(Auth. note: I know I promised a big chapter, but decided not to make everyone wait more while I slowly chug along. So, here's the first treat of the evening...)
Part Forty-Nine
The brown-scaled Frackle plunked the takeout bag on the steamer trunk between Gonzo and Rosie. “There ya go. Eat up. And you – pep rally in the auditorium in ten minutes,” it growled, pointing a claw at Rosie before shuffling off. Gonzo opened the bag and sniffed deeply, not noticing the glum expression dulling all three eyes of his friend.
“Huh, well, I don’t know this restaurant, but it smells pretty good,” Gonzo remarked, pulling plain white cartons out and checking farther down inside the bag. “They sent both chopsticks and plastic forks; which one do you want?” Receiving no answer, Gonzo glanced up. “Earth to Rosie! Chopsticks?”
“Uh...nabba,” McGurk mumbled, continuing to gaze at his furry feet. He lifted his head only when Gonzo shoved an open, fragrant carton before his wide nose.
“Come on, buddy! You’re not still feeling sad about missing that Grouch party bus, are you?” Gonzo smiled. “Granted, with those guys, I doubt it’ll be much of a party! And in just a few hours, we’ll be the guests of honor at this big doorway-to-another-dimension-of-hideous-aspect celebration! I mean how cool is that?” Rosie stared at him as Gonzo stuck his chopsticks into the carton. As he tried to withdraw a bite of sliced meat, veggies, and crunchy noodles, a noodly hand thrust up from the carton, grabbed the chopsticks, and whacked Gonzo’s curly nose. “Ow! Hey!” Taken aback, Gonzo checked the side of the carton for any sort of notation. “What kinda food is this anyway?”
“Chabba meeba.”
“Oh. Chow mean. Uh...okay...” Unperturbed, Gonzo set the angrily flailing noodles aside and rummaged in the sack. “I think I saw some soup in here. Maybe that’ll be more domesticated.”
Silently, Rosie stuck a fork in the back of the viney claw of pea pods emerging from his own carton, and with a strangled, wet sort of sound, it subsided. He held up a forkful of wriggling veggies, and sighed. He just didn’t have any appetite tonight.
Gonzo held up a paper cup, peeling back its lid cautiously. “This one seems safe. I see a won ton...hope that’s not chicken broth, though...”
Rosie sighed again, listlessly looking around. The cell corridor was empty save for the two of them, the guards busy with escorting the other residents to the kitchen for tonight’s...Rosie froze. His eyes widened, his horns perked, and a glob of excited drool plopped from his fat tongue to the dirt floor. The corridor is EMPTY! With an anxious look in all directions to double-check, Rosie clasped a furry paw to Gonzo’s sleeve. “Gazza! Gazza!”
“It is chicken broth? Wow, thanks for warning me! That could’ve been really awkward,” Gonzo said, hurriedly setting aside the soup, but Rosie was shaking his head, and beckoning him in close. “Uh...do I have a noodle stuck up my nose or something?” Gonzo wondered. He really wanted to look his best tonight; he’d worn his nattiest purple-and-orange plaid suit, and the stylish waistcoat printed all over with a pumpkin-and-candy-corn pattern, hoping he’d run into Camilla after the whole official ceremony thing was done.
“Gazza! Fah seggemony –“
“Right, it’s tonight, I know! Hey, can I tag along to your pep rally? Are there gonna be cheerleaders?”
Impatiently, the pink-fuzzed monster shook his head. “Nagga! Gah seggemony wabba aleesha wah helza um urffa!”
Gonzo raised one eyelid, puzzled. “Well, yeah, I kinda figured that...I mean, what else do you hold a Grand Ascension for, if not to open a black maw of horror and let loose the hounds of heck?” At Rosie’s stunned gape, Gonzo grinned and patted his friend’s shoulder. “So, tell me about the cheerleaders! Do they have pom-poms? Pom-poms are cool.”
