police chief's daughter and anarchic son of one of New York's richest men. What she wants is to re-marry her husband, but he has his eyes on a woman in town. Meanwhile, she engineers a meeting between Harold's clerks Poe and Finn and two cute girls in Manhattan, Rey and Rose. They all come together at Harmonia Gardens, the restaurant owned by Leia's brother Luke, for a most memorable evening.
Rey Fantasy Novel - Rachelle "Rey" Ridley works for a junk shop in Jakku, Arizona. She's good with plants and has coaxed a small garden to grow in her tiny backyard. She's quite surprised when a beautiful pony, then a young man, fall out of the sky and ask for her help. They're Finn and BeeBee, of the Kingdom of Alderaan. They're on the run from the evil Warlock Snoke, who has imprisoned Queen Leia behind a magic mirror. Her husband King Han and his manservant Chewbacca have simply vanished, and her brother, the flower mage Luke, has fled the land. Leia's greatest warrior, Poe of the Tiger Lillies, was captured and supposedly killed by the evil, magic-and-beauty-hating Kylo Ren.
Rey follows Finn and BeeBee to Alderaan, which has been stripped of the magical gemstone flowers that gave it the magic that kept it beautiful. With the help of outspoken Jannah of the Marigolds, sweet and chatty Kaydel of the Bluebells, and shy Rose of the Red Roses, Rey discovers the power within herself...and that friendship and giving others a second chance may be the greatest powers of all.
Remember WENN
Novels/Novellas
Once Upon a Time In the Land of WENN (Alternative Universe Fantasy/Fairy Tale) - Even when Elizabeth and the others leave Port Harbor, looking for the Emerald Talisman, trouble follows. Lady Gloria Redmond has no desire to even discuss the magic that caused her so much grief. There's also the evil candy witch Pavla Nemcova, who has both Jeff Singer and Sir Victor Comstock in her grasp, to contend with.
In Development:
Star Wars Original Trilogy
Novels/Novellas
Han Solo, Private Eye (Alternative Universe 1940's Mystery/Thriller) - Han Solo is a private detective with a squalid apartment in one of the shadier parts of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in 1947. He's a bit surprised when rich dame Leia Ortez comes to him to find out who murdered her adopted parents Bail and Breha Ortez. Han, Leia, and Han's big partner Chuck go from the Wharf to Society Hill in order to flush out the corruption at the very top of the City of Brotherly Love...and flush out a not-so-brotherly killer.
Western (Alternative Universe Western Adventure) - It's 1867 in the untamed plains of Coruscant, Idaho. Former homesteader Luke Walters longs to be a sheriff, like his late daddy Anthony was before him. He may get his chance at an apprenticeship when the current sheriff, Ol' Ben MacKenner, deputizes him to help rescue rancher's daughter Leia Ortez from the bandits who have raided and burned her home. They also get more dubious assistance from Harry Solo, a shady gunrunner, and his partner, Native American warrior Chewbacca.
Remember WENN
Novels/Novellas
Captain Victor, Man of Power (Alternative Universe Superhero/Action) - Set directly after the first season episode "There But Before Grace." Tired of dealing with (and being run all over by) sponsors and confused about his feelings for Betty and Grace Cavendish, Victor Comstock imagines himself as one of those new superheroes that have become popular with the kids, Jeff as his sidekick, Betty as the new girl reporter on the block, C.J as a scientist, Ceila as the daughter of a missing scientist and Victor's other sidekick, Hilary as a snooty actress-turned-society-reporter, Mackie as their boss, and Grace as a Dragon Lady-type villaness.
The Best Radio Christmas Pageant Ever - A kind of "missing scene" story set during the early first season. Victor wants to present the story of the Nativity on the airwaves, but the kids starring in the show are unruly, Hilary wants a bigger role, the sponsor is turning the show into a commercial, and Ceila will have nothing to do with it. And there's reports of a major snowstorm heading for Pittsburgh...
On the Edge of the Precipice Series
The Fox and the Falcon - Betty finds herself head over heels involved in espionage when the true leader of the spy ring becomes known...and Victor Comstock returns with startling news...
Remember WENN Fairy Tale Series
Hilary's Story: Beauty and the Beast - Wrap-around segments set day after fourth-season episode "You've Met Your Match." Story based around third and fourth season. Angry at Scott and Jeff for their behavior the night before and in the past few months in general, Betty and Hilary concoct the story of two sisters who discover that the beastly owner and manager of a dilapidated theater may not be what they appear on the outside...or even inside...
Mr. Eldridge and Gertie's Story: The Man Who Minded the House - Set after and based around the fourth season episode "Work Shift." Mr. Eldridge recalls the story of how a man and a woman (him and Gertie) learn that the grass isn't always greener in someone else's work area when he takes over her household duties and she works in the fields.
Needs Work/On Hold:
Star Wars Original Trilogy
Novels/Novellas
The Rebel League Battles the Freeze Machine - The freezing winter of 1979 sees Han, Leia, Luke, and the rest of the League now hiding in an abandoned ski resort. After Vader and his Empire manages to find them there, Harris, Leia, Chewbacca the dog, and Charlie take the long slow path down the Hoth Mountains to the glittering Bespin District, where Harris' friend Lamont Carrington runs the glamorous Cloud City Club. Meanwhile, Luke has gone to the swampy red-light district Dagobah with Rudy, where he'll learn the ways of the Jedi Knights from the former head of the order Yoda. But Vader is determined to bring his son and his powers to him, and he'll do anything - including use his friends as bait - to get him.
Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Novels/Novellas
The Road to Coruscant (Mid 20th Century Alternative Universe) - Ben Kenobi and Anakin Walker are singers taking their vaudeville act on the road. Anakin is forever coming up with moneymaking schemes that get them into a few little problems with the law, to the annoyance of Martin Windu, their long-suffering manager. They have no problems romancing the ladies, either...until they encounter beautiful, elegant dancer Patricia Amidala. Patricia, a genuine noblewoman, is in a heap of trouble with the nasty Count Dooku and Lord Palpatine. Anakin says it's up to them to get her out of it. Ben...wishes they could just go home to Los Angeles, but Anakin is his best friend, so he does it anyway.
Fairy and Folk Tales
Swan Lake
Star Wars Original Trilogy
The Music Han
Guys and Dolls
Star Wars Anthology Series
Heist Story (Alternative Universe - Solo: A Star Wars Story) - In 1965, Henry Solomon grows up on the mean streets of Chicago as a poor pickpocket for a local mob. He's hoping to eventually make enough money to marry his girl Clara and head out west. He manages to get out via the Navy, but Clara remains behind. Now going under the name Hank Solo, he finds himself in Vietnam without a paddle, at least until he's helped to go AWOL by a gruff old Russian named Charrel. He's recruited by a gang to take a big armored car job, but it goes wrong, landing them on the wrong side of the big Vegas mob the Crimson Dawn. They hire smooth gambler Lance Caliss and his gorgeous vintage Falcon car to take them across the Vegas desert to the Kessel Iron Works, and then make the infamous run on the Kessel Highway to take down Dryden Vos at his Twin Blades Casino and Hotel.
Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Novels/Novellas
1920's Melodrama (Alternative Universe - Roaring 20's Action/Adventure) - Rowena "Rey" Knight has traveled all the way from England to work with the great Luke Waterson, the most decorated and popular reporter to ever have written for the Hosnia City Daily Star. But when she arrives, Hosnia is under siege from the First Order Company, a criminal organization that uses a legitimate business as a front for everything from bootlegging to kidnapping to gambling. Luke Waterson has gone into hiding behind his desk at the Daily Star. His sister, Leia Waterson-Solomon, is the town's mayor, but she and her task force, including bush pilot Poe Damerez, can't hold out much longer against Arlington Snoke and his protege Kylo Ren. The arrival of Rey and former First Order Company worker Finn Finnegan may be what Leia needs to turn the tide.
1980's Nightclub Story (Alternative Universe - Action/Comedy) - It's 1981. Poe Damerez, with money provided by his boss, Galactic Records owner and president Leia Wallace, has just bought the former Rebel Alliance nightclub in Cherry Hill, New Jersey, just a few minutes outside of Philadelphia. He's hoping to reopen it as a dance club and music showplace...and that his first act will be no less than Leia and the Falcons. The Falcons started as a jazz trio after World War II, before adding two more members and moving on to becoming a pioneering rock and folk group.
Poe has several headaches from the get-go. First of all, while Leia is all for playing a one-time-only gig, none of her former band mates agree. Harry "Han Solo" Shaw, the manager and saxophonist, is now a manager for several low-level groups who is known for his shady activities. Guitarist and dancer Luke "Skywalker" Wallace is living in retirement in Philadelphia and has no desire to rejoin the music business. Laurence "Lando" Craydon has vanished all together. There's also Leia's business partner Amilyn Holdo, who is wary of the entire scheme. Not to mention, the First Order Company is after the land to build a shopping center...and their vice-president Kylo Ren has his own reasons for not wanting the Rebel Alliance Club rise again.
Singin' In the Rain
Newsies
Sequel to Tales of the Gold Wookie
Police Academy
Remember WENN
Maltese Falcon Film Noir Spoof II (Alternative Universe Film Noir/Mystery) - Wrap-around set during the late third or early fourth seasons. Hilary and Scott give two different sides of the tale of a dame who may or may not have gotten a private eye involved with smuggling and murder.
Ceila Short Story - Missing scene set during the first season episode "A Capitol Idea." Ceila says good-bye to the station after she's hired by the guy who wanted her to promote Blondie cartoons.
Fairy Tale Series
Jeff's Story - Aladdin and His Magic Lamp
C.J's Story - Jack and the Beanstalk
Victor's Story - King Arthur
Ceila's Story - Goldielocks and the Three Bears
Mackie's Story
Eugenia and Mr. Foley's Story
Original Children's Short Stories
Stories based after childhood memories, including:
Painting someone else's fence.
Little kids running through other people's yards when Mom and Dad aren't looking.
Beach frolics - walking home from the beach as a child
Tuesday, October 1, 2019
Introduction - Brett Somers: The Most Dangerous Blank
First of all, The Rebel League Star Wars stories are on hiatus, and I may or may not complete the second and third installments...because I've discovered something else.
This may be the strangest piece of media I've ever fallen in love with. Back in April, I discovered that the digital channel Buzzr, a station devoted to rerunning vintage game shows of the 50's through the early 2000's, streams for free online. While I enjoyed seeing old childhood favorites like Card Sharks, Supermarket Sweep, and Press Your Luck again, the show that intrigued me the most was one I barely remembered - Match Game. Host Gene Rayburn asked a panel of six star comedians and sitcom favorites a goofy question, and they'd have to match the contestant's answers.
Sounds pretty simple, doesn't it? Well, the difference between this and the games of my childhood was personality. Three of the panelists - crusty, tough Brett Somers, fussy sophisticate Charles Nelson Reilly, and suave Brit Richard Dawson - were regulars who played off a rotating cast of a who's who of the comedy, game show, and sitcom world of the 70's and early 80's (including Betty White). Gene was as wild as any of his panelists, doing bad imitations for some questions and openly flirting with any even vaguely attractive woman within his reach.
Even what Buzzr showed in the afternoon and evenings wasn't enough. To my delight, I discovered that someone has been cleaning up and posting most of the existing episodes on YouTube. Watching all the antics onstage - from Gene breaking through a stuck door to Richard starting a riot when the judge didn't accept his reasonable answer - got the wheels turned in my head. I began to think of scenarios as I listened to their comments and did some research on the regulars at Wikipedia and elsewhere.
I thought this crazy cast of characters would be a great way to explore genres I don't normally play around in...like horror. That brings us to this story. Brett Somers, having just separated from her husband and drank a little too much at lunch, has a nasty nightmare that eventually concerns the whole panel, and the producer of the show, too.
And a major warning that this is intended to be for adults only. There's bad language (especially from Richard towards the end), violence, and general horror mayhem. For those of you who dare, I submit to you, Brett Somers. A comedienne upset by her husband's walking out and her own fears of being nothing more than a puppet on a show. Miss Somers is about to discover that there are games out there a lot scarier than fill-in-the-blank, as she takes on...The Most Dangerous Blank.
This may be the strangest piece of media I've ever fallen in love with. Back in April, I discovered that the digital channel Buzzr, a station devoted to rerunning vintage game shows of the 50's through the early 2000's, streams for free online. While I enjoyed seeing old childhood favorites like Card Sharks, Supermarket Sweep, and Press Your Luck again, the show that intrigued me the most was one I barely remembered - Match Game. Host Gene Rayburn asked a panel of six star comedians and sitcom favorites a goofy question, and they'd have to match the contestant's answers.
Sounds pretty simple, doesn't it? Well, the difference between this and the games of my childhood was personality. Three of the panelists - crusty, tough Brett Somers, fussy sophisticate Charles Nelson Reilly, and suave Brit Richard Dawson - were regulars who played off a rotating cast of a who's who of the comedy, game show, and sitcom world of the 70's and early 80's (including Betty White). Gene was as wild as any of his panelists, doing bad imitations for some questions and openly flirting with any even vaguely attractive woman within his reach.
Even what Buzzr showed in the afternoon and evenings wasn't enough. To my delight, I discovered that someone has been cleaning up and posting most of the existing episodes on YouTube. Watching all the antics onstage - from Gene breaking through a stuck door to Richard starting a riot when the judge didn't accept his reasonable answer - got the wheels turned in my head. I began to think of scenarios as I listened to their comments and did some research on the regulars at Wikipedia and elsewhere.
I thought this crazy cast of characters would be a great way to explore genres I don't normally play around in...like horror. That brings us to this story. Brett Somers, having just separated from her husband and drank a little too much at lunch, has a nasty nightmare that eventually concerns the whole panel, and the producer of the show, too.
And a major warning that this is intended to be for adults only. There's bad language (especially from Richard towards the end), violence, and general horror mayhem. For those of you who dare, I submit to you, Brett Somers. A comedienne upset by her husband's walking out and her own fears of being nothing more than a puppet on a show. Miss Somers is about to discover that there are games out there a lot scarier than fill-in-the-blank, as she takes on...The Most Dangerous Blank.
A Match Game Fanfic: Brett Somers - The Most Dangerous Blank
Brett: The Most Dangerous Blank
Rated: R (violence, language, brief references to sexuality, horror mayhem)
This is a work of fiction. Match Game 1973-1982 belongs to Fremantle Media. All characters belong to their respective estates.
"Charles?" Brett stood near the panelists' desks at the studio, but it didn't resemble the studio she knew. Everything was washed out, like a black-and-white movie on the late show. Long shadows obscured the contestants' booths and made the panelists' desks into mere wraiths. When she put her hand on Charles' desk, she found his glasses, his pipe, and his blue hat. Richard's purple and black plaid coat hung on his chair. "Gene? Fannie? Earl? Charles and Richard, if this is some kind of gag..."
"It's not a gag." Brett swung around as Ira Skulch, their producer, smoozed out of the door where Gene usually walked in. He wore that maroon coat of his, with the shirt open to the navel in his idea of a young stud. "You were expecting that lecherous fool Rayburn? Or your mincing Reilly? Or that maybe dashing Dawson, the Kissing Bandit, would swing in and give the perfect answer?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Ira, what's going on? What am I doing here? Where's the others?" Her hands felt for something, anything, that could keep that snake of a man away from her. His smile had more teeth than the shark in that big movie from last year...what was it? Jaws? Desperate fingers finally grasped something long and smooth. Gene's much-loved, extra-long, telescopic microphone.
