“It’s not like that. Nothing at all like that. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Chris sighed. “I’m launching a new business called Creepy Nights. Maybe after a break, we can team up again.”
“Creepy Nights? What kind of name is that? Some kind of strip club for vampires?”
Chris laughed as they walked through the ground floor, studying the remnants of the place’s former radiance. They stopped in front of a weathered and worn painting of a man in a suit and top hat with a pipe. The nameplate beneath read William Wasserman, 1856-1910.
“Of course not. Look around the building. I know it’s not much yet, but I’ll be fixing it up. Creepy Nights is a pay by the minute call center hotline. People will pay hand over fist for horror stories. Trust me. I know this will sell in Riverton. You’ve seen how the people flock to the horror films. It’ll be just like taking candy from a baby.”
“I’m sorry, Chris. Yeah, we need to take a break. I’m not feeling this right now. How much did you sink into this? All I see are construction bills, repairs, and dollar signs.”
“I’d rather not talk about it. Money was never a worthwhile point in this deal.”
“Says you. It was mom’s money. If we’re not talking about finances anymore, then we’ve got no business being shacked up. I’ll get our divorce papers started right away. Are you going to fight me on that?”
Chris brushed a layer of dust from the painting and they became choked up by it as it spread across the room.
“Forget it. Let’s separate awhile. I’ll check on you in a few months. If you get a little antsy, you can do the same. I’m gonna take residence up top.”
Katrina grinned. “Suit yourself. Chris Wilkerson, the high and mighty — towering over Riverton and looking down on the rest of us in his dilapidated building. What about WGBO? You’re just gonna leave the radio station behind to manage itself?”
“Wayne and Ron will take it over. I’ve already discussed it with them.”
“Those guys couldn’t tell their left foot from their right. Are you going to trust them to keep you afloat?”
“See you later, Syl… I mean Katrina.”
Katrina looked back at him in an unfamiliar manner as Sylvia’s eyes emerged. “You can call me Sylvia. I like that.” She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close as she kissed him on the cheek. “Speak to you soon.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
After continued struggles with Katrina, CHRIS WILKERSON moved the bulk of his personal items from the Reinhold estate and townhome, relocating much of it to Creepy Nights. Late one evening, after several nights away from Katrina, he walked the floor, peering out the windows studying Riverton and its changing skyline.
Katrina, I wish you were here. I miss you. Not Sylvia, just you.
Wayne and Ron had taken over his job managing WGBO and the associated responsibilities, only calling a few times for guidance. Things appeared to be working out okay as he began a new chapter in his life.
I’m not going back to the tunnel anytime soon. Joe’s a little too far out there for my liking. We’ll catch up one of these days. No harm… no fowl… wait… no harm, no foul!
Time went on, and Chris continued to improve the Creepy Nights facility, even going as far as having an express elevator installed on the east wing of the building linking Level Eight to Level Zero and an alternate express route that ran from Level Zero to Level Six. He informed the installation crew that it routed to a small storage container in the basement. Within the elevator, Chris had a key panel installed for the Level Six to Level Zero express ride. He wanted to fend off the risk of Joe or other vagrants getting into Creepy Nights without his approval.
Hoping to grow awareness toward the business, Chris brainstormed commercials. Advertising would be his first venture in getting the word out to the surrounding area. Resting in an office chair near an old desk in the room’s corner, he leaned back and propped his feet up.
How did that song on that movie go? Man, that was terrible.
Something catchy would stick best… just like that one had with him. The tune would become stuck on a loop in his mind for hours. The short jingle was far more effective than its producers could have ever imagined. Perhaps, even more memorable than the film itself. It may have been stupid, but it worked well. And then, that’s when the missing piece hit him, just like he hoped. He jotted it down.
Scary, scary, that’s what we do. Scary, scary, we say boo. Scary, scary, we’ll make your dreams come true! NIGHTMARES! HAHAHAHAHA! 1-800-SCARE-ME.
He played an improvised tune on a dusty Yamaha he brought from the townhome. He sang to himself. It was short, goofy, and effective. The KISS method worked just fine. Keep it simple, stupid.
I know what I’ll do. I’ll make a fictionalized version of Joe and play him myself. We’ll do the split-screen thing they are doing on the movies and music videos nowadays. I’ll call him… ‘The Creeper.’ That’s a shtick that’s sure to win. I can see it now. Throw on a little costume shop makeup. Dress up like a bellhop… Hell, I can even sing the theme song for Creepy Nights in a voice like Joe’s. I’ve got it.
WINTER 1982-1983
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NANCY HELBENS pulled the car into the large lot next to the Creepy Nights facility. The building was odd considering its surroundings, sticking out above the abandoned warehouses and storefronts. The pastel purple accents with darker tones across the structure made it unique.
Is this it? Man, it needs some help, a woman’s touch. The paint job is fresh, but it’s awful. That’s for sure. Just another receptionist gig, Nancy. No big deal. Answer a few phones. Greet some customers. Shine the big man’s shoes. Maybe use the lint roller every now and then. I
