The Begining of the Midnight Hour

The smell of marinated chicken on the stove fills the apartment. The high pitched buzz of the old television penetrates throughout the house. A young boy is sitting down on the gray carpet with his legs crossed, his eyes focused on the tube’s screen. His mind is being filled with all the happenings of the world, wars in the east and petty, fatal crimes in the west. He rests his head on his hands and plops his elbows on his knees. Oblivious to the crackle and pop of the food cooking on the stove, he continues to stare at the moving figures.

 

“—last night’s beautiful award ceremony had all the celebrities coming out onto the red carpet. Our fashion expert is here with us to show us who dressed the best and worst. Ted, are you there?”

 

The young boy shifted his body as beautiful women flashed across the screen wearing backless gowns. His crystal balled eyes were much more open now and even with remote in hand, he had no intention of changing the channel. A man came on the screen wearing a black suit with an eye straining pink shirt underneath. With his huge smile, he looked like a man of astuteness, a man of importance.

 

“—and thank you, Elle. Well, tonight all the stars came on out, actress after actor after actress. But what you really want to know is where you can get shoes that the celebrities wear, but for cheap. Welcome ladies and gentleman to the channel 7 news special, Beauty for Cheap.”

 

The boy continued to watch the man’s rant. He moved backwards, leaning his back up against the couch. Sensing the onset of boredom, the child lifted the remote and pointed it to the screen to change the channel. The dumb man squawked on about designer shoes for women. He nonchalantly said that the pumps cost as much as paying to sponsor a child overseas. The absurdity of it all. The boy didn’t notice the ridiculous comment and even if he did, he wouldn’t care. All that was on his desensitized mind was cartoons, violence, and beautiful girls.

 

He pressed the remote’s buttons impatiently and soon came to a stop. With a look of confusion, the boy slowly laid the remote on the ground. He didn’t find what he was looking for; there were no animated characters to be seen on the screen. It was another special news report but this one seemed more important than the last. A news anchor was furiously looking around the news desk for paper. He looked distraught almost crazed. His hair was not a mess and his tie was loose around his neck, but his eyes were frantic, rolling from one direction to another searching for something.

 

“—folks, once again I apologize, I…”

 

He scrambled for things on his desk.

 

“Where’s my cellphone? I need to know if Erica is fine.”

“Sir, Erica was kidnapped,” a low voice said. It was probably one of the producers behind the camera.

“Shut the hell up, Cody! She’s fine. I just need to call her,” he said distractedly, “Where’s my cell, Cody?”

“Sir, let’s just wrap this up,”

 

“—No! We do this now, on air,” the anchorman shouted. With a swing of his arms, all the papers were sent flying off the desk. The boy could see little because of the papers fluttering in front of the camera’s view. He let out a little chuckle as the mad man shouted at the producer. The boy found it a very good substitute for cartoons.

“Give me your phone. Give me your damn phone, Cody!”

 

The anchorman grabbed his producer by the shirt and grabbed the phone off of his belt. He tapped away on the keypad and dialed the number. With a short pause, he stares at the phone and says a silent prayer. He pushes away Cody as he tries to hear the dial tone. The boy laughs louder. He points at the screen with his finger. The anchorman shouts at everyone to be quiet. There is a period of silence.

 

“Hello? Erica?” the anchorman asked. His anger is gone. A tear rolls down his face. His hands are shaking and his voice is beginning to falter. The boy’s laughter dies down as he watches the man speak on the phone.

“Erica, please pick up, please. I just need to know if you’re—“

 

The TV emitted no sound besides the high pitched buzz; the boy turned it up as loud as he could try to hear what was going on. The cameraman zoomed in on the anchorman. The screen moved forward and fixed itself on the man. Suddenly, the man took a step back and slipped on a paper and fell to his knees. The screen moved to the right to get a better look at him. He grabbed the leg of the news desk like a child would grab the leg of her mother out of fear. The boy’s laughter rose again as he fell over, finding sheer hilarity out of the whole event.

 

“Get away from me. Get away!” the anchorman swings at the camera looking down at him, but misses.

 

Uncontrollable laughter continues as the TV recorded the shouts and screams from the news room.

 

“Erica!” he stops again to swing at the cameras that are watching him. “Nobody has respect for the dead and the dying anymore, do they?” The anchorman gets up off the ground. His voice picks up a stronger tone once he realizes that he is making a fool of himself on air. The grief for his co-anchor Erica’s death diminished behind the embarrassment of crying on television.

“When I find whoever did this, I am going to kill them. You hear me, whoever you are? You are dead.”

 

The giggling goes on as the anchorman goes behind the camera. The boy turns it up louder to hear what is going on.

 

“Cody, when did this happen?”

“Early this morning, sir. It was in the 10 o’clock update. We just forgot to take the report off the desk.”

“This morning?” the anchorman asks himself. He saw Erica this morning and had coffee with her. He remembered her face as if he saw her two minutes ago. He saw her beautiful hand wave over a waiter to order a cold glass of water to stop sultry air from setting in. He brought to mind the smell of her perfume that carried on the wind.

“It was only this morning. How could it have happened? We were together at breakfast and then we went our separate ways and—“

“What is it, sir?”

 

Suddenly he remembered. He saw it in his mind. It was deep in his head but he remembered. He remembered those words that someone shouted that very morning as Erica left to for her car. The same words that he heard come from the other line on the cellphone. His face became wrinkled and a bit of insanity came into his eye. His gritted teeth began to show. The young boy heard the anchorman’s voice get louder and louder until he saw him again in the TV. The boy let out a hearty laugh at seeing the man’s scrunched up face.

 

“I don’t know what the hell you want, but I’ll tell you what I want, I want my fiancé back. I’m going to find you, guaranteed. So you better not ever shout out in the streets again because I’ll hear you and I’ll get you, punks.” The anchorman grabbed the camera and looked directly into it with his enraged eyes. Those three agonistic words which filled his mind with terror, madness and grief left his mouth, violently.

“The Midnight Hour,” he spat loudly into the camera, “you all are going to pay, you hear me? You are going to pay!”

 

The TV screen suddenly went blank. The camera was thrown to the ground. The tube left no sound, only a high pitched hum. The aroma of cooked food was still airborne. The boy laughed on.