He leaned over her with that feral grin and lifted her chin. "You're not an unattractive woman for your age, Somers. And you are sort of the queen among the panelists. You're one of our regulars. What you, Reilly, and especially Dawson do, the others do."
She shook his hand off her face. "So what's that to you?"
"Only that the queen needs a king." His fingers brushed her cheek in a way that made her stomach turn. "And if the queen plays her cards right, she may get what she wants - a showcase of her very own."
"Oh yeah?" Despite his hands roaming all over her in places she was sure even her ex-husbands never found, she tried her best to look coy and flirtatious. "You really think so?"
"I know so, my queen." Those roaming fingers were so focused on fondling her bosom, they hadn't gotten around to the hand that held the microphone behind her back. "What do you say?" His lips pursed in a grotesque imitation of Richard when he set up for a kiss from a contestant.
"I say, here's the definitive answer!" She raised her knee into his sensitive spot, then wailed him over the head with the microphone. It wasn't a heavy instrument and it didn't really hurt him, but it did stun him enough to shove him away. "I knew you were a sleaze and a lousy judge, but now I can add 'major creep' onto your resume, too. And you called Gene lecherous!"
"You're going...to regret that..." Ira was still getting his breath back. "I may not be nice...and tell you...where your idiot men are..."
Brett brandished the microphone as threateningly as she could. "What do you mean?"
"You'll find out." All those teeth reappeared, making her shudder. "Why don't we play a different kind of game? If you can use the clues I give you to lead you to Reilly, Dawson, and Rayburn, I'll release them. If not...well," those shark teeth spread wider, "I can think of worse things to do with you than not renewing your contracts."
She hated the cliche, but a chill really did go down her spine. "What did you do to them? Where are they? If you hurt any of them..."
"That's part of the game." Ira waggled a finger in her face. "I won't hurt them too badly, of course. I need them. Our bosses need them. But while you're using that fertile imagination of yours to conjure up all kinds of wonderful, awful ways for me play with them, here's your first clue. We're frightened of the things we can't see, but true courage means leaving the blanks of the past behind."
"Blanks of the past? What does that..." Ira was already retreating. By the time she'd gone after him to ask more questions, he'd vanished into the door. She tried her hardest to pry it open, but the damn thing was stuck. Pounding on the door only produced a hollow echo. "Ira, get your ass out here and explain yourself! Now! If you don't come out here, I'm going to do what Gene did and break through this door!"
"Brett?" A pixie-maned blond head emerged from behind the top risers. "Is he gone?" Two frightened blue eyes peered around the room.
She'd recognize that squeaky little voice anywhere, even if it was terrified. "Joyce?" That brought her down the steps. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm hiding. From Ira. He sounded a little crazy, didn't he?" Joyce Bullifant stepped cautiously out from behind the risers, dusting off her yellow and orange prairie dress. "I was here earlier. I left my purse on my seat. There was the worst racket, and I hid so I wouldn't get squished. All I saw was feet, and people falling. I don't think they ever saw me."
She gulped, her eyes watery. "But I did hear voices. I think they belonged to the guys. Ira was saying awful things. He talked about a game. I heard him hitting on you, and I wanted to help, but you took care of yourself pretty well."
"When you've dealt with as many men as I have, you get a good idea of where to put your knees if they get too fresh." Brett swung Richard's plaid jacket around her shoulders, then stuffed Charles' hat in her pocket. "I think we'd better bring the guys' stuff with us. It might be important, and they shouldn't be leaving their junk laying around anyway."
"I guess, when you're getting attacked, you aren't thinking of where you're putting your stuff." Joyce dropped Charles' pipe and glasses in her purse. "What are we going to do about the microphone? It has that long cord."
"Good question." Crawling around behind the risers revealed a plug. "I think we might be able to wrap it up and carry it that way." She managed to get to her feet, following the cord to the microphone. She wound it as well as she could, then stuck the microphone through to tie it together. "Let's move along, before Ira comes back and decides it's open night on our bodies."
The small blonde woman shuddered. "I don't think I ever want to see him again. Besides, it's kind of creepy in here. I wonder where the lights are."
"I'm wondering where the people are." Brett lead Joyce past the audience seats and cameras. The cameras were silent; no one manned them. The chairs were empty. "We're the only ones here. I don't see Johnny, Mark, or anyone else. Did the world end without us knowing it?"
The smaller woman shrugged. "Maybe it's between tapings."
"There should be somebody here, though. This place feels like a mausoleum." She stumbled past the last row before finally reaching the exit. "Thank god for exit signs. At least they still work."
Stepping out into the hall didn't make anything less scary. All they could see were the shadowy outlines of boxy walls. "I wish the guys left a flashlight behind," Brett grumbled. "It's dark as hell out here."
Joyce clung to her white and black blouse. "Do you think everyone was eaten by a monster?"
"Don't be silly. They're just fixing the lights, that's all." Privately, Brett was wondering something similiar. It was eerily quiet. The only sounds to be heard were their footsteps on the threadbare carpet.
"B...brett?" The smaller woman's voice trembled. "I think I hear noises behind us. There's something in the wall."
"Now that you mention it..." Feeling along the wall revealed a brass knob that shown dully in the dim light. Something was trying to jiggle it.
"Help!" A familiar feminine southern accent called from behind the door. "Could somebody let me out? I'm losin' air in here!"
"Oh, I know that voice. You've got plenty of your own air, darling." Brett pulled a hairpin from her wig and shook it in the lock. "We'll have you out of there in two shakes of a lamb's tail. And you can shake a lamb's tail. We did it on the farm."
"Thank god!" Fannie Flagg very nearly fell on Brett when she was finally let out. "I thought I was gonna die in there! Do you know how embarrassing it would have been to die among the brooms and cleaning supplies?"
"But Fannie," Joyce squeaked, "how did you get in there?"
"You know, it's the funniest thing." Fannie put a hand on her not-inconsiderable hip. "I was just heading down this hall, looking for everyone else, when I hear voices. Something about a game, and having to grab someone. Next thing I know, I'm being manhandled and shoved into that closet."
Brett made a face. "I can guess who did the manhandling. Ira hit on me in the studio. He thought he could offer me a proposition I couldn't refuse. I refused it, all right. He'll be able to use his man parts again in a week to ten days."
"She really did it." Joyce was beaming. "She kneed him, then called him a creep."
Fannie let loose with one of her warm laughs, patting Brett on the shoulder. "Good for you, darlin'. I knew you had it in you. You weren't lyin'. That man is a creep. The way he looks at me sometimes..."
"Is no different than the way any other guy on the show looks at you." Joyce gave her a cheeky grin. "Including the ones on the panel. I know I've seen Richard check you out when you're not looking."
"He's not a bad-looking man, and I'm glad he's happy doing Family Feud now. He's so good with the contestants, I knew he'd be a wonderful host." Fannie wrinkled her nose. "But let's just say, he's not how I swing."
Brett coughed. "Speaking of Richard, that brings us to why we're here. Have you seen him, Charles, or Gene?"
"No, and...is that Richard's jacket?" Fannie ran her fingers down the purple plaid sleeve hanging over Brett's shoulder. "How did you get it? Shouldn't he be in it?"
"Ira has him." Joyce whimpered. "They're playing some kind of game, and we have to find him and Charles and Gene. Or they're going to do...well, probably something not-nice to them!"
The redheaded southern belle's eyebrows nearly went to her hairline. "You're serious? What would Ira want with them?" They went even further when she saw the microphone under Brett's arm. "What's that doin' here?"
"I think it's a clue. Or part of one. Ira said he'd give us three clues that would help us figure out where the guys are." She rubbed her head, trying to remember what Ira said earlier. "Damn it to hell, where's Gene to read the question again when I need him? I don't remember what Ira said!"
"I do. I heard it, too." Joyce squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on Ira's words. "We're frightened of the things we can't see, but true courage means leaving the blanks of the past behind."
"Blanks of the past?" Fannie leaned against the wall. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know. I've been trying to figure it out ever since he said it." Brett's temples were throbbing. "I knew I shouldn't have had that last glass of vodka before the taping."
"Wait." Fannie frowned. "Didn't Charles used to star in a show called The Ghost and Mrs. Muir? I think he was the ghost's descendant."
"Oh, I used to watch that show. It was cute!" Joyce giggled. "Charles was sort of whiny, but it was a fun show."
"Ghosts of the past. The ghost was from the past. And I know there are things in Charles' past that he won't talk about." Brett nodded. "The answer is 'ghosts.' I'm sure of it." She tugged at Joyce's purse. "Do you have anything in there to write on?"
"Oh, sure!" It took the blond five minutes of searching, but she finally turned up a pad and pen. "Here you go!"
"Thank you." Brett scribbled "ghosts" on the pad with her left-handed chicken scrawl, then showed it to the ceiling. "Ira, I don't know if you can hear us, but our definative answer is 'ghosts!'"
The moment she said it, there was a flash, a rumble, and suddenly, the dark hall and closet were gone.
The Most Dangerous Blank, Part 2
Everything whirled for a moment, and she swore she saw stars. Her mind reeled. When the ground beneath her feet finally stopped spinning, she managed to crack open her eyes for a second.
"Where the hell are we?"
Her first thought was "haunted house." Dust and cobwebs crisscrossed every wall. If she squinted in the hazy gray light, she could make out stark white sheets covering menacing forms. Burns and cracks in the walls lead to half-burnt oil paintings of ancient mariners and ships gliding through the foaming sea.
"What is this?" Fannie came in through the door to her right. "Did we land in the Addams Family's home or something?"
"No. And it's not The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, either. Mrs. Muir's house never looked this bad in the show." Screams and moans managed to make it through the foghorn outside a burnt window. "Look at this place. Half of it's been in a fire. The other half is abandoned. If you were a ghost, isn't this the kind of house you'd want to set up residence in?"
Fannie shuddered. "Looks worse than some of the abandoned plantation houses in Alabama. And I thought we southerners could get Gothic."
Brett went to a window and stuck her head out to see where they were. The little house was attached to a darkened lighthouse. A vicious sea pounded against the sides of a craggy gray cliff. The sky echoed the sea, a thin line of heavy black clouds dotted here and there by the occasional silvery gray. A soft mist fell, cooling her cheeks and making her mascara run.
"Great, it's raining, too." She wiped her face with her sleeve. "I don't suppose you brought an umbrella."
"I don't even have my purse!" Fannie jumped as more screeches and a scream of terror cut through the gloom. "Brett, honey, I think we'd better get out of here. I don't particularly want to be a host for a ghost. I've seen The Exorcist. I like myself in my own body."
Brett smirked. "It would take three ghosts to fill out those curves of yours." Searching through one of the few uncovered and unburnt desks brought up something she suspected they were going to need. "Here." She shoved an antique, pearl-handled pistol into Fannie's hand and took a second for herself. "If things get rough, we may have to get a little ugly."
"I'm hoping it won't come to that." The southern woman raised her eyebrows as Brett easily checked the gun for bullets. "You know guns?"
"I'm from the country, remember? I was taught to shoot the moment I could handle the darn things. Don't often get a chance to in LA." She stuck the gun in her waistband. "Let's go find Joyce."
Joyce was standing at the top of the lighthouse, looking out a brass telescope. "Girls!" she squeaked in horror as they managed to puff their way to the misty outside deck. "I see something out there! A lot of somethings! They're surrounding...well, somebody...on the cliff! At least, I think they're something. When I look through the telescope, they're just sort of faint. But when I don't, they're crowding around that poor guy. I don't think they want to give him a hug, either."
"The man on the tree?" Brett managed to stumbled to the telescope after she caught her breath. Maybe it was that imagination Ira referred to earlier, but she could have sworn the baby-faced man bound to that twig of a tree crucifixion-style looked a hell of a lot like... "Shit!" She dropped the telescope. "Charles is down there!"
Fannie peered through the telescope, adjusting the lense. Her big brown eyes got even wider. "Holy hell, you're right. He's not movin' too well. Never heard a man scream so much like a girl before..."
"I'll twit him about that later." Brett was already pulling back, checking every corner for an idea. "We have to get their attention."
"What about...this?" Joyce was pushing at the old lamp. It took all three women to get the rusty light aimed at the cliff. "Whew! I don't envy the lighthouse keeper," Joyce panted. "That's hard work!"
"Messy, too." Fannie brushed dull red specks off her black star shirt. "That thing had more rust on it than some of Gene's pick-up lines."
Brett was already pushing buttons on the dusty panel next to it. "How do you turn this thing on? Does it even have electricity?" As her fingers moved, they finally grasped a large lever. "Well, here goes nothing. This is the only thing I haven't tried. Ladies, you might want to get Charles. I've seen lighthouses in Maine. These things can get a little bright. I'll be down in a minute."
"Yeah," Fannie started, "but..." It took both hands, but Brett was able to flip the switch. Suddenly, every single thing for miles around was bathed in brilliant white light. Fannie threw her hand over her eyes. "A little bright? They can see that back in Culver City!"
"Owww!" Joyce buried her face in Fannie's side. "If that doesn't scare those...whatevers...off, nothing will!"
Brett threw the plaid jacket over her head to shield her eyes from the glare. "Come on. Let's go get Charles, before the light attracts passing ships."
The rain had stopped by the time they all hurried to the cliff side. The creatures screeched as the lights hit them, making most of them rear back. Brett stepped back as they got a good look at them. "They're...burned. Charred. Rotten. They look like they were in a fire."
Joyce gulped, pushing close to Brett. "How are we going to get past that crowd?"
"Doesn't Charles hate crowds? He won't go in the audience for anything." Fannie had to duck away as two reached out for her. "Whoa, boys! You're not getting your hands on my buxom body, thank you very much!"
"H...help!" Joyce's squeal cut through the muffled moans and reaching arms. "They're trying to touch me!" She swung her purse around. It went right through them, but it did move them back. "I think I have something in here that could get rid of them." She handed Brett the glasses and pipe. "Here. Hold these."
"What am I supposed to do with them?" She just barely managed to avoid two of the barely-visible ghost-zombie things reaching out for her. "Hey! Watch it! I had enough of that earlier with Ira!"
She had no idea what to do with the glasses, so she put them on her face until they could get to Charles...and she screamed. As she gazed through the Coke-bottle lenses, the ghosts suddenly became far more visible. "Wait! We're frightened of the things we can't see..."
Without thinking, her fingers pressed the trigger. "Get away from that poor man, you monsters!" Three gunshots boomed across the ocean as they cut through now-visible wraiths. "Fannie, here." She handed her the pipe. "Hold onto this and take out the rest of them. I'm gonna get Charles."
Fannie's fingers trembled. "But how? I can't see..."
"You will in a minute." She managed to dig through bodies, some of them as small as children. Her heart felt sore as she realized they were all burned. Scarred. Charred beyond recognition. "Charles? Charles, my god!"
Charles sagged under the pile of wraiths. His wrists were bound to the branches of the leafless tree. Rope held his chest and ankles to the dead gray trunk. There was a nasty purple bruise on his dimpled chin and a goose-egg under his toupee, but he otherwise seemed unharmed. His sky blue eyes were, however, wide with sheer terror. "Brett," he whimpered, "make them go away! Please just...I never wanted to go through this again...get them away!"
