Funhouse

by Michael Bray

  Ten o clock.

  Doyle’s mouth was dry, and his heart was beating a little too quickly as he waited.

  “What are we waiting for?” Terry asked, half amused and half concerned at his friends behavior.

  “Give it a second.”

  Terry smiled. “Okay, whatever you say, but I wish you...”

  Hello, hello, hello. Its ten pm on Wednesday evening, and that means it’s time for the DJ D show, here from now until midnight. We have a lot coming up tonight, including some new tracks by some old favorites. But first, some sad news for the community.

  Long-time Oakwell resident, Hal Johnson, died today aged sixty four as a result of a heart attack. Mr Johnson owned the store on Main Street, and will be sadly missed by everyone in the community. But now, let’s get back to the music; here is Jim Morrison with his new single, only the way I go.

  “What the…”

  Terry paused mid-sentence, and Doyle saw him go through the same processes that he had the night before. The two friends sat there in silence, and listened to the thirty seven years dead Jim Morrison sing his brand new song. They listened to the broadcast from beginning to end. They heard new material from a veritable who’s who of musical history. New songs from Lennon, Elvis, Joplin, and even a particularly rousing guitar based duet between Jimi Hendrix and Dimebag Darrell, who had been shot and killed on stage back in 2004. When the show ended, and the airwaves were once again filled with static, the two friends shared a look which said more than words ever could, because they both knew that they had experienced something impossible.

  “So, what do we do now?” Doyle asked.

  Terry licked his lips and cleared his throat. “I think I have an idea.”

  Terry had promised to come back the following day, and had left Doyle to try and see if he could find any reference or listings related to the radio station or the DJ. His searches had drawn a blank, and as his frustration reached boiling point, which his sleepless night hadn’t helped, he heard Terry’s familiar knock on the door.

  He knew as soon as he saw his pale faced friend that something was wrong. He had a bag with him, but also had a vacant expression which Doyle had never seen before.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You got anything to drink?” Terry said, answering the question with one of his own.

  “Beer?”

  “Anything stronger?”

  “Yeah, there’s scotch in the kitchen.”

  Terry nodded and shuffled into the apartment. Doyle was concerned. He knew that Terry didn’t drink, and hadn’t touched a drop of booze since the day his divorce came through. Doyle counted back the years to when it was, and was shocked to realise that it was more than four years ago. He followed into the kitchen, where Terry sat at the table. He had found the bottle, and was pouring a glass as Doyle sat opposite.

  “Want one?” Terry asked as he finished pouring a large glassful.

  “No, no thanks.”

  Terry nodded, screwed the lid back on the bottle and took a long drink, draining the glass. He set it down and looked across the table at Doyle.

  “He wasn’t dead.”

  “Who?”

  “Mr Johnson. From the store.”

  Doyle felt his stomach somersault, and considered joining his friend in a mid-morning tipple.

  “You sure?”

  Terry laughed, the sound sharp and only an octave away from shrill. “I spoke to him, he served me.” He shook his head and finished off the rest of his drink.

  “Surely this is a good thing; I mean maybe it’s all a hoax.” Doyle said hopefully.

  Terry looked at him his eyes haunted and vacant.

  “You don’t get it, he wasn’t dead. But I’m pretty sure he is now.”

  “What do you mean? Come on, spit it out Terry! What happened?”

  “As I said, he served me in the store. He was making small talk, just doing his attentive storekeeper part, and it happened. He grabbed at his arm and fell to the floor.”

  “Jesus!” Doyle said, finally deciding to pour himself another drink. He topped up Terry’s glass as well as filling one of his own.

  “There were only a few people in the store, and we tried to save him, but we couldn’t. He died right there on the floor.”

  Doyle said nothing. His brain was too busy coping with the situation. Terry continued.

  “How could he know? The DJ on the radio. How could he know a full day before it happened?”

  “Probably the same reason that they play music that shouldn’t exist from artists that are long dead.”

  “You think it’s supernatural?” Terry asked, finally making eye contact with his friend.

  “Well, you know I’m a skeptic to things like this, but what the hell else could it be?”

  “Look, all I know is that I have been trying to think of a plausible explanation for this, but so far I’m coming up empty.”

  “So.” Doyle said as he sipped the bitter liquid. “What do we do now?”

  Terry picked up the bag, and emptied the contents on the table. Doyle looked over the collection of wires, resistors, circuit boards and chips, and raised an eyebrow at Terry.

  “I think I can hook up a device to trace the signal. Find out where it’s broadcasting from.”

  “Is that something we even want to know?”

  “Aren’t you curious?”

  “Of course I am, but I’m not ashamed to say I’m also pretty scared by the situation.”

  “Then let’s just go one step at a time, see if we can get a fix on this broadcast, then decide from there what we want to do. Okay?”

  Doyle nodded, and stood, pacing about the kitchen.

  “Okay, build the unit and we can tune in tonight and see if we can get a fix on the place.”

  When it was completed, the unit looked like a small sat nav, with a series of dials on the front. It was just a few minutes to ten o clock, and Doyle and Terry were apprehensive.