Trying again to get across the utter seriousness of the situation, Rosie picked up the carton of chow mean and a chopstick. He showed the thin bamboo stick to Gonzo. “Ezza youga, ahkay?” He pointed at the carton, where the food was growling and quivering. “Ezza dah heggate, ahkay?” He walked the chopstick blithely up to the carton and then plunged it in; the chow mean snarled and a froth of fried noodles crunched the stick to bits in seconds. Tossing aside the vicious entree, Rosie held up both hands placatingly. “Dunza zee?”
Gonzo frowned briefly. “You mean, when your boss opens this dark portal thingy, I’m going to be thrown into it?”
Rosie nodded so vigorously he spattered his own eyeballs with drool. Wiping them desperately, he expounded, “Gazza an Muppah ez saggafizes!”
“Oh, a sacrifice!” Rosie nodded again. Relaxing, Gonzo beamed at him. “Oh...well, sure, that makes sense! If you’re gonna open a dimension full of evil and terror, you really should throw in a sacrifice, I hear. That seems to be the accepted thing. Hey, that’s cool that your boss is old-school enough to remember that! I bet he never puts his elbows on the table or talks with his mouth full either, does he?”
Rosie’s jaw hit the ground with an audible thump. Gonzo picked up the chow mean again, jabbing at it with the remaining chopstick. “This doesn’t have tree fungus, does it? Aww...nuts...I love that stuff...” Just as Rosie was about to explode, Gonzo stopped. His head jerked up, eyes wide. “Wait just a minute! They’re gonna sacrifice me?”
“Yagga!” Rosie yelled, jumping up and waving his arms.
Gonzo’s fur paled to turquoise. “Oh man. Well that’s not very considerate!” He threw aside the protesting noodles, standing up. “Rosie, we gotta get out of here!”
“Yagga!” Rosie shouted agreement, inexpressibly relieved. The two of them immediately headed at a fast trot along the prison corridor. Rosie thought fast, trying to plot the safest route to the surface. He directed Gonzo in a right turn, then a left, and then as he grabbed Gonzo’s shoulder to swing him through a tiny opening to a parallel tunnel, something wobbly and pink zoomed through from the other side. “Aggh!” Rosie quailed away from the wildly flopping, tentacled thing.
“Aww! Mon-ster! Yip! Yiiiiip yip yip yip yip!” the pink thing exclaimed in a monotone. A blue thing nearly identical to it swooped through the hole, also yipping and flailing its ropy appendages.
“What the hey?” Gonzo said, startled. A blue snout with whispery whiskers thrust through the opening, and suddenly a phantom in a moldy cloak stepped into the corridor, throwing both arms over his head.
“Ah hah!” cried Uncle Deadly in his best baritone. “At last, we find some semblance of—“
“Raggaaahhhh!” Rosie screamed, yanked Gonzo off his feet, and bolted, dragging a very surprised Whatever along with him in the strength of sheer terror.
“But wait! Rosie!” Gonzo choked, but the overwhelmed monster paid no heed, hauling fur as fast as his flat feet would carry them both.
In the suddenly quiet tunnel, Deadly stared at the raggy things. They’d darted behind him when the three-eyed monster roared, and now crept slowly out, bobbly eyes bouncing in every direction. “Mm. Awww. Mon-ster gone?”
Deadly’s lip curled in contempt. With a huff, he swept his cloak around him and skulked after the vanished daredevil.
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Where do the cables go? Is there some kind of master control booth back here? Newsie wondered, examining the tangle of thick black electrical and coaxial cables snaking from all points around the enormous cavern; they all seemed to join up at the bottom of the sloped room, and slipped under or behind a giant projection screen. He’d ducked in here after a long, tiring chase which seemed to go in circles through the tunnels. At least this room was quiet and unoccupied by roaring hordes of furry things... Maybe this is where they screen the monster movie of the week, he thought. This didn’t seem to get him any closer to Gina, but...if there’s a master control, maybe I can shut down their whole station! He immediately wished Rhonda were here; as a reporter, his knowledge of the tech side of broadcasting was limited to making sure his mic was switched on, and sometimes he did that wrong, too. With a frown, Newsie approached the giant screen, when suddenly noise and movement came from behind him. Newsie ducked behind the screen, holding his breath in the tight space between the suspended high-tech sheet and the rough cavern wall.