"You can do that yourself!" She thrust the glasses on his face. "Here. Does that help?"
Those blue eyes blinked. He gasped, sagging even further into the branches. "Yes! They're...well, they're not gone, but they're not all coming after me, either. Thanks! Besides," he manged to make a face, "I'm nearsighted. I need those. All I could see of you was a blur."
Joyce had dashed over, purse in hand. "Glad I always carry one of these with me." She pulled out a nail file and rubbed at the ropes. "Never know when you might need a quick fix on a broken nail."
"Good girl." The older woman went about undoing the knots on his left hand. "You get his right and his feet, I'll get his left and his torso."
"I never thought I'd actually be happy to see either of you, but here we are!" He nearly toppled into Brett's arms when they got him loose. "They...God, I couldn't breathe...couldn't think...it was like that day..."
Joyce rubbed his back sympathetically as Brett just held him. "It's ok, Charles," the blonde squeaked. "We're here. We won't let those old ghosts get you again. You're our friend."'
"Charles," Brett began quietly, "what happened? What is this?"
"I'll tell you later." He pulled away from them as Fannie dashed over.
"I'm glad you're all right." She threw away the gun, then handed him his pipe. "This is yours. Hope it'll make you feel better. Just don't puff that thing at us. I just washed this shirt. I don't need it to smell like your smoke."
"Thanks, Fannie. Nice to know you care." He shoved the pipe in his shirt pocket, then grabbed his hat out of Brett's pocket and plopped it jauntily over his toupee. "I need this. The lump's making my wig look weird."
Brett smirked. "You don't need a lump to do that, Charles. It already looks weird."
"I knew I could count on a word of encouragement from you, Brett." His smirk fell the moment he saw Richard's jacket. "What are you doing in that? I thought they took it..."
Fannie got in between them. "Maybe we ought to save the explanations for when we get out of here. If," she added, "we can figure out how to get out of here."
The shining yellow beam from the lighthouse was slowly joined by silvery light breaking through the clouds. The few remaining ghosts writhed and moaned under the beam, but they were vanishing. "Ira called me a coward," Charles said in a low voice. "Maybe I am, but I know who my friends are. And I know how to get us out. Ladies, stay with me."
"I'm not too scared," Charles growled to the air, "to do this!" He blew into the pipe, sending smoke over the last of the ghosts. Their moans were drowned out by the swirling smoke, and then that flash and rumble again...and then, they were gone.
~*~*~*~*~
Brett opened her eyes as soon as the rumbling stopped to find them back in near-total darkness. "Great," Fannie groaned. "We're in the hall again."
"At least there's no ghosts here," Joyce assured her cheerfully. "Just us."
Charles leaned against the wall, smoking that infernal pipe of his with his eyes closed. He was a little pale under his California tan and the bruise, but at least he seemed calmer now. Brett swatted smoke from her face as she joined him next to the wall. "Can't you put that thing out?"
"It relaxes me." His eyes remained closed, but there was tension in his jaw. "Brett, you're from New England. Do you remember reading about the Hartford circus fire in 1944?"
She nodded. "It was all over the papers and the radio." The muscles in his face got tense like a wire. "Oh god...Charles, you mentioned once backstage that you were there."
He nodded slowly. "I was. I was 13 then. I escaped. Other kids..." his voice softened, "weren't so lucky. That's why I won't take part in Gene's antics in the audience. I...can't go out there. I can't handle large crowds. I can't."
When those pale blue eyes of his opened, they were haunted. "There were too many men surrounding Richard. They got Gene down right away, but Richard...he fought. Fought like a tiger. That boxing he did came back, I guess. I tried to get them off, but I couldn't. Ira said I was too much of a coward to fight back." He made a face and rubbed his head under his hat. "And then he punched me in the jaw and whacked me over the head. I don't remember anything else before I was trussed up to that pathetic twig."
Another arm went gently around Charles' other side. "It's ok, Charles," Joyce squeaked. "I was there. I think I saw you, and I know I heard you. You tried to save them. Ira was mean. You're not a coward. You were very brave."
"Speaking of Ira," Fannie added, "where is that little bastard?"
Charles tapped his pipe against the wall. "He said something about his 'queen' playing a game if she didn't do what he wanted. Unless Queen Elizabeth or The African Queen are in on this, I presumed he meant you, Brett." He couldn't resist a smirk. "Although he may have meant the Evil Queen from Snow White."
She gave him a light punch on the arm. "Funny, Charles. No, he tried to put the moves on me. I gave him the definitive answer up his ass."
"Vulgar." Charles puffed his pipe again and grinned. "But effective. That should teach him to try to seduce an almost-divorced woman."
"You said it." She called out to the ceiling. "Ok, Ira. We found Charles. Where are the other two?"
Footsteps padded down the dark hall. "Look who's in such a hurry!" Ira emerged from the shadows, almost as if he were a part of them. "Hello, Reilly. Not too scared to join the game?"
Charles narrowed his eyes, tapped the pipe again, and stuffed it in his pocket. "Not anymore. Where's Richard and Gene? Especially Richard. He was barely moving the last time I saw him."
"You'll find them." He crossed his arms, those sharp teeth flashing glossy white in the blackness. "Here's your next clue. Return with us to those thrilling days of yesteryear, when people performed by microphone, and blank was king."
Fannie glared at him. "What in the hootin' hell does that mean?"
There was no answer. The moment he gave the clue, Ira had faded back into the darkness. Brett and Charles ducked after him, but all they found was more wall.
"Um, guys?" Joyce was doing a little dance. "I think I need to use the little girl's room, if you know what I mean."
"Wouldn't hurt me, either." The well-endowed southern belle next to her sighed. "We'll all think better if we have a bathroom break and get freshened up a bit."
"I agree." Brett pulled the plaid jacket further around her shoulders. The air conditioner seemed to be about the only thing working. It was freezing in there. "How about you, Charles?"
He shrugged. "I don't really need to go, but freshening up after...well, after everything wouldn't hurt."
"It's unanimous." The quartet trooped down the hall to the nearest "Men" and "Women" sign. Leaving Charles to do whatever "freshening up" meant to him, she followed the other women into their bathroom.
Ten minutes later, she was straightening her wig after having used the toilet while Fannie applied lipstick. "Darlin'," she started as she blotted her berry-red lips with a piece of toilet paper, "why do you wear that wig? Are you losin' your hair, like Charles?"
"No, thank you, I am not." She checked her teeth to make sure there was nothing stuck in them from lunch. "The producers suggested I should look younger."
The redhead next to her fluffed her own very real chestnut tresses. "You know, I've seen you with your own hair. I think you look just fine. If they can't handle women aging, that's their problem."
She was about to respond when she heard a yelp from the men's room. "What's that?" Joyce stumbled out of the cubicle, trying to shake toilet paper off her beige heel. "I don't think it's Charles."
"He must have run into somebody else in there." Fannie gave her hair one last pat and handed the lipstick back to Joyce. "Come on. Let's go see if Charles needs rescuing again."
Charles did not need rescuing, but the man who clung to him as they stumbled out of the bathroom looked like he might have needed either a cold bath or ten gallons of chamomile tea. Bill Daily jumped at every noise, including the women as they joined them. He nearly jumped right in Charles' arms when Brett tapped his shoulder.
"Oh, thank god!" He gasped. "I was starting to think I was the only person left in the universe! I've been hiding in the bathroom for the past half-hour. The smell was getting to me. The maids must have vanished. Maybe the goons I saw earlier got them. They were huge, those guys. Charles," he hugged him hard, "I'm just glad you're all right! They were dragging around you and Richard and Gene, and Richard's face looked like he'd gone ten rounds with Mohamed Ali and lost..."
"Could someone get him off me?" Charles whined painfully. "I can't breathe!"
Brett finally managed to pry Bill's fingers from around Charles' body and get the shaking man into the dark hall. "Ok, Bill, from the beginning. Who were those goons, and what did you see?"
Charles handed the shaking man a paper cup of water. "Thanks, Charlie," he rambled. "I need this. I don't know what I saw. I'm not sure I want to know what I saw. I didn't know anyone around here had goons. I mean, we all know Ira would sell his mother to get ratings, but those guys were big. Like, King Kong big. It's so dark in here, I couldn't see where they were dragging you or Richard to. I thought they were taking Gene towards the studios, but like I said, it's dark. Does anyone know why it's so dark? Did CBS forget to pay the electricity bill?"
"Not a clue." Charles made a face as he rubbed his abused noggin. "Ira slammed me over the head, and I woke up tied to a tree and surrounded by burned ghosts. Not one of my better nights. And," he looked down at his cup, "I panicked and couldn't stop them from hurting the other two."
Bill patted his shoulder. "Gee, that's rough. I'm sorry Ira was a jerk to you. You don't deserve that. You give some of the best answers on the show. And Rich can be an arrogant prick when he's not picked, but he doesn't deserve to be one big purple spot, either."
"We're missing Gene, too," Brett added. "Which brings us back to Ira. He's decided he wants to play his own sadistic Match Game. If we solve his demented riddles, we'll find Richard and Gene."
"Did he say what would happen if we don't find them?" The shaking man in the dark blue sweater gulped his water too quickly and ended up coughing so hard, Fannie had to slap him on the back.
She shook her head. "He wasn't specific. Vague threats. Something about being worse than not renewing our contracts."
Fannie was rubbing at her own head. "Does anyone remember what he said? Joyce?"
"Uh huh." She scrunched her blue eyes and tried to recall the clue. "Return with us to those thrilling days of yesteryear, when people performed by microphone, and blank was king."
"Radio." Charles leaned against the wall again and puffed his pipe. "People performed by microphone on the radio. I used to listen to the Metropolitan Opera and all the big drama shows like Lux Radio Theatre with my parents as a child."
"Gene was on the radio. He was an announcer." Brett rubbed the side of her pounding head again. As soon as this was all over, she needed a glass of water and at least six aspirin. "About...two years ago, I think...Richard found some picture of Gene knitting a sock and put it on the show. He and Gene showed it to Charles and me later. The background was pretty obviously a radio studio, probably some time in the 30's." She couldn't resist wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "And Gene was darn cute then, too."
"That's it. The answer is radio." Charles tapped his pipe on the sole of his shoe. "How are we going to let Ira know?"
Joyce immediately dug into her purse. "Here!" She tossed Charles the pen and pad. "Just write down your answer on this and call it out, like on the show."
"Well, all right." Charles elegantly outlined "radio" on the pad, then held it over his head. "Ira, our definitive answer is 'radio!'"
Charles had no sooner spoken then there was another flash, and the ground rumbled under their feet again. After that, she knew no more.
"Where the hell are we?"
Her first thought was "haunted house." Dust and cobwebs crisscrossed every wall. If she squinted in the hazy gray light, she could make out stark white sheets covering menacing forms. Burns and cracks in the walls lead to half-burnt oil paintings of ancient mariners and ships gliding through the foaming sea.
"What is this?" Fannie came in through the door to her right. "Did we land in the Addams Family's home or something?"
"No. And it's not The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, either. Mrs. Muir's house never looked this bad in the show." Screams and moans managed to make it through the foghorn outside a burnt window. "Look at this place. Half of it's been in a fire. The other half is abandoned. If you were a ghost, isn't this the kind of house you'd want to set up residence in?"
Fannie shuddered. "Looks worse than some of the abandoned plantation houses in Alabama. And I thought we southerners could get Gothic."
Brett went to a window and stuck her head out to see where they were. The little house was attached to a darkened lighthouse. A vicious sea pounded against the sides of a craggy gray cliff. The sky echoed the sea, a thin line of heavy black clouds dotted here and there by the occasional silvery gray. A soft mist fell, cooling her cheeks and making her mascara run.
"Great, it's raining, too." She wiped her face with her sleeve. "I don't suppose you brought an umbrella."
"I don't even have my purse!" Fannie jumped as more screeches and a scream of terror cut through the gloom. "Brett, honey, I think we'd better get out of here. I don't particularly want to be a host for a ghost. I've seen The Exorcist. I like myself in my own body."
Brett smirked. "It would take three ghosts to fill out those curves of yours." Searching through one of the few uncovered and unburnt desks brought up something she suspected they were going to need. "Here." She shoved an antique, pearl-handled pistol into Fannie's hand and took a second for herself. "If things get rough, we may have to get a little ugly."
"I'm hoping it won't come to that." The southern woman raised her eyebrows as Brett easily checked the gun for bullets. "You know guns?"
"I'm from the country, remember? I was taught to shoot the moment I could handle the darn things. Don't often get a chance to in LA." She stuck the gun in her waistband. "Let's go find Joyce."
Joyce was standing at the top of the lighthouse, looking out a brass telescope. "Girls!" she squeaked in horror as they managed to puff their way to the misty outside deck. "I see something out there! A lot of somethings! They're surrounding...well, somebody...on the cliff! At least, I think they're something. When I look through the telescope, they're just sort of faint. But when I don't, they're crowding around that poor guy. I don't think they want to give him a hug, either."
"The man on the tree?" Brett managed to stumbled to the telescope after she caught her breath. Maybe it was that imagination Ira referred to earlier, but she could have sworn the baby-faced man bound to that twig of a tree crucifixion-style looked a hell of a lot like... "Shit!" She dropped the telescope. "Charles is down there!"
Fannie peered through the telescope, adjusting the lense. Her big brown eyes got even wider. "Holy hell, you're right. He's not movin' too well. Never heard a man scream so much like a girl before..."
"I'll twit him about that later." Brett was already pulling back, checking every corner for an idea. "We have to get their attention."
"What about...this?" Joyce was pushing at the old lamp. It took all three women to get the rusty light aimed at the cliff. "Whew! I don't envy the lighthouse keeper," Joyce panted. "That's hard work!"
"Messy, too." Fannie brushed dull red specks off her black star shirt. "That thing had more rust on it than some of Gene's pick-up lines."
Brett was already pushing buttons on the dusty panel next to it. "How do you turn this thing on? Does it even have electricity?" As her fingers moved, they finally grasped a large lever. "Well, here goes nothing. This is the only thing I haven't tried. Ladies, you might want to get Charles. I've seen lighthouses in Maine. These things can get a little bright. I'll be down in a minute."
"Yeah," Fannie started, "but..." It took both hands, but Brett was able to flip the switch. Suddenly, every single thing for miles around was bathed in brilliant white light. Fannie threw her hand over her eyes. "A little bright? They can see that back in Culver City!"
"Owww!" Joyce buried her face in Fannie's side. "If that doesn't scare those...whatevers...off, nothing will!"
Brett threw the plaid jacket over her head to shield her eyes from the glare. "Come on. Let's go get Charles, before the light attracts passing ships."
The rain had stopped by the time they all hurried to the cliff side. The creatures screeched as the lights hit them, making most of them rear back. Brett stepped back as they got a good look at them. "They're...burned. Charred. Rotten. They look like they were in a fire."
Joyce gulped, pushing close to Brett. "How are we going to get past that crowd?"
"Doesn't Charles hate crowds? He won't go in the audience for anything." Fannie had to duck away as two reached out for her. "Whoa, boys! You're not getting your hands on my buxom body, thank you very much!"
"H...help!" Joyce's squeal cut through the muffled moans and reaching arms. "They're trying to touch me!" She swung her purse around. It went right through them, but it did move them back. "I think I have something in here that could get rid of them." She handed Brett the glasses and pipe. "Here. Hold these."