  “As soon as he starts to broadcast, this unit should be able to pinpoint the source of the transmission.” Terry said.

  Doyle nodded, impressed and nervous in equal measure. “Then what?”

  Terry sighed, and rubbed his temples. “I don’t know, I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

  “Why not? I don’t see what harm it can do.”

  “Do we really know that? I mean this is far from an ordinary situation, Terry.”

  “Then why bring me in on it? You wanted my help to find answers, didn’t you?”

  “I did — I do. I just don’t want us to get in over our heads that’s all.”

  Terry was about to respond when the static cleared, and the broadcast began. He picked up the unit and looked at Doyle.

  “Well?” He asked.

  Doyle licked his lips, and tried to still the gnawing in his stomach.

  “Okay, go ahead and do it.”

  Terry nodded, and turned on the device, as the DJ went into his motor mouth routine.

  Just one day to the weekend late night listeners and we are going to get you in the party spirit tonight. We have an exclusive interview with the legend, the megastar. Michael Jackson is here in the studio tonight to talk about the circumstances of his death, and we also have worldwide exclusives from Tupac Shakur and the one, the only, the godfather of soul, James Brown. But first, some breaking news. Word has just reached DJ D, that the world famous rapper, Big T, has been shot and killed in a drive by shooting outside his Los Angeles home.

  “Check the news, and the internet.” Terry said.

  “On it.” Doyle shot back as he powered up his laptop.

  Big T’s album, It’s All About T, went triple platinum just last year, and his fans are said to be devastated. His family have asked to be left alone to grieve in private. This one goes out to all the Big T fans, here is global number one smash hit, It Ain't Over ‘til the Phat lady sings. Check it out.

  “Anything?” Terry asked as he
tweaked the controls on the device.

  “Nothing, not a damn thing.” Doyle responded as he cycled through the local news sites. “I’ll go check the TV, see if the news channels have anything.”

  Doyle stood and left the room, as Terry continued to tweak the device to the back drop of Big T’s colourful rap.

  Doyle came back into the room. “Nothing on the news, or the internet. The guy isn’t dead.”

  “Not yet.” Terry said softly, as Doyle sat on the bed.

  “Is it working yet?”

  “Almost. The signal is bouncing all over the damn place. Give me a minute to fix it.”

  That was Big T with, It Ain’t Over ‘til the Phat Lady Sings, played in tribute to the man himself, who was shot and killed in what looks to be a gang related attack. Rest in peace T. Next up, we have our interview with the one, the only Michael Jackson, but first, check out the sultry tones of the beautiful Selina, with, All I Want is You, right here with DJ D, on 99.9 AM.

  “Got it. Terry said, flashing a grin. “He’s broadcasting around three miles from here. My guess is from a motorhome or something.”

  Doyle nodded, staring at the device in Terry’s hands.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Terry pushed.

  “What do you think?”

  “I say we drive out there and take a look.”

  “That sounds pretty risky.”

  “We drive, we look, and we come back. No leaving the car, no hero stuff.”

  “I don’t know Terry; I have a really, really bad feeling about this.”

  “Me too, but aren’t you curious?”

  “Not enough to risk my life.”

  “Come on, what risk is there? We drive out and look. That’s all.”

  “Why are you so determined to do this?”

  “I just am.” Terry snapped.

  “But why?”

  “Because for the first time since Katie left me, I feel like I have something to get excited about.”

  Doyle nodded, regretting making Terry bring up the past.

  “Okay.” He said, folding the laptop away and clapping Terry on the shoulder.

  “Let’s go take a look.”

  Doyle drove whilst Terry gave directions from the passenger seat. He didn’t expect to find 99.9AM broadcasting from the car radio, but there it was, exactly as it had been on the vintage hi fi in the house. They drove in silence each listening to the unearthly broadcast and trying to come to terms with it. Occasionally, Terry would give an instruction as to which direction to go. They left the suburban comforts of green lawns and quaint white houses, and headed towards the outskirts of the city. Doyle noticed that the closer they got the more clear the broadcast became.

  “Stop here.” Terry said.

  Doyle obliged, pulling the car over to the shoulder and staring out of the window. To their left was a run-down old service station, its pumps having long since stopped supplying gas. Doyle felt his stomach somersault at the thought of going into there and discovering whatever might be lurking in the dark.

  “Hey, relax.” Terry said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “The signal is coming from over there.”

  Doyle looked past Terry, and even though at first glance it was less sinister, he felt even more uncomfortable at the thought of walking out into the wilderness.

  The road fell away at a shallow angle to a non-descript landscape of sand and scrub punctuated by occasional outcrops of rock. Terry cupped his hands against the glass, looking for a light, or some evidence of the broadcast, but Doyle knew he wouldn’t see anything. He knew in his gut that there was nothing out there.

  “I can’t see anything.” Terry said, taking a second to re-check the readouts on the signal tracker.

  “Me either.” Doyle added.

  “I think we should go take a look, just to the edge of the road.”

  “No, Terry, we agreed. This isn’t a game.”

  Terry turned in his seat, and Doyle saw the excitement and curiosity in his eyes.