“...All of ‘em to the ballroom? That’s gonna get crowded,” a heavy, slow voice complained.
A hissing, slithery sort of voice replied, irritated: “Of courssse not all of them! Jussst the Muppet onesss on the lissst! The resssst can wait in the kitchensss; I am sssure when hisss ineffable disssgussstingnesss assssends, he will be very...hungry.” Things chuckled; Newsie held absolutely still. “Sssee to it that the weirdo isss brought to the ballroom at the proper time, along with Van Neuter. And make sssure that reporter Muppet isss found quickly! His hideoussssness is much pleassed to hear he hasss been sssighted in the ssstudiosss, but he mussst be found before the ceremony; our underlord very much wissshesss him to ssserve asss the thirty-firsst ssacrifisse! I musst go sssspeak with Carl; our massster wissshesss him to remain on the air in between the haunted houssse coverage to provide sssome sssort of humor. Although persssonally I find the idea of the nasssty little felt-thingsss being taken into the darknessss one...by...one...terribly funny!” That hissing laugh sounded again, along with a dutiful chortle by the deeper voice. The Newsman continued to hold his breath, starting to feel faint; when he heard footsteps fade away and all was silent again, he gasped, slumping against the wall.
Oh frog. Oh frog no. This is horrible! His knees weak, his whole body trembling, the Newsman pressed his back to the wall just to keep from sinking. What do I do? How do I stop them? What if I can’t? He gulped, fighting a surge of panic. Where’s Gina? What have they done with her? I can’t find her...what if she’s...I’m just a Muppet! What do I do? What CAN I do?
Desperate, he clung to the wall. His fingers found a junction box. Shut down the signal. Nobody’s said anything about it being knocked out so it must still be operating...which means Rhonda... He swallowed a lump of emotion threatening to choke him. Oh, Rhonda, no...
Trying to focus on what he might be able to do here, doing his best not to give in to the certain grief trying to well up in his chest, Newsie turned and eased his flashlight from his knapsack. He’d lost his mask in the dash from the game-show studio, but at least he still had this. Some good that does! Gina’s lost in here somewhere, Rhonda’s...not here, and those hideous things are going to do something awful to any Muppet they get their claws on! Have to stop them...have to find Gina and get out before... Shivering, he cut off all such thoughts, determined to do something to block the nefarious plans. He squinted at the junction box. It was solidly screwed to the wall, and he didn’t have anything which might serve to open it. The cables, however, didn’t end there, but continued on; sliding himself awkwardly sideways, Newsie traced the connections to the far edge of the huge screen, where the cables wrapped around a corner of jagged rocks. Cold air radiated out from the opening to another, narrower tunnel. Newsie paused, feeling suddenly hesitant to shine his light down this new path. It’s almost hidden behind the screen, he realized. If you didn’t know this was there... Could this be where they’re keeping Gina? He did his best to steel his foam, and took a step closer to the secret tunnel. A low, distant whistle sounded from within. Newsie jerked back, flattening himself against the cavern wall. Two seconds later, a large white caterpillar the height of a Doberman barreled past, undulating wildly as it ran into the tunnel like a dog called to dinnertime.
Newsie held his breath, eyes wide, feeling an actual air current blowing back his hair as the thing freight-trained its way down the tunnel; it took what seemed like a full minute to pass him completely. What the **** was THAT? More sounds from the cavern room disturbed him. Peeking very cautiously around the bottom edge of the screen, he saw something which made him jerk back, and his breath caught in his throat. Monsters! Oh frog I’m caught! I’m dead! They’re all...coming... He heard a voice very near the front of the room, close by the screen, mutter, “Man, ya’d think we could at least bring popworms...”
“Dude, come on! Where’s your holiday spirit?” another growling voice exclaimed. “Wave your pom-poms a lot and maybe the Underlord’ll notice ya! Then you can have all the popworms ya want!”
As a low argument about allowing snacks into pep rallies continued, and more and more growls, chirrups, and strange sounds began to fill the echoing auditorium. Newsie realized no one had spotted him. Yet. They’re here for a...a pep rally? What the hey? He slowly eased away from the edge of the screen, concealing himself fully behind it. His trembling fingers found some of the cables bolted to the wall, and he hung on, terrified of the slightest movement giving him away. Nowhere to run now. He’d have to stay there, motionless, while these things enjoyed their entertainment, whatever horrid thing that turned out to be...