"What am I supposed to do with them?" She just barely managed to avoid two of the barely-visible ghost-zombie things reaching out for her. "Hey! Watch it! I had enough of that earlier with Ira!"
She had no idea what to do with the glasses, so she put them on her face until they could get to Charles...and she screamed. As she gazed through the Coke-bottle lenses, the ghosts suddenly became far more visible. "Wait! We're frightened of the things we can't see..."
Without thinking, her fingers pressed the trigger. "Get away from that poor man, you monsters!" Three gunshots boomed across the ocean as they cut through now-visible wraiths. "Fannie, here." She handed her the pipe. "Hold onto this and take out the rest of them. I'm gonna get Charles."
Fannie's fingers trembled. "But how? I can't see..."
"You will in a minute." She managed to dig through bodies, some of them as small as children. Her heart felt sore as she realized they were all burned. Scarred. Charred beyond recognition. "Charles? Charles, my god!"
Charles sagged under the pile of wraiths. His wrists were bound to the branches of the leafless tree. Rope held his chest and ankles to the dead gray trunk. There was a nasty purple bruise on his dimpled chin and a goose-egg under his toupee, but he otherwise seemed unharmed. His sky blue eyes were, however, wide with sheer terror. "Brett," he whimpered, "make them go away! Please just...I never wanted to go through this again...get them away!"
"You can do that yourself!" She thrust the glasses on his face. "Here. Does that help?"
Those blue eyes blinked. He gasped, sagging even further into the branches. "Yes! They're...well, they're not gone, but they're not all coming after me, either. Thanks! Besides," he manged to make a face, "I'm nearsighted. I need those. All I could see of you was a blur."
Joyce had dashed over, purse in hand. "Glad I always carry one of these with me." She pulled out a nail file and rubbed at the ropes. "Never know when you might need a quick fix on a broken nail."
"Good girl." The older woman went about undoing the knots on his left hand. "You get his right and his feet, I'll get his left and his torso."
"I never thought I'd actually be happy to see either of you, but here we are!" He nearly toppled into Brett's arms when they got him loose. "They...God, I couldn't breathe...couldn't think...it was like that day..."
Joyce rubbed his back sympathetically as Brett just held him. "It's ok, Charles," the blonde squeaked. "We're here. We won't let those old ghosts get you again. You're our friend."'
"Charles," Brett began quietly, "what happened? What is this?"
"I'll tell you later." He pulled away from them as Fannie dashed over.
"I'm glad you're all right." She threw away the gun, then handed him his pipe. "This is yours. Hope it'll make you feel better. Just don't puff that thing at us. I just washed this shirt. I don't need it to smell like your smoke."
"Thanks, Fannie. Nice to know you care." He shoved the pipe in his shirt pocket, then grabbed his hat out of Brett's pocket and plopped it jauntily over his toupee. "I need this. The lump's making my wig look weird."
Brett smirked. "You don't need a lump to do that, Charles. It already looks weird."
"I knew I could count on a word of encouragement from you, Brett." His smirk fell the moment he saw Richard's jacket. "What are you doing in that? I thought they took it..."
Fannie got in between them. "Maybe we ought to save the explanations for when we get out of here. If," she added, "we can figure out how to get out of here."
The shining yellow beam from the lighthouse was slowly joined by silvery light breaking through the clouds. The few remaining ghosts writhed and moaned under the beam, but they were vanishing. "Ira called me a coward," Charles said in a low voice. "Maybe I am, but I know who my friends are. And I know how to get us out. Ladies, stay with me."
"I'm not too scared," Charles growled to the air, "to do this!" He blew into the pipe, sending smoke over the last of the ghosts. Their moans were drowned out by the swirling smoke, and then that flash and rumble again...and then, they were gone.
~*~*~*~*~
Brett opened her eyes as soon as the rumbling stopped to find them back in near-total darkness. "Great," Fannie groaned. "We're in the hall again."
"At least there's no ghosts here," Joyce assured her cheerfully. "Just us."
Charles leaned against the wall, smoking that infernal pipe of his with his eyes closed. He was a little pale under his California tan and the bruise, but at least he seemed calmer now. Brett swatted smoke from her face as she joined him next to the wall. "Can't you put that thing out?"
"It relaxes me." His eyes remained closed, but there was tension in his jaw. "Brett, you're from New England. Do you remember reading about the Hartford circus fire in 1944?"
She nodded. "It was all over the papers and the radio." The muscles in his face got tense like a wire. "Oh god...Charles, you mentioned once backstage that you were there."
He nodded slowly. "I was. I was 13 then. I escaped. Other kids..." his voice softened, "weren't so lucky. That's why I won't take part in Gene's antics in the audience. I...can't go out there. I can't handle large crowds. I can't."
When those pale blue eyes of his opened, they were haunted. "There were too many men surrounding Richard. They got Gene down right away, but Richard...he fought. Fought like a tiger. That boxing he did came back, I guess. I tried to get them off, but I couldn't. Ira said I was too much of a coward to fight back." He made a face and rubbed his head under his hat. "And then he punched me in the jaw and whacked me over the head. I don't remember anything else before I was trussed up to that pathetic twig."
Another arm went gently around Charles' other side. "It's ok, Charles," Joyce squeaked. "I was there. I think I saw you, and I know I heard you. You tried to save them. Ira was mean. You're not a coward. You were very brave."
"Speaking of Ira," Fannie added, "where is that little bastard?"
Charles tapped his pipe against the wall. "He said something about his 'queen' playing a game if she didn't do what he wanted. Unless Queen Elizabeth or The African Queen are in on this, I presumed he meant you, Brett." He couldn't resist a smirk. "Although he may have meant the Evil Queen from Snow White."
She gave him a light punch on the arm. "Funny, Charles. No, he tried to put the moves on me. I gave him the definitive answer up his ass."
"Vulgar." Charles puffed his pipe again and grinned. "But effective. That should teach him to try to seduce an almost-divorced woman."
"You said it." She called out to the ceiling. "Ok, Ira. We found Charles. Where are the other two?"
Footsteps padded down the dark hall. "Look who's in such a hurry!" Ira emerged from the shadows, almost as if he were a part of them. "Hello, Reilly. Not too scared to join the game?"
Charles narrowed his eyes, tapped the pipe again, and stuffed it in his pocket. "Not anymore. Where's Richard and Gene? Especially Richard. He was barely moving the last time I saw him."
"You'll find them." He crossed his arms, those sharp teeth flashing glossy white in the blackness. "Here's your next clue. Return with us to those thrilling days of yesteryear, when people performed by microphone, and blank was king."
Fannie glared at him. "What in the hootin' hell does that mean?"
There was no answer. The moment he gave the clue, Ira had faded back into the darkness. Brett and Charles ducked after him, but all they found was more wall.
"Um, guys?" Joyce was doing a little dance. "I think I need to use the little girl's room, if you know what I mean."
"Wouldn't hurt me, either." The well-endowed southern belle next to her sighed. "We'll all think better if we have a bathroom break and get freshened up a bit."
"I agree." Brett pulled the plaid jacket further around her shoulders. The air conditioner seemed to be about the only thing working. It was freezing in there. "How about you, Charles?"
He shrugged. "I don't really need to go, but freshening up after...well, after everything wouldn't hurt."
"It's unanimous." The quartet trooped down the hall to the nearest "Men" and "Women" sign. Leaving Charles to do whatever "freshening up" meant to him, she followed the other women into their bathroom.
Ten minutes later, she was straightening her wig after having used the toilet while Fannie applied lipstick. "Darlin'," she started as she blotted her berry-red lips with a piece of toilet paper, "why do you wear that wig? Are you losin' your hair, like Charles?"
"No, thank you, I am not." She checked her teeth to make sure there was nothing stuck in them from lunch. "The producers suggested I should look younger."
The redhead next to her fluffed her own very real chestnut tresses. "You know, I've seen you with your own hair. I think you look just fine. If they can't handle women aging, that's their problem."
She was about to respond when she heard a yelp from the men's room. "What's that?" Joyce stumbled out of the cubicle, trying to shake toilet paper off her beige heel. "I don't think it's Charles."
"He must have run into somebody else in there." Fannie gave her hair one last pat and handed the lipstick back to Joyce. "Come on. Let's go see if Charles needs rescuing again."
Charles did not need rescuing, but the man who clung to him as they stumbled out of the bathroom looked like he might have needed either a cold bath or ten gallons of chamomile tea. Bill Daily jumped at every noise, including the women as they joined them. He nearly jumped right in Charles' arms when Brett tapped his shoulder.
"Oh, thank god!" He gasped. "I was starting to think I was the only person left in the universe! I've been hiding in the bathroom for the past half-hour. The smell was getting to me. The maids must have vanished. Maybe the goons I saw earlier got them. They were huge, those guys. Charles," he hugged him hard, "I'm just glad you're all right! They were dragging around you and Richard and Gene, and Richard's face looked like he'd gone ten rounds with Mohamed Ali and lost..."
"Could someone get him off me?" Charles whined painfully. "I can't breathe!"
Brett finally managed to pry Bill's fingers from around Charles' body and get the shaking man into the dark hall. "Ok, Bill, from the beginning. Who were those goons, and what did you see?"
Charles handed the shaking man a paper cup of water. "Thanks, Charlie," he rambled. "I need this. I don't know what I saw. I'm not sure I want to know what I saw. I didn't know anyone around here had goons. I mean, we all know Ira would sell his mother to get ratings, but those guys were big. Like, King Kong big. It's so dark in here, I couldn't see where they were dragging you or Richard to. I thought they were taking Gene towards the studios, but like I said, it's dark. Does anyone know why it's so dark? Did CBS forget to pay the electricity bill?"
"Not a clue." Charles made a face as he rubbed his abused noggin. "Ira slammed me over the head, and I woke up tied to a tree and surrounded by burned ghosts. Not one of my better nights. And," he looked down at his cup, "I panicked and couldn't stop them from hurting the other two."
Bill patted his shoulder. "Gee, that's rough. I'm sorry Ira was a jerk to you. You don't deserve that. You give some of the best answers on the show. And Rich can be an arrogant prick when he's not picked, but he doesn't deserve to be one big purple spot, either."
"We're missing Gene, too," Brett added. "Which brings us back to Ira. He's decided he wants to play his own sadistic Match Game. If we solve his demented riddles, we'll find Richard and Gene."
"Did he say what would happen if we don't find them?" The shaking man in the dark blue sweater gulped his water too quickly and ended up coughing so hard, Fannie had to slap him on the back.
She shook her head. "He wasn't specific. Vague threats. Something about being worse than not renewing our contracts."
Fannie was rubbing at her own head. "Does anyone remember what he said? Joyce?"
"Uh huh." She scrunched her blue eyes and tried to recall the clue. "Return with us to those thrilling days of yesteryear, when people performed by microphone, and blank was king."
"Radio." Charles leaned against the wall again and puffed his pipe. "People performed by microphone on the radio. I used to listen to the Metropolitan Opera and all the big drama shows like Lux Radio Theatre with my parents as a child."
"Gene was on the radio. He was an announcer." Brett rubbed the side of her pounding head again. As soon as this was all over, she needed a glass of water and at least six aspirin. "About...two years ago, I think...Richard found some picture of Gene knitting a sock and put it on the show. He and Gene showed it to Charles and me later. The background was pretty obviously a radio studio, probably some time in the 30's." She couldn't resist wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "And Gene was darn cute then, too."
"That's it. The answer is radio." Charles tapped his pipe on the sole of his shoe. "How are we going to let Ira know?"
Joyce immediately dug into her purse. "Here!" She tossed Charles the pen and pad. "Just write down your answer on this and call it out, like on the show."
"Well, all right." Charles elegantly outlined "radio" on the pad, then held it over his head. "Ira, our definitive answer is 'radio!'"
Charles had no sooner spoken then there was another flash, and the ground rumbled under their feet again. After that, she knew no more.
The Most Dangerous Blank, Part 3
This time, when the stars cleared, Brett's eyes opened to a darkened stage. She almost thought she might have been back on Broadway. It was the strangest stage she'd ever seen, though. There were no stagehands, no lighting people, no one scurrying around behind the scenes. All she could see at first was a bare floor with shadowy figures surrounding a group of diamond-shaped old-time microphones. "Geez, haven't seen those since I ran away to New York," she murmured.
"Wow." Charles inspected the letters on the top of the microphone. "WNEW. I used to listen to them as a kid. Haven't thought of them in years." He leaned into one microphone. "Testing, testing...whoa!" The microphone let off a spark, forcing him to jump back. "Ok, that one didn't like me."
She smirked. "You offended it." As she stepped into the room, her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she saw other figures. One leaned over table filled with boxes, instruments, foil, noisemakers, and prop guns. Another could be viewed in the window to the control room.
"Gene?" Joyce's voice was barely a whisper. There was rustling all around them, and murmurs, but no breathing. "Gene? Oh boy, I don't like this."
"Yeah." Bill pushed at one of the figures, who had fallen onto him. "Watch where you're falling, pal. I've got a pretty damn good...yiikkeees!"
Everyone screamed as a single bright bulb flashed on, revealing the people surrounding them. There were six around three microphones and one at the desk, and every single last one was falling apart. They were disintegrating right before their eyes. One woman - at least, she wore a tattered polka-dot dress and heels - lurched right over to Bill and opened her mouth, filled with green teeth. Bill let out a screech and kicked at her, making her disintegrate.
Charles pushed two men with melted faces and moldy suits that were falling off their bodies away from him. "I knew Ira was never the most pleasant person, but this makes it official. I think he's gone over the edge!"
"This is disgusting." Fannie made a face and shoved the other woman in the torn blood-red dress away from her before she could take a bite of her neck. "Honey, seriously, if you're going to be a radio actress, you need to consider this." She handed her a breath mint from a roll in her pocket.
Brett pulled out her gun and shot another. They turned into dust the moment the bullet entered them. Joyce let loose with every sound effect on the table, from a gun filled with blanks to foil to make a storm. The noise sent the zombies reeling back. Bill screamed, trying to hit them with the microphone and mostly just tripping over it. Fannie kicked at one as it tried to bite her arm, once again turning it to dust.
Charles looked up as he hit the last one with the microphone. "Wait." Screams drowned out the remaining moans from the zombies. More sparks flew in the control room. "There's someone in there!" He rushed at the door, but jumped back. "Damn it, that's hot!" He wrapped his hat around it and yanked at it as hard as he could. "It's stuck!"
He and Bill both jiggled the door knob, occasionally throwing their shoulders into it. "It won't open!" Bill wailed. "I can smell smoke! We're all gonna get fried, the guy in there is gonna get fried, we're gonna get eaten and fried! I'm too young and beautiful to be eaten and fried!"
"Bill, I don't think you were ever either." Brett pushed past both of them. "Let a woman handle this, before you he-men dislocate your shoulders." It took two pins from her wig this time, but she did manage to get that tell-tale click.
There was a man clutching a microphone in the smoke, but the microphone was sparking, like the one Charles used earlier. Brett's eyes widened when she realized she could see the white-hot voltage coursing up the metal instrument. "He's being electricuted! Shit! Someone turn it off!"
Charles and Fannie went to release Gene, whose's hands were bound tightly to just under the microphone itself, but they both reeled back with shock. "It's too strong!" Fannie wailed. "If we can't get to him soon, he'll die!"
