Monster Mash

10/27/1995 

Buford Bellows turned down the monitor and hit the button for the telephone.

“K-Bat request line, what do you want to hear?”

He heard a deep breath followed by a coarse whisper, “Please play ‘Monster Mash.’”

“Thanks for calling.”

Buford punched out and stared at the phone.  All 10 lines were lit up.  All, no doubt, with listeners wanting to hear “Monster Mash,” “Thriller,” “Spooky” or some other ghoulish tune.  It was, after all, Halloween and the freaks were out full-force on Hollywood Boulevard.

There was nothing like Halloween in Los Angeles.  As if the weirdoes needed a special night.  But efforts were at a fever pitch.  Even by Hollywood standards, this particular Halloween was turning into an Academy Award winner.

The intercom, on the front door of the rundown building in the alley between Hollywood Boulevard and Sunset, had been buzzing all night.  He answered it only occasionally.  The freaks were bad enough on the phone.  He didn’t need to see any up close and personal.  Besides, it was strange enough in the studio.

It started when Heather, his regular request operator, did a no-show.  In her place she sent someone straight from central casting.  The guy was well over six feet tall, even with his stooped posture.  He was skinny as a rail and white as a ghost.  With real funny eyes.  Jet black.  Like his hair.  And clothes.  The darkness was accentuated by the pale, almost opaque, skin that covered the protruding bones in his face.  Hands like skeletons.  And the guy didn’t walk.  Buford didn’t think his legs even moved.  He just sort of swooped.

He gave Buford the creeps.

The name, at least by Hollywood standards, was normal.  Dude.

As if.

Buford wasn’t from Hollywood.  He was about as far away from Hollywood as one could get.  He grew up in Alabama.  Came only seeking a job.  As a deejay, he always wanted to work L.A. Even at the stupid little AM station that hardly anyone listened to.  It was still a major market and he jumped at the chance.

Buford was checking his music log, getting ready for the next break, when the overhead lights in the studio suddenly went out.

“What the hell?”

“Not to worry, boss” Dude said as he swooped through the control room door, a candle already in his hands.  “A little mood lighting.”

“How did you get here so fast?”

Dude managed to shrug his scrawny shoulders.

“Did you shut off these lights:”

“Not directly,” Dude said with a smile.

For the first time, Buford noticed the sharp, pointed teeth.  The street people in Hollywood would do anything to be different.

Buford took the candle and waved Dude out of the control room.  He couldn’t be bothered.  The PD at the big station in town had said he would be listening tonight.  If Buford a good show, he might land the opening.  He wasn’t going to let anything stop him.

He cleared his throat and hit the mike.  “K-BAT on Halloween and all my freaks are out at night.  You know the Bat phone number, 666-6666.  Get on it now and tell me what song to play that will make you howl.”

Buford sat back contentedly.  Even in the candlelight, he had hit the post.

“Boss?’

I t was Dude on the intercom.  But Buford couldn’t see him through the glass.

“Where are you?”

“On the intercom.”

“I know that.  Where are you?”

“Right in front of you.”

Buford blinked his eyes and Dude appeared.  Buford shook his head.  He hadn’t been getting much sleep lately.  His mind was playing tricks on him.

“What do you want?”

“Lines 1-10 are holding for you.”

Buford picked up the phone.  “Hello, K-Bat.”

It was the same, coarse whisper.  ‘Monster Mash,’” the caller said.

“How did you get on all the lines?”

“My powers are special.”

Buford hung up.  Almost scared.  But he had a job to do.  Someone was listening.  Someone who mattered.  Someone who could get him out of the hell hole he was working in.

“You really want that job, don’t you?”

Buford wheeled around.  Dude had swooped in behind him.

“What the hell do you know about it?”

Dude smiled.  The teeth seemed longer.  “I know all.”

Buford was irritated.  “What do you want?”

Dude dropped into a coarse whisper.  “I want to hear ‘Monster Mash.’”

“Jesus,” Buford cracked, “Was that you?”

“It is me.”  Dude parted his lips.  The teeth were glistening now.  “I want to give you what you want.”

“Bullshit,” Buford said.  “I want that job at KIIS. The PD is listening right now.  If I do a good show, I might be in.”

“I can give you anything you want.”

“You know the guy?”

“I am all-powerful.”

“Cut the crap,” Buford spat.  “Am I supposed to believe you’re Dracula?  If that’s true, the show me something.  Turn into a bat and fly around the room.”

Buford watched as Dude transformed himself into a small, black bat and fluttered around the control room.

“Okay, I guess you win.”

Dude retransformed into a freak.  “Now do you believe me?”

“You can get me that job?”

“Absolutely.”

“What do you want from me?”

Dude’s smile got even bigger.  “I want to bite your neck.”

Buford rubbed his chin and looked around the room quickly.  “Alright, but make it quick.  My record’s running out.