He didn’t have to wait long. A crackle and hiss from the speakers mounted around the screen made him jump, but luckily the screen itself was securely fastened and didn’t wobble to give him away. The rumble of monsters seemed to fill the space, a mass of voices and a morass of smells informing the Newsman that hundreds of nasty beasts now crowded between him and the way out. The same slithery voice he’d heard earlier called out, “Isss everyone here?”
A roared chorus served as reply. “Exssssellent!” the voice crooned, moving closer to the screen. “All of you, on thisss mossst magnifissent, malefissent of all nights, lissten to your lord and massster! O our wondroussssly horrible lord, we sssserve you!”
A deep, chilling voice boomed from the speakers. “Welcome, my children! Welcome, all those who have chosen to turn their backs on the light and the sappy sweetness of their night of treats in favor of this – our night of endless screams, limitless horror, and unbounded power! Welcome!” The monsters roared, cheered, pounded the floor. Newsie shuddered. “Tonight is our night, the time when at last I shall arise reborn even more terrible and wondrous, and lead you all up into their world...where we shall tear, and claw, and eat our fill!” Someone in the front row swooned, moaning. “But my beastly brethren, you must remember, there is no great victory without sacrifice! I am aware that some among you have nurtured a...fondness for those hideously cute creatures who call themselves Muppets.” A frightened hush swept the crowd. “You must set aside any pity for them, any sympathy, any thought at all which does not lead to the inevitable execution of each and every one of them! For it is they, my foul friends, who are responsible for all the abuse you have ever encountered...they are the ones who relegated you to comic roles when you should have been eating them at every meal! They are the ones who hold the simpering public above in their nasty little felted hands! They are the ones who take our jobs, our rightful place as the ones the surface-dwellers worship with their paparazzi and their fan clubs and their websites!” Listening, Newsie wondered how the heck anyone could believe this irrational nonsense – but the monsters cheered.
“So as you go forth to your assigned tasks this evening, keep in mind who the real enemy is – the Muppets!” The crowd growled and snarled agreement loudly. “They are all that stands in the way of us assuming ultimate power in this city! And once we have the city, the whole world shall bow to us in cowardly fear, in quivering respect, and in abject surrender! At the unholy hour of ten-thirty-one tonight, we shall as one act, and rend, and destroy – and offer up this sacrifice to the darkest powers – and then, my hideous children, ahhh, then!” The voice sounded almost delirious with pleasure. Newsie felt ill, and clung to the wall desperately. “Then I, your lord and bounteous master, shall give myself over to that power completely, and arise again as the most monstrous monster ever to crawl the blighted face of this sorrowful earth! And you, all of you, shall join me as we surge up through the gutters and the sewers and the subways like an unstoppable tide – a red tide of blood and fury and glory!”
The crowd roared so loudly the whole cavern shook. Frightened, Newsie looked at the rough rock ceiling, wondering what lay above it: more rock? A subway tunnel? Was a chunk of Chinatown about to collapse in on this horrible cavalcade? The underlord, quieting slightly, continued: “So go forth, my wonderful worgs, my gibbering goblins, my fractured Frackles, and be about your duties with a cheerful heart and a determined mind! Think with my thoughts, act as my hands, and when the time comes at last, hesitate not to rip every bleating little Muppet heart from their squishy ribcages and let the darkness consume them all!”
Shutting his eyes, the Newsman flattened his own resilient ribs against the back wall, gasping, hearing an entire cave full of monsters howling their approval. The thought that he’d been absolutely right about them all still didn’t increase his chances at getting out of here alive.
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Beaker meeped, giving Bunsen a thumbs-up from across the hotel lobby. The crowd of milling Muppets quieted somewhat as Kermit looked around, making eye contact to get everyone’s attention. Honeydew beamed. “Well! Everything seems to be working properly, so it’s time to get this party started! You are transmitting live...” He checked his watch, counting down the seconds, then pointed at Beaker in the old office. “Now!” Beaker pushed a big lever down, and checked the transmitter strength. He nodded at Bunsen again.