"Take one side and see if you can figure these out." Brett pushed Bill towards a dusty bank of electrical controls. "I'll take the other!"
"There's too many buttons!" Bill whined. "I can't find any that say 'off!' They say every other thing on the planet, but not 'off!' We're all gonna die, including Gene! Is there a penalty for letting the host of your game die? We're all dead, I know it!"
Brett made a face at him. "Don't be so negative. We just need to find the right control. I did it in the lighthouse."
That was when the electricity and the smoke suddenly just...stopped. Gene sagged in Fannie and Charles' arms, panting heavily. "Uh, guys?" Joyce emerged from under the console, holding what looked like an ancient plug. "I found this. Turned it right off."
Brett grinned. "Yeah, that works, too."
Fannie and Charles were releasing Gene from the microphone. "Is my hair standing on end?" the older man moaned.
"No, Gene," Charles smirked, "it's as shellacked as it always is. It would take an earthquake bigger than the one that took down Charleton Heston to move your hair."
"Thanks, Charles." Gene gave him a weak grin. "I knew I could count on you for a bon mot at an inappropriate time."
Fannie was trying to shake the smoke out of his tan coat. "Darlin', you just had at least ten volts of electricity surging through you. Are you all right?"'
"Ask me that again when my ears aren't ringing and my heart isn't running triple-time." Gene clutched his chest. "I'm an old man. I can't take much more of this."
Brett rolled her eyes. "Oh please. You're only about a decade ahead of me."
Charles grinned. "I knew you were an old lady."
"Ok, you two." Gene got in between them before Brett could give Charles a good zinger back. "This is no time for arguing. We have to get out of here, before someone tries to turn us all into extra crispy night at Kentucky Fried Chicken."
"Yeah," Bill added, "but how do we get out?"
Fannie coughed and swatted at the fumes. "First of all, let's get out of the control room. I get enough smoke from all the cigarettes and pipes onstage. I don't need it here. too."
The air was much fresher in the now-empty main studio. No zombies, or much of anything else. All the props were still on the floor, where Joyce threw them. The one bare light shined down on the toppled microphones and boxes of props.
Gene lifted one microphone back onto its base with a sigh. "I remember all this so well. I had a good time at WNEW. I would have stood just about..." He moved the microphone a tiny bit to the left. "Here. I was the announcer. I guess you might say I was Johnny Olson then. You had to be really vocally dexterious to be an announcer. That, and take a lot of good-natured ribbing from various comedian hosts." He gave them a small grin. "Not that much different than Match Game, really, only then, I only had to deal with ribbing from maybe two or three comedians."
"Gene," Brett started, "if you know this place, would you by any chance remember where the exit is?"
He nodded thoughtfully. "I think so. It was in the back, behind the last microphone." He turned to his audience. "Everyone follow me."
The door in the back was surrounded by two lights that shown dimly against the one bright bulb. "Those went on when there was a show in progress," Gene explained. "When the shows ended, they'd turn off, and tell everyone else they could come in." He easily opened the door. "Shall we head out?"
"Wow." Charles inspected the letters on the top of the microphone. "WNEW. I used to listen to them as a kid. Haven't thought of them in years." He leaned into one microphone. "Testing, testing...whoa!" The microphone let off a spark, forcing him to jump back. "Ok, that one didn't like me."
She smirked. "You offended it." As she stepped into the room, her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she saw other figures. One leaned over table filled with boxes, instruments, foil, noisemakers, and prop guns. Another could be viewed in the window to the control room.
"Gene?" Joyce's voice was barely a whisper. There was rustling all around them, and murmurs, but no breathing. "Gene? Oh boy, I don't like this."
"Yeah." Bill pushed at one of the figures, who had fallen onto him. "Watch where you're falling, pal. I've got a pretty damn good...yiikkeees!"
Everyone screamed as a single bright bulb flashed on, revealing the people surrounding them. There were six around three microphones and one at the desk, and every single last one was falling apart. They were disintegrating right before their eyes. One woman - at least, she wore a tattered polka-dot dress and heels - lurched right over to Bill and opened her mouth, filled with green teeth. Bill let out a screech and kicked at her, making her disintegrate.
Charles pushed two men with melted faces and moldy suits that were falling off their bodies away from him. "I knew Ira was never the most pleasant person, but this makes it official. I think he's gone over the edge!"
"This is disgusting." Fannie made a face and shoved the other woman in the torn blood-red dress away from her before she could take a bite of her neck. "Honey, seriously, if you're going to be a radio actress, you need to consider this." She handed her a breath mint from a roll in her pocket.
Brett pulled out her gun and shot another. They turned into dust the moment the bullet entered them. Joyce let loose with every sound effect on the table, from a gun filled with blanks to foil to make a storm. The noise sent the zombies reeling back. Bill screamed, trying to hit them with the microphone and mostly just tripping over it. Fannie kicked at one as it tried to bite her arm, once again turning it to dust.
Charles looked up as he hit the last one with the microphone. "Wait." Screams drowned out the remaining moans from the zombies. More sparks flew in the control room. "There's someone in there!" He rushed at the door, but jumped back. "Damn it, that's hot!" He wrapped his hat around it and yanked at it as hard as he could. "It's stuck!"
He and Bill both jiggled the door knob, occasionally throwing their shoulders into it. "It won't open!" Bill wailed. "I can smell smoke! We're all gonna get fried, the guy in there is gonna get fried, we're gonna get eaten and fried! I'm too young and beautiful to be eaten and fried!"
"Bill, I don't think you were ever either." Brett pushed past both of them. "Let a woman handle this, before you he-men dislocate your shoulders." It took two pins from her wig this time, but she did manage to get that tell-tale click.
There was a man clutching a microphone in the smoke, but the microphone was sparking, like the one Charles used earlier. Brett's eyes widened when she realized she could see the white-hot voltage coursing up the metal instrument. "He's being electricuted! Shit! Someone turn it off!"
Charles and Fannie went to release Gene, whose's hands were bound tightly to just under the microphone itself, but they both reeled back with shock. "It's too strong!" Fannie wailed. "If we can't get to him soon, he'll die!"
"Take one side and see if you can figure these out." Brett pushed Bill towards a dusty bank of electrical controls. "I'll take the other!"
"There's too many buttons!" Bill whined. "I can't find any that say 'off!' They say every other thing on the planet, but not 'off!' We're all gonna die, including Gene! Is there a penalty for letting the host of your game die? We're all dead, I know it!"
Brett made a face at him. "Don't be so negative. We just need to find the right control. I did it in the lighthouse."
That was when the electricity and the smoke suddenly just...stopped. Gene sagged in Fannie and Charles' arms, panting heavily. "Uh, guys?" Joyce emerged from under the console, holding what looked like an ancient plug. "I found this. Turned it right off."
Brett grinned. "Yeah, that works, too."
Fannie and Charles were releasing Gene from the microphone. "Is my hair standing on end?" the older man moaned.
"No, Gene," Charles smirked, "it's as shellacked as it always is. It would take an earthquake bigger than the one that took down Charleton Heston to move your hair."
"Thanks, Charles." Gene gave him a weak grin. "I knew I could count on you for a bon mot at an inappropriate time."
Fannie was trying to shake the smoke out of his tan coat. "Darlin', you just had at least ten volts of electricity surging through you. Are you all right?"'
"Ask me that again when my ears aren't ringing and my heart isn't running triple-time." Gene clutched his chest. "I'm an old man. I can't take much more of this."
Brett rolled her eyes. "Oh please. You're only about a decade ahead of me."
Charles grinned. "I knew you were an old lady."
"Ok, you two." Gene got in between them before Brett could give Charles a good zinger back. "This is no time for arguing. We have to get out of here, before someone tries to turn us all into extra crispy night at Kentucky Fried Chicken."
"Yeah," Bill added, "but how do we get out?"
Fannie coughed and swatted at the fumes. "First of all, let's get out of the control room. I get enough smoke from all the cigarettes and pipes onstage. I don't need it here. too."
The air was much fresher in the now-empty main studio. No zombies, or much of anything else. All the props were still on the floor, where Joyce threw them. The one bare light shined down on the toppled microphones and boxes of props.
Gene lifted one microphone back onto its base with a sigh. "I remember all this so well. I had a good time at WNEW. I would have stood just about..." He moved the microphone a tiny bit to the left. "Here. I was the announcer. I guess you might say I was Johnny Olson then. You had to be really vocally dexterious to be an announcer. That, and take a lot of good-natured ribbing from various comedian hosts." He gave them a small grin. "Not that much different than Match Game, really, only then, I only had to deal with ribbing from maybe two or three comedians."
"Gene," Brett started, "if you know this place, would you by any chance remember where the exit is?"
He nodded thoughtfully. "I think so. It was in the back, behind the last microphone." He turned to his audience. "Everyone follow me."
The door in the back was surrounded by two lights that shown dimly against the one bright bulb. "Those went on when there was a show in progress," Gene explained. "When the shows ended, they'd turn off, and tell everyone else they could come in." He easily opened the door. "Shall we head out?"
The Most Dangerous Blank, part 4
There were no bells and whistles, or flashes and rumbles, this time. The door lead them all back into the darkened hall at Television City. Gene was the last person out. "I have so many questions," he admitted as he turned to the others, "I don't know where to begin."
Brett crossed her arms. "Start with 'where have you been' and end with 'how did you end up tied to a sparking microphone in the control room from hell?"
"I wish I could remember." Gene touched a lump on the top of his well-coiffeured head and winced. "I came into the studio and saw a bunch of baboons jumping on Richard. I was going to give those apes a run for their money, but they decided to gang up on me and did a number on my noggin. Next thing I know, someone's plugging in that killer microphone, and I'm lighting up with half the electricity in LA!"
Charles gingerly felt his own tender head. "I can guess who plugged in that microphone. Ira seems to have it in for us. Those same goons made me watch Richard get flattened, then flattened me. I ended up at a lighthouse tied to a tree and surrounded by burned ghosts. Not an experience I care to repeat anytime soon."
"It was terrible." Joyce winced. "We saw it. We're the ones who saved him. Well, us and the lighthouse. It was the scariest thing that ever happened to me!"
"I don't understand any of this!" Gene threw his hands in the air. "What does Ira want? Our ratings are still pretty decent, even if they're not where they were last year. None of us have ever hurt him personally. What's he after?"
That's when Ira emerged from the shadows, oozing out of the blackness like he was a part of them. "You want to know what I'm after, you old goat? Play my game, and you'll find out!"
"Now, wait just a minute!" Gene glared at him. "You're the one sending gorillas to pound us and scare us and who decided to turn me into a human fried egg!"
"And if you want to find your final panelist, you'll listen my clue." Ira's grin was so feral, Brett was sure he was part wolf. "The Kissing Bandit is stealing smooches on the show where everyone is a kissing cousin, and even cousins can have fights. He's in the middle of a blank."
Gene narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean? Ira, you come back here and explain that!" Ira melted into the darkness again before anyone had the chance to grab him.
"How is he doing that?" Bill's jaw dropped open as he ran to the end of the hall. "There's no one here. He's gone. I didn't think he was a magician!"
"I don't know what to think." Gene looked under Fannie's arm and his face lit up like a child at Christmas. "Is that my microphone? Why did you bring it along?"
She shrugged. "The ladies said it might be useful."
Gene eagerly took it from her as she pressed it into his hands. "Come to Papa, baby." He checked it over. "Is it hurt?"
"It might be slightly dented." Brett smirked proudly. "I used it to hold off Ira when he thought he'd have a go at my beautiful body."
Fannie rolled her eyes. "On what planet is your skinny body beautiful?"
"All right, all right." Gene got between the two women before they could get into a catfight. "Enough! That's cute on the show, but this is serious! They've already hurt Richard pretty badly. Who knows what else they might have done to him?"
Bill nodded. "He's right. Poor guy could be bleeding all over the floor somewhere, lost and cold and hungry..."
"Yes," Fannie interjected before Bill could go on all night, "but where? No one seems to know where they've taken him. After what happened with Charles, I'm pretty sure he could be anywhere."
"Not anywhere." Gene tapped his microphone. "There's only one thing that really makes him happy these days, and that's hosting Family Feud."
"You're right." Brett frowned. "It's the one place where he has any control. You know how much he fights with Ira over his answers, whether they're wrong or right."
Charles puffed at his pipe. "Ira tends to be harder on him than he is on the rest of us. He'll buzz answers from Richard that would be perfectly acceptable from anyone else. He doesn't understand why he's so popular with the contestants." His voice dropped into a low, yearning whisper, but Brett clearly heard it. "I do. He's just...it's that charm. He's got a bigger heart than most people give him credit for. He cares about people."
"Charles," Brett began softly, "do you have...feelings...for Richard? Is that why you were so upset that you couldn't rescue him earlier?"
His eyes went down to his pipe, but Brett could see the hurt - and love - in those pale blue orbs. "Maybe."
Gene had been feeling along the bottom of the wall, squinting his eyes in the heavy darkness. "I think I might need this." He managed to plug his microphone into the first socket he could find. "Testing, testing! Is this on? Can everyone hear me?"
Bill rubbed his ear. "Geez Gene, we're not in the studio. You don't need that thing. We can hear you fine. They can hear you fine half-way to San Bernadino."
"Good!" Gene yelled. "I want them to hear me. I want Ira to hear me! I have the answer!"
He just caught the pad and pen as it came flying over to him. "Here!" Joyce chirped. "You'll need this. That seems to be how this works. You hold up the paper, say your answer, and we end up there."
"Could someone hold this?" He handed Charles the microphone as he quickly wrote something on the pad against the wall. When he was finished, he took the microphone, then looked up at the ceiling. "Now Richard, forgive me for stealing your line, but..." He let out a roar into his microphone as he held up the pad. "Survey said, Family Feud!"
By now, Brett was almost starting to anticipate that rumble and flash...but this time, it nearly knocked her off her feet and into Charles. She knew no more after that.
~*~*~*~*~
At least she knew where she was when she opened her eyes. Everyone stood in the very center of the stage, in front of Richard's podium. The giant bright blue wall with the white bulbs and and black monitor and the needlepoint-style yellow ovals on the side walls and desks were familiar to anyone who'd ever seen Family Feud.
"Richard?" Gene still held his microphone, which was now plugged into the side wall. His voice sounded unnaturally booming in the silent room. "Are you here? Rich?"
That was when Joyce let out a screech and nearly leaped into Brett's arms. "Oh, my God!" she shrieked. "The contestants! They look...they're...Brett, look!" She took the taller woman by her arms and turned her around so fast, she nearly left her neck behind.
Her fingers reached behind what was left of her neck. "Joyce, dear, please don't do that. I need my neck." She looked up after her fingers finished massaging her head...and nearly screamed herself at the dangling "humans" behind the yellow needlepoint counters. They were...marionettes. Marionettes with painted dead-white faces and tattered clothing. Heavy long wires descending from the ceiling made them clap or jump or fall or open blocky crimson mouths to scream.
Bill gulped and ducked behind Gene. "They're all being controlled by some demonic force, or something! Don't let them get me! They're gonna make us one of them, and Rich too!"
"Sweet Jesus." Gene's mouth gaped open, and he nearly dropped his microphone. "Someone around here has a really sick sense of humor."
