It was a stormy night in Jersey City. The air in the studio was muggy and tense. As another Big Dipper song ended, Tom sat as still as a frightened statue. Mike glared at him from the production booth, bitterly smashing buttons on the switchboard at random, his steely and terrifying gaze fixed unflinchingly on Tom’s sweat-drenched brow. Tension between them had been especially high that evening since Tom was caught going through Mike’s “belongings.” An hour or so prior, Tom had been stricken with the intense desire for a pre-show snack and in his desperation, went to Mike’s briefcase for an apple. Instead, what he found was a collection of knives, the scope of which was both vast and horrifying. That’s when Mike walked in and warned Tom not to disturb his “babies,” for they were sleeping, and if awakened, they would “have to be fed.” This comment sent a chill through Tom’s very soul.
An hour and a half later, Tom sat nervously in front of the microphone, drawing short breaths and praying that the lights in the studio did not go out. Careful not to make any sudden movements, Tom gulped and forced out the words, “Hello… um… everybody. Welcome to… uh… another… Tuesday night line-up of um… mirth… music… and murder. I mean…! Um… that is to say…” The lights flickered, and the studio went black. Tom screamed as the darkness engulfed him. His shriek was particularly shrill, having lost power to his voice modulator, but still it could not penetrate the walls of his dark, soundproof prison.
Mercifully, the emergency lights came on, casting an eerie red light on Mike, who was still poking the phone randomly. A menacing expression growing on his face, Mike reached down and pulled out a shiny, pointy object that Tom hoped was a letter opener. But it wasn’t a letter opener.
As Mike crept into the room, Tom trembled, nervously trying to make conversation, “Gee, it sure is dark in here, huh, Mike?” Mike nodded, saying, “Yeah. Looks like nem lightin’ bolts done zonked out the eletricity.” Tom noticed something different about Mike’s voice, and as he drew nearer, there seemed to be something wrong with his face as well. Tom said, “Wait a minute… Something’s not right here… You're not Mike! Who are you?!” Mike reached up and peeled his face off, revealing it to be only a mask, while saying proudly, “It’s me, Philly-Boy Roy.” Shocked, Tom asked, “Philly-Boy Roy?!” To which Roy replied, “Yeah.”
“What are you doing here?!” Tom demanded. To Tom’s chagrin, Roy explained, “I had this mask made up to look like call screener Remington so’s I could get in here alone widya. I’m gonna’ solemnify my place as Mayor of New Bridge by doing what shoulda been did a long time ago; By taking action where all nem other candidates was just been making promises; By killin’ ya’s!!! Aheeeeheeheehee! Eeeeeeeeeeheeeheehee!” Overcome by terror, Tom screamed, “NOOOOOO!!!!” To which Roy replied, “Yeah.” Tom shouted, “No, Roy! Please, no!” Roy responded grimly, “Yeah. I’m gonna’ murder ya’s. And you never woulda guessed it was me cause I was in Cognemo.”
Tom desperately pleaded, “No Roy, don’t do this! Please, I just…” he stopped in mid-sentence and asked quizzically, “Wait. What did you say? In cog Nemo?” Roy explained, “Yeah. I was in Cognemo as call screener Edmondson.” Tom chuckled a little as he inquired, “You mean you were incognito?” “What’s that?” Roy asked, insisting, “That aint what I was. I was in Cognemo.” Confused, Tom asked, “What is in cog Nemo?” Roy promptly rebuked him, shouting, “You lingui-dummy! Cognemo is Latin for havin’ a mask on.” Tom was clearly not convinced, but gave up trying to argue, “Okay, whatever. Let’s move on.” Roy agreed, “Yeah.”
Tom shrieked as Roy lifted the blade high above his head, preparing to deliver a killing blow. That’s when the real Mike kicked in the door to the studio (which was unnecessary because it was not locked) and yelled, “Drop it!” At the sight of Mike, Roy yelped, “Call screener Rasputin! You was supposed to be busy at nem disco-fry-eatin’ contest!” Mike explained in an overly dramatic tone, “They ran out of gravy, and had to change it to a cheese fry eating competition.” Grabbing his weapon of choice, (a telephone) Mike started swinging the receiver around by the cord as he snarled, “I HATE cheese fries!”
Roy lamented, “Aw, man, I shouldn’ta did all nem shrooms and ate nem pills right before trying to murder a guy.” Mike flung the receiver, which wrapped around Roy’s wrist, then jerked on the phone cord, yanking Roy’s knife-wielding hand away from Tom, and sending the blade flying. Closing the gap between himself and Roy, Mike snatched the blade from the air, punched Roy in the throat, and kicked him in the face eleven times. During this barrage of face-kicking, Roy was heard to utter, “Aw, man, it’s a good thing none of this is really happenin’.” Mike ultimately managed to neutralize the threat by getting Roy in an arm lock and then heroically throwing him through a window.
Stunned by Mike’s brutality, but grateful for his heroism, Tom gushed, “Mike, thank you! How can I ever repay you?!” Mike stood stoically as the lights in the studio came back on, then turned to look at YOU, the reader, and said, “You can vote for me, Mike, in the New Bridge Mayubernatorial election. A bunch of times.” Then he turned to address Tom specifically, adding in a malevolent tone, “And don’t you ever touch my knives.”
Mike had saved Tom from certain doom, and also, somehow, made him even more scared for his life. But if Mike was to murder Tom, it wouldn’t be this night. And that’s all Tom could ever hope for.
THE END
….question mark?