“Ahem...okay, listen up, everyone!” Kermit called out. The last murmurs died down, save for Janice, standing at the foot of the decrepit-seeming grand staircase.
“...but, like, I would never leave a friend alone with Pe...” Suddenly noticing the silence, she blushed and shut up, deliberately looking away from the king prawn nearby.
Kermit nodded. “Okay. I just want to say, welcome, everybody! I’m really glad so many of you were able to participate tonight for this important event, which will benefit so many Muppets who...ah...who...”
“Who otherwise would not have the benefit of legal counsel in a world which so often discriminates against us!” Everyone looked at the one person in the room not wearing a ‘Ham in a Cabin’ tee-shirt, the young olive-felted rep from the law firm.
“Right,” Kermit said. “Everyone have their headlamp turned on and their sensor attached?”
Mumbles of agreement and assent filled the room. Pepe grumbled, “Like they could have provided headbands that actually fit all of us, okay!” While most of the Muppets had no trouble with the miner-style headlamps on their foreheads, shooting tiny rays of reddish light around as people nodded and looked at one another, the prawn and Rizzo the Rat had been forced to improvise, belting the headbands around their waists. Even then Pepe’s kept sliding down, although Rizzo’s rested just above his belly; he’d tagged along with some kid relations just before arriving here to snag some of their trick-or-treat haul. Camilla clucked softly around the band held in her beak, aiming it up at Beauregard.
He blinked at her. “Hey, you got yours to work! How come mine’s not on?” The janitor’s lamp was on, but shining from the back of his head since he’d put it on backwards. He frowned, then brightened abruptly. “Will you be my walking buddy?”
“Remember, your sponsors will pay more toward the charity fund if you complete the entire circuit of the hotel, so pay a visit to every room!” Bunsen informed them. He rubbed his hands excitedly. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun! Ready, Beaker?” Beaker meeped and nodded, and Bunsen waved once at everyone before trotting to the office to ensconce himself at the FX board for the night. “Let’s get it started, hah! Let’s get it started in here!” he sang, and slammed shut the hidden panel.
Rizzo looked up and around glumly. “Does dat mean we hafta go upstairs?”
Pepe sniffed, drawing himself up with a disdainful toss of his antennae. “Jou are such a rice cake, okay! It’s like a fun house! Are jou scared to go in those at the carnivals already?”
Rizzo snapped at him, “Naw, the carny stands are more my style...and the food! Oooh, elephant ears and cotton candy...” His stomach rumbled. Remembering he’d just been insulted, he retorted, “I bet you don’t even go on da merry-go-round!”
“Ahh, the Tunnel of Loooove is the best ride, amigo.”
“Where should we start first, Uncle Kermit?” Robin asked, still bouncing up and down on tiptoe as he’d done for the past hour and a half.
“Well, why don’t we start on the top floor, and work our way down?” Kermit suggested.
“Why not start here, and work our way up?” Scooter countered. Sara, the tallest member of the group present, giggled and locked her elbow in his.
“Bet we hit all the rooms before you guys do!” she teased the frog and entourage.
“You’re on!” Robin chirped. Piggy smiled, batting her lashes.
“As long as we’re done soon, what difference does the approach make?”
Fozzie Bear tapped Rowlf’s arm nervously. “Hey, Rowlf? You don’t think this is a...a real haunted hotel, is it?”
A low, spooky moan filtered through the room just then, directionless, fading before anyone could orient on it. Rowlf blinked at the ceiling. “I don’t see any speakers...”
“Oh noooo,” Fozzie groaned. When Rowlf shrugged and headed for the archway to the formal dining hall, Fozzie ran to catch up with him. “Wait! Why are you going that way first? Is it safer?”
The dog scratched an ear. “Well, I figure if there are any spooks, best place to sniff ‘em out first is the bar!”
Dumbfounded, Fozzie asked, “Why’s that?”
“’Cause then I’ll be able to smell the boos!”
Fozzie halted, startled, then ran after the dog again. “Aaahhh! Fun-neee!”