A moan drew their attention to the ceiling, near the top of the monitor. Brett couldn't help noticing that Charles' small face went stark white under the super-thick glasses. "RICHARD!" he shrieked. Fannie gasped and threw a hand over her mouth. Joyce screamed in horror and burried her face in Brett's chest as the older woman put her arms around her.
A small figure with dark salt-and-pepper hair in a crimson-smeared white shirt and tie dangled in front of the "Family Feud" monitor that usually flashed the Big Money answers. Like the marionettes, he was being manipulated by wires from the ceiling. He, too, was slathered with that clownish stark white makeup and cherry-red lips. The wires were moving his arms to embrace a beautiful female doll with shining gold tresses, magenta lips, glassy turquoise-blue eyes, and a frilly white dress.
Bill made a face. "Great. Guy can get lucky with a doll, and I can't even get a contestant to kiss me."
"No!" Charles waved his hand at the helpless host suspended from the wire. "Bill, that's not a girl, or a doll! Brett, do you remember, back at the lighthouse, how I could see the ghosts when you gave me my glasses? I can see that one, and she's some kind of...demon, I think. He's terrified! Can't you see it?"
When no one responded, Charles turned on his heel and started climbing the monitor. "We have to get him down from there! She's going to hurt him!" He may have been a fine actor and dancer on Broadway, but even that dexterity wasn't going to get him up a solid orange and blue wall. Every time he grabbed a light bulb, it either zapped him, or broke off in his hands, and he'd skid back to the ground.
"Charles, stop that." Brett turned Joyce over to Fannie and yanked him back. "It's not helping."
Then how are we going to get him down?" Gene was trying to pry Bill off his arm. "We can't get up there, unless we can figure out a way to make a ladder appear."
Joyce squealed as one of the contestant-dolls grabbed her hand to bite it. "Oooh, someone do something!" She pushed it away, only for her arm to get tangled in the wires. "They're getting fresh!"
"Brett, don't you still have that gun from the lighthouse?" Fannie nudged her. "Are there any bullets left?"
"I think so." She checked the rounds. "Two. That should be enough. I hope."
Charles gulped behind her. "Whatever you do, Brett, please don't hit him! Keep your eye on the wires!"
"Everyone stand back." They did so, huddling close as the marionette contestants lurched at them, their arms outstretched. She tried to get the wire over Richard in her sights, but he kept swaying. Whatever was controlling him and the doll was propelling them together, despite what she suspected was genuine fear in Richard's deep blue eyes. As soon as she got the top wire holding his torso in sight, she pulled the trigger.
The resulting blast was enough to send the girl marionette briefly reeling back into the monitor. The wire broke, leaving him swinging by his arms and legs. Another ear-rattling shot took out the one bound to his left leg. The unseen hands dropped the rest, allowing him to fall away just as the doll puckered for a kiss.
Richard flopped gracelessly into Charles' outstretched arms. The force of the drugged Englishman's weight nearly made his knees buckle, but he managed to stay upright. "I've got him!"
"Yeah, you've got him." Fannie was trying to push back a male marionette contestant who was attempting to give her a big smooch. "But who has us?"
Bill whimpered, caught in the wires of a female contestant who grabbed at his sweater and opened her mouth to suck at him. "Please tell me we can just walk out of here, like we did with Gene!"
Gene had climbed onto the left contestants' desks and was hitting dolls away with his microphone. "I don't know this set! I'm not the host here! The only one of us who knows this set is Richard!"
"Great." Brett was trying to shake the smaller British man's shoulders while Charles stared at him lovingly. Richard managed a dazed smile before the blue orbs lolled back and he sagged in Charles' arms. "Oh, this is just wonderful. He's out cold."
Charles pulled Richard closer to him as his gaze went to the ceiling. "We have to get out now!" he wailed. "She's coming!"
Indeed, the girl doll was lowering herself little by little, her eyes hungrily aimed at Richard. "I want him," a feral, decidedly not-feminine voice snarled. "Give him to me! Let me take him!" Charles reeled back, clutching Richard to his chest like a precious stone.
"Don't you touch them! I've had enough of all this!" Brett finally lashed out at the doll the second it hit the floor. Her fist knocked it back, but it also got her tangled in its wires. The doll wrapped its icy wooden arms around her in a crushing imitation of a devoted lover. "Oh no, you don't! You're not turning me into some puppet!"
Gene tapped at his microphone again, producing static. "Thank heavens it still works." He jumped off the desks and thrust his microphone into the girl puppet's deadened face. "And welcome to Family Feud! I'm the...er, the acting host at the moment, Gene Rayburn! And you are?"
He jumped back when she hissed at him. "Now miss," he admonished, shaking his finger at her, "none of that violence. We're here to play a game, not hurt each other. Which reminds me, could you let my panelist go, please?" The microphone slipped under the splintering oaken arm, separating it from Brett. She gladly darted away, sliding next to Gene.
Gene stepped behind the podium, with Brett quickly following. "Ok, everyone, it's time to play the Feud!" The marionettes let their quarries go and slunk over to their respective desks. Bill and Joyce gratefully hurried over to the podium the moment the puppets released their arms. Fannie was flirting with a female doll and took a little longer to saunter over.
"Fannie," Brett hissed, "that puppet is probably a demon! She might suck out your soul!"
The southern belle smirked. "I thought she was rather pleasant, for a demonic puppet. Kinda cute, too."
"And before we begin our game," Gene went on as Charles puffed over with the still-unconscious Richard, "we're going to do a little business with America." He darted to the wall and yanked out the microphone's plug, then threw the cord over his shoulder. "In other words, let's find the exit and get out of here, while they're distracted!"
Joyce pointed off-stage to her left. "I think that's it."
"Everyone follow me." Gene started first, rushing past the outstretched arms of the puppets. "Single file, please. And stay together. We don't know where we're going to end up after we get out of here."
Brett was the last person out the door, just as the dolls started moaning. Charles was in front of her...and she couldn't help noticing the tender expression on his face as he clutched his wounded friend. It was the last thing she saw before the flash surrounded them.
Brett crossed her arms. "Start with 'where have you been' and end with 'how did you end up tied to a sparking microphone in the control room from hell?"
"I wish I could remember." Gene touched a lump on the top of his well-coiffeured head and winced. "I came into the studio and saw a bunch of baboons jumping on Richard. I was going to give those apes a run for their money, but they decided to gang up on me and did a number on my noggin. Next thing I know, someone's plugging in that killer microphone, and I'm lighting up with half the electricity in LA!"
Charles gingerly felt his own tender head. "I can guess who plugged in that microphone. Ira seems to have it in for us. Those same goons made me watch Richard get flattened, then flattened me. I ended up at a lighthouse tied to a tree and surrounded by burned ghosts. Not an experience I care to repeat anytime soon."
"It was terrible." Joyce winced. "We saw it. We're the ones who saved him. Well, us and the lighthouse. It was the scariest thing that ever happened to me!"
"I don't understand any of this!" Gene threw his hands in the air. "What does Ira want? Our ratings are still pretty decent, even if they're not where they were last year. None of us have ever hurt him personally. What's he after?"
That's when Ira emerged from the shadows, oozing out of the blackness like he was a part of them. "You want to know what I'm after, you old goat? Play my game, and you'll find out!"
"Now, wait just a minute!" Gene glared at him. "You're the one sending gorillas to pound us and scare us and who decided to turn me into a human fried egg!"
"And if you want to find your final panelist, you'll listen my clue." Ira's grin was so feral, Brett was sure he was part wolf. "The Kissing Bandit is stealing smooches on the show where everyone is a kissing cousin, and even cousins can have fights. He's in the middle of a blank."
Gene narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean? Ira, you come back here and explain that!" Ira melted into the darkness again before anyone had the chance to grab him.
"How is he doing that?" Bill's jaw dropped open as he ran to the end of the hall. "There's no one here. He's gone. I didn't think he was a magician!"
"I don't know what to think." Gene looked under Fannie's arm and his face lit up like a child at Christmas. "Is that my microphone? Why did you bring it along?"
She shrugged. "The ladies said it might be useful."
Gene eagerly took it from her as she pressed it into his hands. "Come to Papa, baby." He checked it over. "Is it hurt?"
"It might be slightly dented." Brett smirked proudly. "I used it to hold off Ira when he thought he'd have a go at my beautiful body."
Fannie rolled her eyes. "On what planet is your skinny body beautiful?"
"All right, all right." Gene got between the two women before they could get into a catfight. "Enough! That's cute on the show, but this is serious! They've already hurt Richard pretty badly. Who knows what else they might have done to him?"
Bill nodded. "He's right. Poor guy could be bleeding all over the floor somewhere, lost and cold and hungry..."
"Yes," Fannie interjected before Bill could go on all night, "but where? No one seems to know where they've taken him. After what happened with Charles, I'm pretty sure he could be anywhere."
"Not anywhere." Gene tapped his microphone. "There's only one thing that really makes him happy these days, and that's hosting Family Feud."
"You're right." Brett frowned. "It's the one place where he has any control. You know how much he fights with Ira over his answers, whether they're wrong or right."
Charles puffed at his pipe. "Ira tends to be harder on him than he is on the rest of us. He'll buzz answers from Richard that would be perfectly acceptable from anyone else. He doesn't understand why he's so popular with the contestants." His voice dropped into a low, yearning whisper, but Brett clearly heard it. "I do. He's just...it's that charm. He's got a bigger heart than most people give him credit for. He cares about people."
"Charles," Brett began softly, "do you have...feelings...for Richard? Is that why you were so upset that you couldn't rescue him earlier?"
His eyes went down to his pipe, but Brett could see the hurt - and love - in those pale blue orbs. "Maybe."
Gene had been feeling along the bottom of the wall, squinting his eyes in the heavy darkness. "I think I might need this." He managed to plug his microphone into the first socket he could find. "Testing, testing! Is this on? Can everyone hear me?"
Bill rubbed his ear. "Geez Gene, we're not in the studio. You don't need that thing. We can hear you fine. They can hear you fine half-way to San Bernadino."
"Good!" Gene yelled. "I want them to hear me. I want Ira to hear me! I have the answer!"
He just caught the pad and pen as it came flying over to him. "Here!" Joyce chirped. "You'll need this. That seems to be how this works. You hold up the paper, say your answer, and we end up there."
"Could someone hold this?" He handed Charles the microphone as he quickly wrote something on the pad against the wall. When he was finished, he took the microphone, then looked up at the ceiling. "Now Richard, forgive me for stealing your line, but..." He let out a roar into his microphone as he held up the pad. "Survey said, Family Feud!"
By now, Brett was almost starting to anticipate that rumble and flash...but this time, it nearly knocked her off her feet and into Charles. She knew no more after that.
~*~*~*~*~
At least she knew where she was when she opened her eyes. Everyone stood in the very center of the stage, in front of Richard's podium. The giant bright blue wall with the white bulbs and and black monitor and the needlepoint-style yellow ovals on the side walls and desks were familiar to anyone who'd ever seen Family Feud.
"Richard?" Gene still held his microphone, which was now plugged into the side wall. His voice sounded unnaturally booming in the silent room. "Are you here? Rich?"
That was when Joyce let out a screech and nearly leaped into Brett's arms. "Oh, my God!" she shrieked. "The contestants! They look...they're...Brett, look!" She took the taller woman by her arms and turned her around so fast, she nearly left her neck behind.
Her fingers reached behind what was left of her neck. "Joyce, dear, please don't do that. I need my neck." She looked up after her fingers finished massaging her head...and nearly screamed herself at the dangling "humans" behind the yellow needlepoint counters. They were...marionettes. Marionettes with painted dead-white faces and tattered clothing. Heavy long wires descending from the ceiling made them clap or jump or fall or open blocky crimson mouths to scream.
Bill gulped and ducked behind Gene. "They're all being controlled by some demonic force, or something! Don't let them get me! They're gonna make us one of them, and Rich too!"
"Sweet Jesus." Gene's mouth gaped open, and he nearly dropped his microphone. "Someone around here has a really sick sense of humor."
A moan drew their attention to the ceiling, near the top of the monitor. Brett couldn't help noticing that Charles' small face went stark white under the super-thick glasses. "RICHARD!" he shrieked. Fannie gasped and threw a hand over her mouth. Joyce screamed in horror and burried her face in Brett's chest as the older woman put her arms around her.
A small figure with dark salt-and-pepper hair in a crimson-smeared white shirt and tie dangled in front of the "Family Feud" monitor that usually flashed the Big Money answers. Like the marionettes, he was being manipulated by wires from the ceiling. He, too, was slathered with that clownish stark white makeup and cherry-red lips. The wires were moving his arms to embrace a beautiful female doll with shining gold tresses, magenta lips, glassy turquoise-blue eyes, and a frilly white dress.
Bill made a face. "Great. Guy can get lucky with a doll, and I can't even get a contestant to kiss me."
"No!" Charles waved his hand at the helpless host suspended from the wire. "Bill, that's not a girl, or a doll! Brett, do you remember, back at the lighthouse, how I could see the ghosts when you gave me my glasses? I can see that one, and she's some kind of...demon, I think. He's terrified! Can't you see it?"
When no one responded, Charles turned on his heel and started climbing the monitor. "We have to get him down from there! She's going to hurt him!" He may have been a fine actor and dancer on Broadway, but even that dexterity wasn't going to get him up a solid orange and blue wall. Every time he grabbed a light bulb, it either zapped him, or broke off in his hands, and he'd skid back to the ground.
"Charles, stop that." Brett turned Joyce over to Fannie and yanked him back. "It's not helping."
Then how are we going to get him down?" Gene was trying to pry Bill off his arm. "We can't get up there, unless we can figure out a way to make a ladder appear."
Joyce squealed as one of the contestant-dolls grabbed her hand to bite it. "Oooh, someone do something!" She pushed it away, only for her arm to get tangled in the wires. "They're getting fresh!"
"Brett, don't you still have that gun from the lighthouse?" Fannie nudged her. "Are there any bullets left?"
"I think so." She checked the rounds. "Two. That should be enough. I hope."
Charles gulped behind her. "Whatever you do, Brett, please don't hit him! Keep your eye on the wires!"
"Everyone stand back." They did so, huddling close as the marionette contestants lurched at them, their arms outstretched. She tried to get the wire over Richard in her sights, but he kept swaying. Whatever was controlling him and the doll was propelling them together, despite what she suspected was genuine fear in Richard's deep blue eyes. As soon as she got the top wire holding his torso in sight, she pulled the trigger.
The resulting blast was enough to send the girl marionette briefly reeling back into the monitor. The wire broke, leaving him swinging by his arms and legs. Another ear-rattling shot took out the one bound to his left leg. The unseen hands dropped the rest, allowing him to fall away just as the doll puckered for a kiss.
Richard flopped gracelessly into Charles' outstretched arms. The force of the drugged Englishman's weight nearly made his knees buckle, but he managed to stay upright. "I've got him!"
"Yeah, you've got him." Fannie was trying to push back a male marionette contestant who was attempting to give her a big smooch. "But who has us?"
Bill whimpered, caught in the wires of a female contestant who grabbed at his sweater and opened her mouth to suck at him. "Please tell me we can just walk out of here, like we did with Gene!"
Gene had climbed onto the left contestants' desks and was hitting dolls away with his microphone. "I don't know this set! I'm not the host here! The only one of us who knows this set is Richard!"
"Great." Brett was trying to shake the smaller British man's shoulders while Charles stared at him lovingly. Richard managed a dazed smile before the blue orbs lolled back and he sagged in Charles' arms. "Oh, this is just wonderful. He's out cold."
