Rob Zombie - Lords of Salem

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.

A moment later and the Big H team was in the break room, starting to relax. Heidi stretched. Whitey sat down and put his feet on the table. Chip would hate it if he saw him doing that, thought Herman, but didn’t worry about it long. Instead, he went after the bottle of wine he’d hidden earlier, found the corkscrew, and began to open it.

“Not our best show,” he said.

“Not every show can be our best show,” said Whitey. “If that happened, one day we’d literally just spontaneously combust.”

“Like a drummer,” said Heidi.

“Like a drummer,” said Whitey, and smiled.

What are they talking about? wondered Herman, not for the first time. The cork came out with a ripe pop. Now all he needed was something to pour the wine into. He looked in the cabinets but all he could find were coffee cups. They’d have to do.

“I hate to admit it,” said Heidi, “but those two kind of freaked me the fuck out.”

“Eh, weird accents always make shit like that sound more intense. If I said that crap you’d laugh at me.” Whitey cleared his throat, tried on a Norwegian accent. “I murder in the name of Satan’s goat.”

“I thought Satan had a dog,” Heidi said.

“Yes, he has a dog as well,” said Whitey. “His name is Cujo. But I do not murder in the name of Satan’s dog. I murder in the name of Satan’s goat.”

“And what’s his name?” asked Heidi.

“His name is Ralph,” said Whitey.

“Satan’s goat is named Ralph?”

Whitey shrugged. “Sure, why not?” he said. “Gotta be named something.”

Herman poured the wine into the coffee mugs, half a mug for Heidi and Whitey but almost full for the mug he’d kept for himself. After all, he’d been the one to buy it. He should get something for his money.

“God-hating motherfuckers is what that was all about,” he stated.

“You don’t think it was just an act?” asked Heidi.

“Nope,” said Herman. “Now Alice Cooper, that’s an act, and a damned good one. But those two drank the Devil’s Kool-Aid, fo’ sure. Like that other metal band. What’re they called again?”

Heidi stared blankly at him.

“You know, the cannibals,” said Herman.

“Mayhem,” said Whitey, staring down at the table.

“What’d they do?” asked Heidi.

“They were always talking about cannibalism,” said Whitey, “pushing it as a good idea. And then one band member killed himself and maybe one of the others, well…”

“Ate him?” asked Heidi, her eyes wide.

“I don’t think so,” said Whitey. “Or not much of him anyway.”

“I think he made a stew out of his brains,” said Herman.

“You’re joking,” said Heidi. She looked shaken.

“I think that’s just a rumor,” said Whitey. “Nobody ever proved it.”

“Yeah, they definitely drank the Devil’s Kool-Aid,” said Herman. “Speaking of Kool-Aid, who’s in?” He held up the cups.

Whitey yawned. “Always thirsty for dinner,” he said.

“Hand it over,” said Heidi.

“A team that drinks together stays together,” said Herman. He passed out the cups of wine.

He’d just settled down and begun to drink when Chip stuck his head through the door. When Herman and the others ignored him, he rapped on the wall to get their attention.

“Drinking at work again, I see,” he said. When nobody chose to answer and Herman didn’t rush to offer him a mug of his own, he turned to Whitey. “So, we’re good for tomorrow, I take it?”

“Good for what?” asked Whitey.

Chip looked startled. “Please tell me he’s fucking with me,” he said. He turned to Heidi. “He’s fucking with me, right?” Heidi just shrugged.

He turned back to Whitey. “Francis Matthias…,” he said, and waited. Whitey’s face remained blank. “The witch book guy…”

Whitey shook his head. “No clue,” he said.

“What do you mean no clue?”

“Dude, you’ve lost me.”

“For the Fantastic Fest promotion,” said Chip, and motioned with his hand for Whitey to pick up the thread.

But Whitey just continued to look blank. Chip’s expectant face slowly took on a frown.