“Sheggen der cooken-platzen too,” the Swedish Chef agreed, heading after Rowlf.
Sam the Eagle reluctantly joined him. “I suppose looking around on this level first is sensible, since we’re already here...though I still fail to see the point of all this...set dressing,” he scoffed, avoiding the cobwebs with distaste. “Really, don’t they ever clean in here? There’s no way Fodor’s would ever give this establishment more than one star!”
“Man, this place gives new meaning to the phrase check-out time!” Floyd Pepper commented, tailing after Dr Teeth as the bandleader headed slowly up the staircase.
“Come on, maybe they left some of those fluffy robes!” Teeth joked, cautiously holding the wobbly railing as he ascended.
“Oh, wow, like I wonder if this place has a spa?” Janice asked, following them.
“Spa! Spa!” Animal barked, pausing to gnaw the balustrade before Floyd jerked his chain upward. He bounded up the stairs. “Man-i-cure! Man-i-cure! Hah ha ha ha ha!”
“I wonder if this place has an exit?” Floyd returned.
Zoot just shook his head, staring down at his tee-shirt as he climbed the stairs. Somehow he’d managed to put it on back-to-front, and he was trying to figure out why the cartoon sketch of Piggy made her look nicer than usual.
“Glad you could all chip in,” said Miles Blandish, looking bored, but the boar he spoke to perked up.
“Oh, it’s always nice to give back something to my adoring fans,” Link Hogthrob told him earnestly. “You...you did say all the money was going to the Hogthrob Adoration Club, right?”
“Only if it’s for a lobotomy for the one fan in it,” Dr Julius Strangepork grumbled. He sighed, trotting toward the dining room, where shrieks and moans and eerie laughter sounded. “Come on, let’s do this. Who knows? It might prove to be fun!”
Link trembled. “But...but...it sounds kind of...scary in there...”
“Oh, come on, Link, it’s chust a fun house! Nutting really spooky!”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Link agreed, nodding rapidly. He pushed Miss Piggy ahead of him. “Better go check it out, First Mate Piggy. It sounds a little too, uh, immature for a manly hog like me!”
“Oh, brother,” Piggy growled. “Listen, you foamheaded chicken –“ At a protest from across the room, she amended, “Sorry, Camilla! Listen, you lily-livered yellow suckling, I’m doing this gig with my frog, so get lost! Go check it out yourself!” She shoved Link through the dining room doorway, and immediately a recorded howl was followed by a girlish shriek and the crash of wooden chairs.
“Upstairs or down?” Walter asked, bouncing on his toes in his saddle shoes, pleased as punch to be included in a charity event benefiting Muppets.
“Down!” Lew Zealand exclaimed, pointing his fish up. “What’s that, Beatrice?” He put the fish to his ear. “Beatrice says, let’s start in the middle and then we’ll be able to go both ways at once!”
“I don’t think it works like that,” Walter murmured, confused.
Wanda shrugged, brushing back her wavy hair. “Any way we do it, look on the bright side: the scariest possible thing has already been crossed off the list and we don’t have to worry about running into it!”
Walter quirked an eyebrow at her. “How’s that?”
She smiled sweetly. “Wayne couldn’t attend...too busy throwing his twenty-third comeback CD release party.”
Lew chortled. “Now that is scary! Whuh-huh-huh!”
Kermit took his wife’s hand on one side and his nephew’s on the other. “Come on, guys! Let’s show the world Muppets aren’t scared of anything!” Leaning closer to Piggy, he murmured, “Especially not fake ghosts!”
She snorted, delicately starting up the stairs alongside him. “Wish the dirt was fake...”
In the command center, Bunsen giggled at the group experiencing the talking skull centerpieces in the dining room, and Fozzie and Rowlf jumping, startled, when the phantom pork roast glowered at them in the kitchen. “Oh, isn’t this fun, Beakie? Make sure you switch the feed constantly so the television and web-TV audiences both get a good look at each and every scare!”