Charles pulled Richard closer to him as his gaze went to the ceiling. "We have to get out now!" he wailed. "She's coming!"
Indeed, the girl doll was lowering herself little by little, her eyes hungrily aimed at Richard. "I want him," a feral, decidedly not-feminine voice snarled. "Give him to me! Let me take him!" Charles reeled back, clutching Richard to his chest like a precious stone.
"Don't you touch them! I've had enough of all this!" Brett finally lashed out at the doll the second it hit the floor. Her fist knocked it back, but it also got her tangled in its wires. The doll wrapped its icy wooden arms around her in a crushing imitation of a devoted lover. "Oh no, you don't! You're not turning me into some puppet!"
Gene tapped at his microphone again, producing static. "Thank heavens it still works." He jumped off the desks and thrust his microphone into the girl puppet's deadened face. "And welcome to Family Feud! I'm the...er, the acting host at the moment, Gene Rayburn! And you are?"
He jumped back when she hissed at him. "Now miss," he admonished, shaking his finger at her, "none of that violence. We're here to play a game, not hurt each other. Which reminds me, could you let my panelist go, please?" The microphone slipped under the splintering oaken arm, separating it from Brett. She gladly darted away, sliding next to Gene.
Gene stepped behind the podium, with Brett quickly following. "Ok, everyone, it's time to play the Feud!" The marionettes let their quarries go and slunk over to their respective desks. Bill and Joyce gratefully hurried over to the podium the moment the puppets released their arms. Fannie was flirting with a female doll and took a little longer to saunter over.
"Fannie," Brett hissed, "that puppet is probably a demon! She might suck out your soul!"
The southern belle smirked. "I thought she was rather pleasant, for a demonic puppet. Kinda cute, too."
"And before we begin our game," Gene went on as Charles puffed over with the still-unconscious Richard, "we're going to do a little business with America." He darted to the wall and yanked out the microphone's plug, then threw the cord over his shoulder. "In other words, let's find the exit and get out of here, while they're distracted!"
Joyce pointed off-stage to her left. "I think that's it."
"Everyone follow me." Gene started first, rushing past the outstretched arms of the puppets. "Single file, please. And stay together. We don't know where we're going to end up after we get out of here."
Brett was the last person out the door, just as the dolls started moaning. Charles was in front of her...and she couldn't help noticing the tender expression on his face as he clutched his wounded friend. It was the last thing she saw before the flash surrounded them.
The Most Dangerous Blank, Part 5
They emerged back on the Match Game set, entering through the door Gene usually came through. As soon as they got in, Brett's mothering instinct took over. "Charles, get Richard on the lower desks. Here." She handed him the purple plaid jacket. "Put this under his head." He laid him on the lower tier desks, then sat on Joyce's at the left end and gently snuggled his head into the soft coat. Brett made a face. "Does anyone have any tissues or handkerchiefs to get that makeup off? He looks like a demented Cesar Romero without the green fright wig."
"I do." No one was surprised when Joyce pulled a wad of tissues from her purse and handed them around. "I use them to fix my makeup between shows and in case I need to sneeze."
"Here." Fannie pulled a white handkerchief with the letters PN embroidered in delicate gold thread out of her pocket. "I can wash this. If we can get him up, maybe he can explain why Ira has it in for him."
"Gene," Brett called to him as he plugged his microphone in, "quit playing with that thing and get the wires off Rich's arms. Bill, do his feet."
Bill made a face as he went to the end of the desks to tug at the wires lashed to Richard's ankles. "Damn Rich," he muttered, "I hope your feet don't smell."
"I don't get it." Gene dropped his microphone on Bill's desk on the top end, then went to release Richard's left wrist from the wire dangling below. "I know Rich has gotten a big head since he started Family Feud, but he's still our best panelist. Why the hell did Ira attack him?"
Fannie got up on the desk on the other side from Charles. "There's such a thing as bein' too good at your job." As soon as Richard's bruised and bloodied face was more tan than white, she slapped gently at his plump cheeks. "Richard? Rich? Honey, come on." She snapped her crimson-tipped fingers in his face. "Come on Rich, snap out of it. Up and at 'em, boy! We really need you awake right now!"
Richard's blue eyes finally fluttered open...and were immediately met by a pair of ample bosoms squeezed into a tight black star-print t-shirt. "Well, hello there, boys," he slurred. "Where have you been all my life?"
The southern belle who owned them rolled her eyes. "He's fine."
"Rich?" Charles had his fingers tangled in his mussed black-silver hair. "What happened? Are you all right? I saw them work you over..."
"Damn bloody toffs got the jump on me." Richard winced as he raised himself into an awkward sitting position. "Thought I was better with me fists than that. I've gone soft in Hollywood. Maybe I should take up boxin' again."
"Hon, get down." Brett gently pushed him back onto the desks. "Take this from a mother. You sound like a British drunk and look like you walked into King Kong's fist. A little rest wouldn't kill you."
He groaned, his face turning an interesting shade of green under his tan. "Oh, don't push so fast. The world is spinning. I want to get off at the next station."
Bill tried to grin at him as he released his other foot, the wire dropping to the floor. "We've been saying that for about the past hour."
"Now that we're all here," Fannie grumbled as she slid off the desks and onto her chair, "what do we do next? Where's Ira? We found Richard."
"Yeah, where is that bloody arse?" Richard dazedly shook his fist in the air, his cerulean orbs crinkling in anger. "I'd like to give him a piece of my mind when he's not backed by a six-gorilla combo."
Ira emerged from the doors, grinning that nasty wide-toothed Jaws grin. "Hello there, Dawson. Not feeling so egotistical when you're under sedation?"
Richard tried to shake his fist at Ira, but he nearly rolled off the desks. "What did you fuckin' do to me, you piece of shit?" At least, Brett was pretty sure that's what he said. His voice was slurring so badly, it was hard to tell. "Stuck a needle in me arm...that's all I can remember. That is, until I woke up as a puppet for your amusement, starin' at some bloody fuckin' demon doll!"
"Oh, I hit you up with a nice little sedative. Just a small something to calm you down a bit, keep you from fighting." He stuck his long nose in Richard's face. "It's pretty much the only way to keep you from fighting. You've been a thorn in my side and my bosses' side from the very beginning."
"Leave him alone, Ira!" Charles took Richard's hand, pulling him away from the treacherous producer. "What do you want with us?"
Gene narrowed his eyes. "You pounded and drugged my best panelist, scared the others half to death, and tried to fry me! We're making you a shit-ton of money!"
Brett raised her gun and pointed it in Ira's face. "But it's not about the money, is it? It's about control. We argue over the questions and call them out when we're right and your wrong. Richard always does. You don't like not being able to control us. You want puppets who will parrot all the answers you'd like to hear and make the contestants lose, not people."
He patted her cheek...and half the crowd nearly leaped on him. "You're smarter than you look, my queen. Or perhaps, I should say, my servant."
Brett held the gun steady. "I'm no one's servant, Ira."
"You will be." He pushed her hand aside. "You don't frighten me. There's no bullets left in that gun."
Charles gave him a slightly wan smile on the desk, still holding Richard. "But it looks good, doesn't it?"
"I thought it would be so easy to manipulate you," Ira hissed. "I know Klugman walked out on you. You're so vulnerable right now, with two boys to take care of. So desperate for attention, for someone to notice you. For a man to notice you."
He turned that shark smirk on the rest of the crowd. "You're all so easy to manipulate. Daily, everyone knows you're a coward and a neurotic idiot. Scare you, and you'll run like a frightened rabbit."
Bill glared at him, his voice dropping several notches. "Shows what you know, Ira. I was in the Korean War. You wonder why I jump at everything? If you were in the artilery squad, you'd be jumping at noises, too."
"I knew I didn't like you, but Ira, this is a new low." Fannie held up her own fist. "I'm not afraid to use this, sugar. I don't care if it loses me this gig. We're not here to serve you. We're here to serve the contestants."
Ira's eyes roved over Fannie's curvacious body and Joyce's slighter but just as pretty one. "Oh, I'll be keeping you around, southern belle. You have...assets...that may prove useful. You and little miss Bullifant over there give us men in the audience something to..." His lip curled as he strolled over, his hand reaching over to stroke Fannie's bosom. "Chew over."
Joyce frowned. "I don't like the way you're looking at us, Ira, or touching Fannie. That's not nice. I just got married, and Fannie's not interested in me...you that way." Joyce thrust out her sharp elbow and nudged her way between them. "You want something to chew over, Ira? Chew on this!" She kicked him as hard as she could in the shin.
The moment he went down, she drew back, her blue eyes shooting daggers. "Brett said I was being silly when I told her there was a monster here. For once, she was wrong, and I was right. There is a monster here, Ira, and it's you!"
Brett smacked him on his back with the gun. "It's over, Ira. Tell us what you did with everyone else. Johnny, Earl, Marc, the crew, the contestants..."
"They're fine." He stumbled over to the contestant's desks, grabbing the edge of the challenger's side and rubbing his abused foot. "They're in the lounge. They're not what I'm interested in."
Richard slid out from Charles' grasp. His legs nearly buckled under him, forcing him to grab his desk. Charles tried to prop him up, but he gently pushed him away. "Ira, I knew I didn't like you, but this...this is no good. You're not God, no matter what you think." He took a clumsy swing at the other man, but moved too slow and nearly tripped over his feet. Ira easily walloped him in the chin, sending him crashing backwards into the contestants' desks. The taller man stumbled over, limping slightly on his tender shin.
"You're no God either, Dawson." He reached for Richard again, but Charles and Fannie had rushed to his side. "Still letting all the pretty girls and pansies protect you?"
Charles nodded at Fannie. "Stay with him." He unfurled himself to his full six feet and got as close into Ira's face as he could. "You forget, I can see what you are. What you really are. I know what's under that flashy suit. They see the man. I see the devil in you."
"Charles," Richard slurred from the desk, "what in the bloody hell are you doing?"
"I'm doing what I should have done earlier." Charles rolled up the sleeve of his dark blue shirt and clenched his fist. "Ira, I don't like violence...but call this payback for slamming me over the head."
Brett's eyebrows went straight up as Charles lunged into Ira and slammed him in the chin. Both men went toppling into the steps, Charles trying to hold Ira down. "Brett," he yelled, "help me here!"
She rushed to him and grabbed Ira's other arm, holding the squirming producer to the steps. "Charles, what's going on? What is this?"
Ira was struggling wildly, his eyes flashing blood-red. "I knew you'd figure it out, Reilly. That's why I had to get rid of you. I couldn't let you interfere." Brett gasped as Gene's entrance door flew to bits! Hideous creatures with red eyes, long nails, and leathery black skin flooded the room. They all carried heavy wires under their arms, like the ones that held Richard to the ceiling on the Family Feud set.
Brett held his arms tighter. "You're no vampire. You're a damn devil! Dickie can be an egotistical ass, but even he doesn't deserve hell. A swift kick in the rear and fewer people choosing him for the Head-to-Head, but not going down there!"
"But you'll like it down there, my queen." She gasped as his fingers unfurled, revealing jagged claws. "You'll all finally do what I want you to do. It has to be better than being alone."
"I'd rather be alone than spend an eternity in hell with you, you bastard!" She aimed for his groin again, but he was prepared this time and pulled away.
Behind her, Gene was trying to get everyone's attention, yelling into his microphone. One of the devils easily lifted Joyce off her feet, even with her trying her hardest to kick at it. Fannie held out her fists, and Bill launched himself into two more with a wild scream.
"Brett," gasped a slurred British accent behind her, "don't let him fool you." Richard stumbled over, even as another devil wrapped its sinewy arms around him. "Don't believe what he says!" Another pulled its arms around Charles, trying to get his glasses off. Richard struggled, trying to reach out for his bespectacled friend.
Brett struggled with the strangely strong producer, trying to get into his groin again. "You'll like being a slave," he hissed as wires dropped from the ceiling. "You'll all do what I tell you to, say what I think you should. I'll really be the judge of what you are...and who can win the game."
She backed away, only to hit two more of those devil creatures. Out of the corner of her eyes, two were winding black wire around a screaming Bill's arms. Two more yanked Gene's long legs out from under him, binding his ankles as he toppled to the shag carpeting.
"They can't help you, dear queen." To her horror, Fannie and Joyce were already wound with wires, their mouths bound with tape. Bill's screams grew more and more hoarse as he dangled over the desk. "No one can. Not even your three heroes over there." Gene yelled at the top of his lungs as he dangled next to Bill. Charles was showing signs of fatigue as he tried to avoid the claws reaching for his glasses. Richard wiggled like a trout in a net, but couldn't reach his stricken friend.
She was faintly aware of her own voice letting loose with a piercing shriek as the two heavyweight monsters dragged her to her desk and held her there. The wires dropped down, catching her wrists and ankles. Ira, now as dark as midnight under that scuzzy suit, loomed over her, those teeth gleaming razor-sharp in the dark night.
"Now," he growled as he yanked her up like a puppet, "my new little toy will kiss me. You have no choice now. You and the others are mine."
"No!" She screamed, loud and hard, trying to free her hand to push him away. "No! I'm not yours! None of us are! Let us go, Ira! No!"
"Brett?" A warm, familiar southern accent managed to penetrate her conciousness as those gleaming teeth came too close to her lips. "Brett, darlin', what's with all the screamin'? You're scarin' half the crew!" Long fingernails dug in as a hand shook at her shoudlers. "Brett, you can get up now. We've got a show to do. Brett?"
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Huh?" Brett barely managed to lift her head from the desk. Fannie stood next to her, shaking her shoulders. "Oh, it's you. Leave me a message, and I'll get back to you."
Charles was on her other side, hat and glasses intact. "I told you she had way too much to drink at lunch. Brett, we're on in five minutes!"
The older woman squinted through her own oversized glasses. "Charles...can you now, or have you ever been able, to see ghosts?"
One of those thick eyebrows of his went straight to his receeding hairline. "Uh, no. Not that I know of."
His eyes lit up as Richard patted her on the back. "Next time, stick to coffee. Keeps me running to two shows with no naps in between."
As she lifted her head, she noticed Joyce peering at her worriedly from her desk on the bottom row. "Are you ok? You were really out there." The contents of her purse were already scattered around her blue cards. "I might have something in here that'll wake you up..."
"I'm fine, hon. I just had a nightmare, that's all." Brett sighed and shook her head. "It was awful. I dreamed that Ira was a devil and wanted to turn us all into demonic puppets for his amusements. And he had devils pound Richard into pulp and nearly electrocute Gene and force Charles to be surrounded by burned ghosts."
Charles made a face as he slid into his seat next to hers. "I knew you had a sick mind, lady."
She straightened her wig, making sure all the pins were there and not bent. "It could have been worse. Bill, Fannie, Joyce, and I rescued you, at least up until the devils tried to turn all of us into toys for their enjoyment."
Bill put his head on her forehead as he settled on her other side. "Yep, you're right, Charlie. This is a very sick woman here. She needs Dr. Daily to give her a strict order to lay off liquid lunches, take two pills, and call me in the morning."
"Knock it off, you two jokers." She shoved the Styrofoam cup on her desk away. "Maybe you're right about that vodka at lunch. From now on, I cut it down to two cups a taping."
Fannie smirked as she looked up from the left-side desk. "As opposed to two bottles?"