  “Come on, we came out here, we can’t see enough from the car. Let’s just look. Hell, leave the engine running if it makes you feel better.”

  “Don’t you think we should maybe call the police?”

  “And say what? That a ghost pirate radio show is playing new and unheard hits from beyond the grave? Good luck with that one.”

  “Look, maybe you are right. But what can we do?”

  “We don’t need to do anything.” Terry said with a wry smile. “Just take a look.”

  “Ah the hell with it.” Doyle sighed “I should know better than to try and talk you out of something you have set your mind to.”

  Terry grinned. “It will be fine. We get out, take a quick look, and then get back in the car. You must be curious, I sure as hell am.”

  “Point made. Let’s just get this over with.” Doyle said sharply.

  They climbed out of the car, and now out in the open, it all seemed so much more real. The day had been a hot one, and even though it was now fully dark, residual heat still drifted off the asphalt. They looked out over the barren landscape, looking for any evidence of anything other than wilderness. A light, warm breeze pulled along the floor, dragging the loose, dry sand with it.

  “I don’t like this.” Doyle whispered, but Terry didn’t answer, he was staring at his tracker, brow furrowed in concentration as he made minute adjustments to the dials.

  “This makes no sense; we should be able to see something. He must be broadcasting from somewhere.”

  “How far off is the signal?”

  “According to the readout, thirty feet straight ahead.” Terry looked over his shoulder as he said it, and Doyle now saw fear in place of his earlier curiosity.

  “Come on Terry; let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Wait, it could be behind that outcrop.” He said, pointing to a large shadow draped formation.

  “You really want to go down there to check?”

  “Just a quick look to see if it’s there, and that’s all.”

  Doyle wanted to protest, but Terry was already walking down the embankment.

  “Terry, just leave it, this is stupid.”

  “Wait there if you want.” He said as he ran the last few steps down to level ground. I’ll go take a look and come right back.”

  Doyle hesitated, he wanted no part of it now, and the more obsessive Terry got over the situation, the more he wished he had kept it to himself. Doyle watched as his friend walked towards the outcrop. He noted with more than a little envy that Terry seemed to carry none of Doyle’s own apprehension or fear. He reached the outcrop, and disappeared out of sight behind it.

  Doyle waited. He knew it had only been half a minute at most, but it felt as if an age had passed until Terry poked his head back around the edge of the rock.

  “Hey, come on down here and take a look, this is… unusual to say the least.”

  Despite his apprehension, he was also curious, and before he could really think about it, he was carefully baby-stepping down the embankment and walking towards his friend and the huge rock formation. He covered the ground quickly, and stood next to his friend.

  “Take a look,” Terry said with a grin.

  Doyle did.

  There was nothing there.

  Doyle looked at the expanse of empty land, and then turned to his friend.

  “I don’t get it, what are you trying to show me?”

  Terry pointed straight ahead.

  “There.”

  Doyle looked.

  Rock, grass, sand. The warm summer breeze sent more sand rolling lightly across the surface with a soft ssssssssssssssss

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Come on, stop with the riddles. Spit it out.”

  Terry grinned, his face taking on a ghastly appearance in the shadowy half-light.

  “Warm night tonight isn’t it?” Terry said.

  “What the hell does that have to do with anything?�
��

  “Trust me.”

  “I do, it’s just a freaky enough situation as it is, without you talking in riddles and getting all cryptic.” Doyle said, unable to mask his annoyance.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just... this is incredible. Okay, the less cryptic version. Tonight is a warm night. Right?”

  “Yeah, it’s been hot every night for weeks. But you already know that.”

  Terry nodded. “I do. Now walk with me.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t tell you, I need to verify my findings.”

  Doyle sighed, and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Whatever you say, we have already done more than I bargained for anyhow. Let’s go.”

  The pair started to walk, and Doyle was aware that Terry was watching him, waiting for some reaction or other. He had gone only seven paces when he felt it. The sticky warmth of the day was replaced by an icy cold.

  “What the hell?” Doyle said, taking a few backwards steps. Again, he was in the residual heat of the summer night.

  “Did you feel it?” Terry asked. “The change in temperature?”

  “Yeah, yeah I did.” Doyle said, staring at the ground in front of him. He reached an arm out, and he felt the shift from warm to cold.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “This,” Terry replied, “is where our broadcast originates from.”

  “But there’s nothing here.” Doyle said, still moving his arm from cold to warm air and back again.

  “I don’t know what it is, although I have my suspicions. All I know is that this could be one of the greatest discoveries that man has ever made.”

  Doyle pulled his arm away, flicking a glance to his friend. “Do you think it’s paranormal? You know, spiritual?”

  Terry shrugged and grinned, pushing his glasses up his face.

  “I don’t know, maybe. It could be an interdimensional thing. There are a lot of questions that need answers Doyle, but for now we need to keep quiet. We need to think about what to do.”

  “So you don’t think it’s dangerous?”

  “No.” Terry said, shaking his head. “I think whatever it is, is residual. It’s like crossed wires on a telephone. We shouldn’t be able to hear it, and I doubt it’s aware of us.”