“Mee mee,” Beaker mumbled, eyes flicking from one small split-screen to another, trying to keep up with the various views as the Muppets began to split up and explore. Once people spread out in the upper floors, this job would get really hairy. Nagged by worries about the scares he still believed the two of them hadn’t set up, he checked the PKE meter again. The reading was slightly higher than it had been this afternoon. “Me mee mee!” he said, poking Bunsen’s arm repeatedly.
Bunsen glanced over, mildly annoyed. “Beaker, I told you, there’s no cause for alarm unless the reading climbs significantly higher! What you’re seeing is no doubt the fear vibe factor caused by all our colleagues moving about and experiencing elevated heart-rates as our little surprises put them all on edge!” He leaned over, tapping one of the instrument panels. “Look here: everyone’s sensor reading is spiking at least a little! Why, that one there...”
Beaker’s head shot back to the monitor at a loud wail of terror; Link was fleeing the dining room, having never made it as far as the kitchen, chased by a levitating skull. “My, that’s a remarkable spike,” Bunsen continued, not looking up. “You see? Nothing to worry about! You just make sure the live feed of all the cameras and all the participants’ body sensors goes out so everyone watching will want to get involved and pledge more money! All for a good cause, you know.” A wide smile on his round face, the good doctor cracked his knuckles, and then his nimble fingers twiddled over the racks of switches at his command. “Now...time to start pumping up the volume, so to speak...or should I say pumpkin up? Ho, ho, ho!” He pushed the button to operate the dropping, animated jack-o’lantern atop the second landing, making even the stoic Dr Teeth jump in surprise.
Sighing, Beaker turned back to the monitors. So far, nothing bad had happened; at least all the motion sensors seemed to be working, cameras clicking on live as Muppets cautiously approached their ranges. He cut from the Mayhem, now past the silly scare, to the Chef trying to poke the illusory roast pig on the vast grill of the kitchen. The reading on the psychokinetic energy sensor climbed fractionally. Beaker bit his lip glumly. It was going to be a long night, and he already felt primed to run screaming from primetime...
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The audience screamed, whooped, and threw things on cue as Carl strode out on the set from behind a scrim painted with a cityscape in orange flames. “And now here’s the monster you’ve all waited for, and some of you are even waiting because you like him – Carl, the Big Mean Host!” Snookie announced. Carl grinned, his green lips stretched from one yellow horn to the other. Snookie sighed, sitting still on his tall stool by the band, while Big Mama and the Mutations wound down a rocking, off-key version of “Tonight, Tonight” from ‘West Side Story.’
“Hi!” Carl said, and the audience whooped again as the “woop it up” sign flashed over the set. “So hey, what an amazing night, huh? Let’s hear it for the Underlord!” The crowd cheered and smacked one another, each monster striving to outdo his fellows in a display of violent loyalty, aware that the camera was on them. Carl also clapped dutifully before going on. “In honor of the big night, we’ll be live all evening, interrupting the Muppet-napping going on upsta—oops, I mean, the charity walk,” he sneered, to much laughter. “We’ll be interrupting them throughout the broadcast, to remind the surface-dweebs who’s really running this holiday – the monsters!” More roars of approval.
Snookie slumped, disheartened. All night? Great. That’s just great. He still didn’t know what “wonderful surprise” Carl had planned for him tonight, but he’d seen the pretty blue-and-pink-felted girl backstage briefly as they dragged him out and chained him to the stool, and she’d been wearing an apron and poufy white hat, so he had a fairly good idea he wasn’t going to like his role. Carl gestured at a large screen being lowered behind the set. “We’ll be able to keep an eye on the tasty little critters with this, and boy, I promise you, it’s gonna be the food documentary to end all food documentaries!” He grinned wider, lifting his horns at an angle towards one another. “But before we get to that, let’s take a look at our Monster Kitchen! Stinky?”
The camera cut backstage, where Constanza sullenly looked up from a huge mound of dough. “My flunky Stinky here’s putting together a wonderful piecrust dough! Tell us about the spices, Stinky!” Carl said.
