Weird, thought Cerina. Probably some publicity stunt by some band, but how they smuggled it in without her seeing it, damned if she knew.
She picked up the note, opened it. It was written in old-timey script, long spidery letters. For Adelheid Elizabeth Hawthorne, it read. From THE LORDS.
But how did it get here? she wondered.
Easy enough to figure out, she decided, and used her laptop to access the station’s security cameras. There was one in the reception area that showed most of the room, including the desk. All she had to do was take it back a few minutes and all would be revealed.
And why not? She didn’t have anything better to do. It wasn’t like she didn’t have time to spare.
She went to the digital files and ran them back a few minutes, to a place where there was no box on the desk, and then watched. No box, no box, no box, and then suddenly a box. She must have blinked, must have missed it. She took it back again, and watched it slower this time, making sure she was paying attention, but again the same thing happened. The box wasn’t there and then, suddenly, and inexplicably, it was.
She watched it frame by frame. Same thing.
That’s impossible, she told herself. And then began to justify it. Somehow the digital file has a flaw in it, skipped over a bit of time. I’m just not getting the whole story. But there was nothing about the image to suggest that that was the case, no flash or cut or break to indicate a time shift.
It creeped her out a lot, particularly coming as it did on the tail of those two ghouls. It was as if the box had simply appeared out of thin air. No, she told herself firmly. There’s always an explanation, even if I don’t know what it is. It was ridiculous to think the box could have come out of nowhere.
She looked at the card again. Adelheid Elizabeth Hawthorne. Must be for Heidi. Oh well, she thought, not my problem, and made a conscious effort to go back to her magazine.
Chapter Sixteen
Herman sighed. It had been a long shift, and what they’d been given to work with made it seem longer. First the ghouls from that death metal band show up and start spouting nonsense about the goat. The goat, what was that? And then Chip ushering them out only to come back later and lecture them. Wasn’t my fault, Herman had started to say. I didn’t set up the interview. You or one of the publicity people did. But that wasn’t what Chip was saying. He wasn’t accusing them of setting up the interview, only telling them that any time somebody started going off about Satan or destroying God or burning churches they should have the good sense to pull the plug on the interview.
“If I hadn’t been here,” he said, “who knows how long it would have gone on?”
Herman sighed. Just one more reason for Chip to feel like he had to micromanage everything and everyone. “Wasn’t my fault,” Herman said again.
“This is Salem,” Chip had said. “The whole town makes a living by making historical witch burnings interesting and using them as an excuse for fun T-shirts that say things like My Other Car Is a Broom. But that only works because people think of witches as being in the past and maybe even as not being real. If people start feeling that devil worship is too close, things get very bad.”
“How bad?” asked Whitey.
“We lose sponsors,” said Chip.
“Always comes down to sponsors,” said Herman.
“Well, yes,” said Chip, adjusting his glasses. “I’m afraid it does.”
“What I’m here for is the music,” said Herman.
“Well, so am I,” said Chip, nodding. “I like music, too. It’s just that we also have economic—”
“Track’s ending,” said Whitey. “Out of the booth, Chip. We’ve got work to do.”
But after that band, Leviathan and whatever the fuck they were, and Chip’s mini-lecture, they’d never quite caught their rhythm. Which made the night drag on a lot longer than it should have. Plus, there was the Fantastic Film Fest to push, and Chip there periodically at the glass holding up a scrawled sign to remind them to mention it.
Which was what Heidi, with the show coming to an end, was doing right now, even managing to sound enthusiastic about it.
“And don’t forget Thursday night at the Cabot Theater,” she said in that throaty voice of hers. He’d always been told that hot radio voices never had a beautiful body to go along with them, but Heidi proved that theory dead wrong. “WXKB’s Fantastic Film Fest continues with a special midnight screening of Frankenstein versus the Witchfinder.”
The what? Herman thought. Just when you think you’ve seen all the Frankenstein movies, a new one surfaces.
Whitey, working the board, played a quick audio clip from the film.
“I curse the day you came to this village, devil Frankenstein!” cried a man’s voice.
“Please tell me this is based on historical fact,” said Heidi.
Whitey began to read off the film’s publicity page. “The year is 1645. Matthew Hopkins, an opportunist witchfinder and his dwarf assistant, Carlo—”
“Carlo?” interrupted Heidi.
“Yes, Carlo,” said Whitey. Must be an Italian dwarf assistant, thought Herman. Whitey continued. “Hopkins and his dwarf assistant, Carlo, visit village after village, brutally torturing confessions out of suspected witches… that is, until they come face-to-face…”
He stopped and fumbled at the board until he found a music cue, a few ominous notes.
“… with the Frankenstein monster.”
“Other than Carlo, it sounds amazing,” said Heidi.
“What’s wrong with Carlo?” asked Whitey.
“No fighting, you two,” said Herman, “or I’ll have to make one of you ride in the front seat with me.”
“Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” said Heidi.
“We won’t get there any faster if you keep asking,” said Herman.
“Are we done yet?” asked Whitey. Herman looked over at him. He was feeling it, too, ready to cut and run.
“I know I am,” said Heidi.
“Oh God yes,” said Herman. “Let’s get the eff out of here.”
“Language,” said Heidi, shaking her finger and smiling. “The FFA has a big jar and they fill it with money every time someone like you swears.”
“I said eff, didn’t I?” said Herman. “I didn’t say—”
“It’s Monday,” said Heidi quickly, “so you know what that means… ladies’ choice… in other words…”
“Rush,” said Herman and Whitey together, in an exhausted voice. And with that Whitey started up “The Spirit of Radio” and the show ended.
They filed out. Bill Ambler, the lone guy who took the post-midnight shift and who knew more about music than everybody else in the station combined, stepped to one side and huddled near the door as they made their way out.
“Any issues?” he asked.
“Nope,” said Whitey. “Board’s working fine.”
“You should be fine,” said Herman, “as long as two Norwegian black-metal dudes don’t mistake the radio station for a church and burn it to the ground.”
Ambler looked confused. “What?” he said. “Is there something I should know?”
“It’s a joke, Bill,” said Heidi. “Don’t worry about it.”
Ambler looked confused a moment more, then nodded briskly, started to arrange his things.