Rayne & Delilah's Midnite Matinee(11)

“Well, it sucks to see you!”

“All right, all right. Let’s get to the letters, you old grump,” I say.

We do a couple run-of-the-mill thank-you letters with a pause after each for Arliss to insert the sound of applause.

Arliss dips his hand below the drape, comes up with a letter in Frankenstein’s arms, and hands it to me.

I clear my throat to read. “This one comes to us from…Chad? Chad in Macon. Hi, Chad! He writes: Dear Midnite Matinee, I generally enjoy your show, but I must take issue with your use of the name Frankenstein for a puppet who is clearly intended to be Frankenstein’s Monster. This may seem like a minor quibble, but I believe that it is important to treat texts—especially such vital ones of the horror canon—with scrupulous accuracy. Yours truly, Chad.

I leave a beat before speaking so Arliss can insert the old-timey car horn sound effect. “Well, Chad. Here’s the thing: imagine what you care about least in this entire world.”

“It could be anything,” Josie says. “The state of the Malaysian economy.”

“The process by which shoelaces are manufactured.”

“The size of the possum population in Cleveland.”

“Imagine those things you care so little about. We care even less that you’ve got your undies in a twist over our puppet’s name.”

“Hang on, Delilah, let’s ask Frankenstein if he cares that we call him Frankenstein instead of Frankenstein’s Monster.”

Arliss pops up his hand. He’s always game for crapping on our insufferable letter writers. “Yeah? What?”

“Do you care if people call you Frankenstein instead of Frankenstein’s Monster?” I ask.

“I don’t care even one little bit, and I think anyone who does needs to get out more.”

I toss the letter over my shoulder. “Well, there you go, Chad. Maybe you can go get a snack or go pee every time Frankenstein is on our show.” I wait a beat for Arliss to insert a crowd-booing sound effect.

“Okay, next letter. Frankenstein?”

Arliss hands Josie a letter.

“All right, viewers, this one comes to us from Troy in Spokane. Hi, Troy! He says: Dear Rayne and Delilah, I wanted to say that I’m a big fan of Midnite Matinee and I’ve been watching for almost all the time that your show has been airing on my local station. I love your senses of humor and the fun little skits you guys do during the movie. You always crack me up. Stay cool and keep up the good work. Love, Troy.

Josie turns over the letter. “Oops, there’s more.

PS: I had this weird idea for a funny skit you guys could do. Maybe some time you could crush raw eggs with your bare feet and then— Arliss pops his hand back up. “Uh-oh! Abort! Abort! Heading to Weirdville!”

“Oh, Troy,” Josie says, shaking her head, lowering the letter to her lap, a note of dawning understanding in her voice.

“Troy, Troy, Troy. We were rooting for you,” I say. I kinda saw it coming. I’ve developed a sort of pervert sixth sense. It’s not so much the stuff our letter writers are into. Who cares about that? To each their own. It’s that maybe just don’t tell two high school girls about it, especially when they didn’t ask.

“You blew it, Troy. You blew it by being gross,” Josie says.

“You’re a creep, Troy,” Arliss says.

“I think we need to scream these letters a little better, Frankenstein. Get it?” Josie says, winking broadly.

“Like ‘screen’ but ‘scream’ because we can’t resist a horror-related pun,” I say, returning her wink, after leaving a beat for Arliss to insert a rim shot or booing.

“Should we do one more letter?” I ask.

Arliss pops up. “Nope. Frankenstein’s good at this point.”

“All right, then,” Josie says. “I guess that settles it.”

She starts telling our viewers where they can send their non-weirdo letters, when, out of the corner of my eye, I see my phone light up and jitter around. Adrenaline clangs in my ears like a fire alarm. I swear, if it’s not the email I’m waiting for, it will validate my theory that you are never, ever more popular than when you’re expecting an important email.





We cut and Delia dashes to her phone, her face slick and pale with queasy anticipation. She picks it up, checks, and disappointment registers. Her shoulders fall. My heart hurts for her. She’s visibly dejected as we film the show’s farewell segment.

As we come off set, Arliss reaches into the box of letters and tosses a glossy mailer at me before starting to wind up cables. “Here, this came for y’all a couple months back. Forgot to give it to you.”

I pick it up off the floor. It’s an advertisement for ShiverCon, a convention for makers of horror films, horror hosts, and film buffs. It’s the biggest con of its kind. This year it’s being held in Orlando. We’ve never gone, even though we’d like to—Delia more so than me. I debate whether to even show this to her. It might just bum her out, since we probably can’t go. Work schedules, money, etc. She removes the choice from me.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“A thing for ShiverCon.”

“Lemme see.”

I hand it to her, kneel, and scratch Buford behind the ears. He gives me an even, slightly reproachful gaze, like It’ll take you a while to work off this debt. “I know, Bufie Bear, I know. But you’ve been a very good boy today.” I start helping Buford out of his little suit.