The felted girl just glared at the camera a moment, then went back to kneading a pile of gooey dough almost as big as herself on a marble board on the floor. In the background, a huge pie tin was visible. The audience laughed. Carl shook his head. “Talkative little thing, ain’t she? We’ll keep checking in as she makes us all a Halloween treat – and a trick for my able-felted sidekick, the eminently lip-smacking Snookums!” The audience cheered. Carl beamed, displaying his one good tooth, slowly rocking back and forth on his huge hindpaws, hands jammed into his furry pockets. “Right now, let’s check in with the haunted house spookfest. Coming up on this very special edition of Monsters Tonight: our very distinguished, and extinguished guest, the legendary Spawn Chaney Junior!”
The crowd whooped. Carl retreated to his desk as the station feed went back to the charity walk going on upstairs. He sipped from a mug shaped like a Frackle skull, then walked over to Snookie. “Okay, buddy, time for your costume fitting, heh heh heh...”
“What costume?” Snookie demanded. “You’re not really going through with that pumpkin-pie shtick, are you?”
“You bet your sweet nummy tuchis I am! Get back there!” Carl followed the stagefrackles as they dragged an unwilling yellow Muppet offstage, and began pulling a fat orange bodysuit onto him.
“You gotta be kidding!” Snookie argued. He looked behind him; Constanza gave him a worried look, but said nothing, beginning to roll out the dough. Desperately Snookie smacked the padded glob of a pumpkin costume threatening to smother him. “Come on! You can’t bake me in that wearing this! It’s not even real pumpkin!”
Carl grimaced. “Ahhh, Muppet foam, polystyrene, who cares? It’s not like those schlubs have any concept of gourmet cooking anyway! This is just pop-culture food, Snookums!” He pointed at the pie tin. “Be ready to make like a pumpkin and get all mushy for the camera! I gotta intro the guest.” He hurried out to the front of the sophisticated talk-show set.
The wardrobe freaks finally tugged the last stifling chunk of orange foam into place, nearly covering Snookie entirely. He stood there in dismay, trying an experimental step, and nearly toppled over; the outfit covered him stuffily from his chin to his toes and fingertips, and they’d strapped a fake pumpkin lid with a curly stem atop his head, just adding insult to the whole gig. He turned his head as much as he was able to just barely see Constanza; she was unfolding the gushy crust into the giant tin. “Please tell me you’re not going along with this,” he muttered at her.
She stopped, giving him an exasperated head-shake. “What am I supposed to do? He threatened to make me have a bite too if I didn’t prep the pie for him!”
“Well, hey, thanks for not wanting to bite into me,” Snookie snapped, vainly trying to wriggle at least one arm free of the ridiculous costume.
“Not like that,” she muttered. Surprised, Snookie looked at her again.
“What?”
She glanced at the stagefrackles, but they all seemed intent on the monitors which would cue them for the next shift of camera feeds. Quickly she darted over to him, and whispered, “They can’t bake you and serve you up to the whole audience – you’ll be killed!”
“Not like he hasn’t baked me bef—wait, what?” Snookie stared at her in horror. “Serve me up? As in cutting? As in knives?”
She held up an enormous cake server with a festively pumpkin-themed handle. “More like a pie spatula.”
“Erg!” Snookie choked. Constanza tossed another frightened glance at the crew, then grabbed the front of Snookie’s foam pumpkin-body.
“I won’t let him,” she hissed. “We’ll get you out of here!”
And then she kissed him.
Snookie’s normally sleepy-lidded eyes flew wide open. When Constanza pulled back, her own eyes fierce, he gaped at her. “Wha...? You...”
“I,” she restated, bringing her lips closer to his with every word, “won’t. Let. Them. Hurt you.” And she pressed her soft felt to his again.
Snookie’s eyes shut, and he kissed her back, hesitantly at first, then with all the passion that certain death tended to engender. She tasted of cloves. He pulled back uncertainly. “You don’t smoke those funny cigarettes, do you?” he asked.
She glared at him. “Come on, Mr Charming. Get out of that stupid vegetable.”
Together, stealing fearful looks at the stage crew intent on the laughter from the audience as Spawn Chaney performed a scene from his most famous film, ‘Peoria After Midnight,’ the two Muppets struggled to pull Snookie’s foam from the stiffer plumpness of a fake pumpkin destined for the stomachs of a rowdy crowd.
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