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?"