"All right, all right." Gene leaned over her with his microphone before she could take a swat at Fannie. "That's enough. Save the jokes for the show. Brett, are you sure you're all right? You look a little pale."
She gave him her most sincere smile. "I'm fine, Gene. Don't worry. It's out of my system now."
Richard stormed in next, plopping down in his seat between Fannie and Joyce. "Hey," Charles called from his right, "are you ok?"
"Fine." The Englishman made a face. "Just wish Ira would listen to me. I'm getting a little tired of all the running back and forth. I have no control here. It's like we're all puppets he can manipulate for his amusement."
"Oh Dickie," Brett groaned, "please don't say that! Don't ever say that!"
She couldn't help her wince as Ira came over, now looking far more like his regular self in that shirt open to the navel, his smile more good-natured than feral. "Thirty seconds, everyone! Let's give them a good show. Remember, we're here for the contestants. And Brett, maybe you ought to get some air after this episode. You keep staring at me like I'm going to suck your brains out or something."
"Yeah." Her mega-watt smile was in full force. "I'll remember that."
Thank god it was just a dream! She kept the smile on as Johnny Olson announced their names and the orange light square turned. I just hope Ira doesn't get any real ideas like that. And there's Richard. If Ira doesn't lay off him, he may just start a mutiny, or worse. She turned her head, trying to flash her profile, even as Charles glared at her and pointed at her with a shake of her head. Now, let's help those people win some big money...and do it by being ourselves. Even Charles. Most of the time.
"I do." No one was surprised when Joyce pulled a wad of tissues from her purse and handed them around. "I use them to fix my makeup between shows and in case I need to sneeze."
"Here." Fannie pulled a white handkerchief with the letters PN embroidered in delicate gold thread out of her pocket. "I can wash this. If we can get him up, maybe he can explain why Ira has it in for him."
"Gene," Brett called to him as he plugged his microphone in, "quit playing with that thing and get the wires off Rich's arms. Bill, do his feet."
Bill made a face as he went to the end of the desks to tug at the wires lashed to Richard's ankles. "Damn Rich," he muttered, "I hope your feet don't smell."
"I don't get it." Gene dropped his microphone on Bill's desk on the top end, then went to release Richard's left wrist from the wire dangling below. "I know Rich has gotten a big head since he started Family Feud, but he's still our best panelist. Why the hell did Ira attack him?"
Fannie got up on the desk on the other side from Charles. "There's such a thing as bein' too good at your job." As soon as Richard's bruised and bloodied face was more tan than white, she slapped gently at his plump cheeks. "Richard? Rich? Honey, come on." She snapped her crimson-tipped fingers in his face. "Come on Rich, snap out of it. Up and at 'em, boy! We really need you awake right now!"
Richard's blue eyes finally fluttered open...and were immediately met by a pair of ample bosoms squeezed into a tight black star-print t-shirt. "Well, hello there, boys," he slurred. "Where have you been all my life?"
The southern belle who owned them rolled her eyes. "He's fine."
"Rich?" Charles had his fingers tangled in his mussed black-silver hair. "What happened? Are you all right? I saw them work you over..."
"Damn bloody toffs got the jump on me." Richard winced as he raised himself into an awkward sitting position. "Thought I was better with me fists than that. I've gone soft in Hollywood. Maybe I should take up boxin' again."
"Hon, get down." Brett gently pushed him back onto the desks. "Take this from a mother. You sound like a British drunk and look like you walked into King Kong's fist. A little rest wouldn't kill you."
He groaned, his face turning an interesting shade of green under his tan. "Oh, don't push so fast. The world is spinning. I want to get off at the next station."
Bill tried to grin at him as he released his other foot, the wire dropping to the floor. "We've been saying that for about the past hour."
"Now that we're all here," Fannie grumbled as she slid off the desks and onto her chair, "what do we do next? Where's Ira? We found Richard."
"Yeah, where is that bloody arse?" Richard dazedly shook his fist in the air, his cerulean orbs crinkling in anger. "I'd like to give him a piece of my mind when he's not backed by a six-gorilla combo."
Ira emerged from the doors, grinning that nasty wide-toothed Jaws grin. "Hello there, Dawson. Not feeling so egotistical when you're under sedation?"
Richard tried to shake his fist at Ira, but he nearly rolled off the desks. "What did you fuckin' do to me, you piece of shit?" At least, Brett was pretty sure that's what he said. His voice was slurring so badly, it was hard to tell. "Stuck a needle in me arm...that's all I can remember. That is, until I woke up as a puppet for your amusement, starin' at some bloody fuckin' demon doll!"
"Oh, I hit you up with a nice little sedative. Just a small something to calm you down a bit, keep you from fighting." He stuck his long nose in Richard's face. "It's pretty much the only way to keep you from fighting. You've been a thorn in my side and my bosses' side from the very beginning."
"Leave him alone, Ira!" Charles took Richard's hand, pulling him away from the treacherous producer. "What do you want with us?"
Gene narrowed his eyes. "You pounded and drugged my best panelist, scared the others half to death, and tried to fry me! We're making you a shit-ton of money!"
Brett raised her gun and pointed it in Ira's face. "But it's not about the money, is it? It's about control. We argue over the questions and call them out when we're right and your wrong. Richard always does. You don't like not being able to control us. You want puppets who will parrot all the answers you'd like to hear and make the contestants lose, not people."
He patted her cheek...and half the crowd nearly leaped on him. "You're smarter than you look, my queen. Or perhaps, I should say, my servant."
Brett held the gun steady. "I'm no one's servant, Ira."
"You will be." He pushed her hand aside. "You don't frighten me. There's no bullets left in that gun."
Charles gave him a slightly wan smile on the desk, still holding Richard. "But it looks good, doesn't it?"
"I thought it would be so easy to manipulate you," Ira hissed. "I know Klugman walked out on you. You're so vulnerable right now, with two boys to take care of. So desperate for attention, for someone to notice you. For a man to notice you."
He turned that shark smirk on the rest of the crowd. "You're all so easy to manipulate. Daily, everyone knows you're a coward and a neurotic idiot. Scare you, and you'll run like a frightened rabbit."
Bill glared at him, his voice dropping several notches. "Shows what you know, Ira. I was in the Korean War. You wonder why I jump at everything? If you were in the artilery squad, you'd be jumping at noises, too."
"I knew I didn't like you, but Ira, this is a new low." Fannie held up her own fist. "I'm not afraid to use this, sugar. I don't care if it loses me this gig. We're not here to serve you. We're here to serve the contestants."
Ira's eyes roved over Fannie's curvacious body and Joyce's slighter but just as pretty one. "Oh, I'll be keeping you around, southern belle. You have...assets...that may prove useful. You and little miss Bullifant over there give us men in the audience something to..." His lip curled as he strolled over, his hand reaching over to stroke Fannie's bosom. "Chew over."
Joyce frowned. "I don't like the way you're looking at us, Ira, or touching Fannie. That's not nice. I just got married, and Fannie's not interested in me...you that way." Joyce thrust out her sharp elbow and nudged her way between them. "You want something to chew over, Ira? Chew on this!" She kicked him as hard as she could in the shin.
The moment he went down, she drew back, her blue eyes shooting daggers. "Brett said I was being silly when I told her there was a monster here. For once, she was wrong, and I was right. There is a monster here, Ira, and it's you!"
Brett smacked him on his back with the gun. "It's over, Ira. Tell us what you did with everyone else. Johnny, Earl, Marc, the crew, the contestants..."
"They're fine." He stumbled over to the contestant's desks, grabbing the edge of the challenger's side and rubbing his abused foot. "They're in the lounge. They're not what I'm interested in."
Richard slid out from Charles' grasp. His legs nearly buckled under him, forcing him to grab his desk. Charles tried to prop him up, but he gently pushed him away. "Ira, I knew I didn't like you, but this...this is no good. You're not God, no matter what you think." He took a clumsy swing at the other man, but moved too slow and nearly tripped over his feet. Ira easily walloped him in the chin, sending him crashing backwards into the contestants' desks. The taller man stumbled over, limping slightly on his tender shin.
"You're no God either, Dawson." He reached for Richard again, but Charles and Fannie had rushed to his side. "Still letting all the pretty girls and pansies protect you?"
Charles nodded at Fannie. "Stay with him." He unfurled himself to his full six feet and got as close into Ira's face as he could. "You forget, I can see what you are. What you really are. I know what's under that flashy suit. They see the man. I see the devil in you."
"Charles," Richard slurred from the desk, "what in the bloody hell are you doing?"
"I'm doing what I should have done earlier." Charles rolled up the sleeve of his dark blue shirt and clenched his fist. "Ira, I don't like violence...but call this payback for slamming me over the head."
Brett's eyebrows went straight up as Charles lunged into Ira and slammed him in the chin. Both men went toppling into the steps, Charles trying to hold Ira down. "Brett," he yelled, "help me here!"
She rushed to him and grabbed Ira's other arm, holding the squirming producer to the steps. "Charles, what's going on? What is this?"
Ira was struggling wildly, his eyes flashing blood-red. "I knew you'd figure it out, Reilly. That's why I had to get rid of you. I couldn't let you interfere." Brett gasped as Gene's entrance door flew to bits! Hideous creatures with red eyes, long nails, and leathery black skin flooded the room. They all carried heavy wires under their arms, like the ones that held Richard to the ceiling on the Family Feud set.
Brett held his arms tighter. "You're no vampire. You're a damn devil! Dickie can be an egotistical ass, but even he doesn't deserve hell. A swift kick in the rear and fewer people choosing him for the Head-to-Head, but not going down there!"
"But you'll like it down there, my queen." She gasped as his fingers unfurled, revealing jagged claws. "You'll all finally do what I want you to do. It has to be better than being alone."
"I'd rather be alone than spend an eternity in hell with you, you bastard!" She aimed for his groin again, but he was prepared this time and pulled away.
Behind her, Gene was trying to get everyone's attention, yelling into his microphone. One of the devils easily lifted Joyce off her feet, even with her trying her hardest to kick at it. Fannie held out her fists, and Bill launched himself into two more with a wild scream.
"Brett," gasped a slurred British accent behind her, "don't let him fool you." Richard stumbled over, even as another devil wrapped its sinewy arms around him. "Don't believe what he says!" Another pulled its arms around Charles, trying to get his glasses off. Richard struggled, trying to reach out for his bespectacled friend.
Brett struggled with the strangely strong producer, trying to get into his groin again. "You'll like being a slave," he hissed as wires dropped from the ceiling. "You'll all do what I tell you to, say what I think you should. I'll really be the judge of what you are...and who can win the game."
She backed away, only to hit two more of those devil creatures. Out of the corner of her eyes, two were winding black wire around a screaming Bill's arms. Two more yanked Gene's long legs out from under him, binding his ankles as he toppled to the shag carpeting.
"They can't help you, dear queen." To her horror, Fannie and Joyce were already wound with wires, their mouths bound with tape. Bill's screams grew more and more hoarse as he dangled over the desk. "No one can. Not even your three heroes over there." Gene yelled at the top of his lungs as he dangled next to Bill. Charles was showing signs of fatigue as he tried to avoid the claws reaching for his glasses. Richard wiggled like a trout in a net, but couldn't reach his stricken friend.
She was faintly aware of her own voice letting loose with a piercing shriek as the two heavyweight monsters dragged her to her desk and held her there. The wires dropped down, catching her wrists and ankles. Ira, now as dark as midnight under that scuzzy suit, loomed over her, those teeth gleaming razor-sharp in the dark night.
"Now," he growled as he yanked her up like a puppet, "my new little toy will kiss me. You have no choice now. You and the others are mine."
"No!" She screamed, loud and hard, trying to free her hand to push him away. "No! I'm not yours! None of us are! Let us go, Ira! No!"
"Brett?" A warm, familiar southern accent managed to penetrate her conciousness as those gleaming teeth came too close to her lips. "Brett, darlin', what's with all the screamin'? You're scarin' half the crew!" Long fingernails dug in as a hand shook at her shoudlers. "Brett, you can get up now. We've got a show to do. Brett?"
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Huh?" Brett barely managed to lift her head from the desk. Fannie stood next to her, shaking her shoulders. "Oh, it's you. Leave me a message, and I'll get back to you."
Charles was on her other side, hat and glasses intact. "I told you she had way too much to drink at lunch. Brett, we're on in five minutes!"
The older woman squinted through her own oversized glasses. "Charles...can you now, or have you ever been able, to see ghosts?"
One of those thick eyebrows of his went straight to his receeding hairline. "Uh, no. Not that I know of."
His eyes lit up as Richard patted her on the back. "Next time, stick to coffee. Keeps me running to two shows with no naps in between."
As she lifted her head, she noticed Joyce peering at her worriedly from her desk on the bottom row. "Are you ok? You were really out there." The contents of her purse were already scattered around her blue cards. "I might have something in here that'll wake you up..."
"I'm fine, hon. I just had a nightmare, that's all." Brett sighed and shook her head. "It was awful. I dreamed that Ira was a devil and wanted to turn us all into demonic puppets for his amusements. And he had devils pound Richard into pulp and nearly electrocute Gene and force Charles to be surrounded by burned ghosts."
Charles made a face as he slid into his seat next to hers. "I knew you had a sick mind, lady."
She straightened her wig, making sure all the pins were there and not bent. "It could have been worse. Bill, Fannie, Joyce, and I rescued you, at least up until the devils tried to turn all of us into toys for their enjoyment."
Bill put his head on her forehead as he settled on her other side. "Yep, you're right, Charlie. This is a very sick woman here. She needs Dr. Daily to give her a strict order to lay off liquid lunches, take two pills, and call me in the morning."
"Knock it off, you two jokers." She shoved the Styrofoam cup on her desk away. "Maybe you're right about that vodka at lunch. From now on, I cut it down to two cups a taping."
Fannie smirked as she looked up from the left-side desk. "As opposed to two bottles?"
"All right, all right." Gene leaned over her with his microphone before she could take a swat at Fannie. "That's enough. Save the jokes for the show. Brett, are you sure you're all right? You look a little pale."
She gave him her most sincere smile. "I'm fine, Gene. Don't worry. It's out of my system now."
Richard stormed in next, plopping down in his seat between Fannie and Joyce. "Hey," Charles called from his right, "are you ok?"
"Fine." The Englishman made a face. "Just wish Ira would listen to me. I'm getting a little tired of all the running back and forth. I have no control here. It's like we're all puppets he can manipulate for his amusement."
"Oh Dickie," Brett groaned, "please don't say that! Don't ever say that!"
She couldn't help her wince as Ira came over, now looking far more like his regular self in that shirt open to the navel, his smile more good-natured than feral. "Thirty seconds, everyone! Let's give them a good show. Remember, we're here for the contestants. And Brett, maybe you ought to get some air after this episode. You keep staring at me like I'm going to suck your brains out or something."
"Yeah." Her mega-watt smile was in full force. "I'll remember that."
Thank god it was just a dream! She kept the smile on as Johnny Olson announced their names and the orange light square turned. I just hope Ira doesn't get any real ideas like that. And there's Richard. If Ira doesn't lay off him, he may just start a mutiny, or worse. She turned her head, trying to flash her profile, even as Charles glared at her and pointed at her with a shake of her head. Now, let's help those people win some big money...and do it by being ourselves. Even Charles. Most of the time.
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