Sinking (9/13)
Title: Sinking, Part 9
Series: TCR (real, not fake)
Rating: PG-13 for spookiness and language.
Warnings: Violence and mental instability.
Summary: Producing a television show is no easy feat, but it's fulfilling work-- until a strange presence begins to break everything down.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual. IN SHORT: None of this is real. I just like scary stories.
(Jump to: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13)
On Monday, Allison handed Stephen a tabloid. “Have you seen this?” she asked. “Must be slow in the gossip world.”
THE PHANTOM OF THE REPORT
Comedy's Central's The Colbert Report is one of the channel's number one shows, known for the blustery, conservative persona of its host, Stephen Colbert. Colbert's antics create a carnival of the absurd, highlighting the flaws of personality-driven news analysis shows and indulging in simple silliness. But is the show's studio in downtown Manhattan becoming less of a funhouse and more of a haunted house?
Two weeks ago, as audience members waited in line outside the Report studio, an intern fled the building. According to witnesses, she was in hysterics and refused help from other staff. She was injured, her face slashed. The intern, Katie Wilhelm of New Jersey, was taken to the hospital but refused to give a statement to the police. No member of the Report staff was charged with the assault, and police reported no leads.
A week later, receptionist Roddy Kearns was treated after suffering a panic attack when he was locked in a supply closet. Kearns is claustrophobic. No culprit was pinpointed, and Kearns was the only employee with a key to the closet that day.
But one starts to think that these could be more than a terrible crime and an unfortunate accident after the latest incident.
Four interns were dismissed from the show after causing a fire on the studio's third floor. The four had been holding a séance, and the candles started the blaze.
They were unable to escape the room until Intern Coordinator Carrie Sutherland came to their rescue, opening the mysteriously stuck door and putting out the flames, though by that time the fire alarm and sprinkler system had gone off.
“We could've died,” said one intern, Eileen Garland. “It was so stupid of us. Plus you're not supposed to mess with that stuff. I'm surprised we got out, looking back on it.”
When asked if she was suggesting that a spirit caused the fire and trapped them, Garland refused further comment.
We all know from horror stories with such strings of events that more is undoubtedly on its way. Hopefully the Report staff are prepared.
Stephen snorted and tossed the paper onto his desk. “Spooky.”
“Prepared,” Allison scoffed. “Like we're going to hold an exorcism or something.”
“Heh.”
Their eyes locked for a moment, then they both looked at their laps in awkward silence. Allison was the first to break it.
“I'm sorry, Stephen. I lost my cool.”
“No, it's okay. I shouldn't have been so dismissive of you.”
“Damn right,” she said with a faded smile.
“It's certainly not helping anything,” he mumbled, spinning the tabloid around his desk.
“Definitely not,” she agreed, flopping into a chair. “I think a vacation is in order!” she sighed.
Stephen frowned. “We don't get one until the holidays.”
She rolled her eyes. “I wasn't being serious.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Not really, I guess.”
“We can't just abandon the show.”
“With how it's been going the past two weeks, I don't think it'd be an unwelcome suggestion to take some time off to reset,” she replied pointedly, as if expecting him to agree.
“Oh, so that's it?” he snapped. “You want us to just quit?”
She folded her arms and gave him a weary look. “So much for making up! Relax, Stephen. It was just a thought.”
He glared at her. “Really.”
“Well... maybe not for you,” she relented.
“And why is that?”
She couldn't keep eye contact with him. “Stephen, everyone is upset, but you... To be honest, you've been a little scary.”
“Scary?”
“Different.”
“Different is scary. I see.”
“Everyone else is just... reacting, but they're the same. You, you're being so quiet and angry, and it's not like you at all.”
“What I'm hearing is that it's okay for everyone else to be nervous, but not okay for me.”
“This is exactly what I'm talking about!” she exclaimed. “You're so hostile!”
“I'm sorry for being on edge when this whole place is going to hell!” Stephen snapped. “And you want me to take time off to just let it all fall apart!”
“That's not what I--”
“You don't just quit when things are tough!”
“I know that, I just--”
“I'm not going anywhere!” Stephen shouted.
Allison rapped her fingers on her thigh, but was otherwise very still, and suddenly very solitary. When she opened her mouth again she didn't yell. She only said, “Okay. You're the boss.”
\\\\\\\\\\\\
All day Stephen waited, expecting Jon to call about the article and give some advice, or maybe ream him for not being able to bring his staff to reason. But Jon never called. DJ did, asking for a quick run-down of the topics the Report was going to cover. He said only that Jon was “busy.” Stephen didn't press it.
Allison was speaking to him again, but her tone was always cool, eye contact always critical. But that was the least of his problems amongst the stresses of the day. The interns, instead of losing another card in the city, had lost one of their party and spent two hours finding him. When the writers weren't struggling with writer's block, they argued about what they'd managed to write. Someone had attempted to make a bag of popcorn, but keyed too much time into the microwave and set off the fire alarm. The temp who'd taken over the receptionist duties had, of all things, neglected to check the messages and it was three in the afternoon before Stephen learned that his make-up artist couldn't come in because of a family emergency.
It all boiled up to a last minute panic that was becoming painfully characteristic. Tonight was worse than any other, because Stephen felt that they simply were not ready. They weren't iffy or cautious, just not finished, to the point that delaying the audience with rewrites would have been pointless. He knew they wouldn't be able to pull anything off in time for broadcast.
Stephen put out the effort he could when he ran out to the audience. He smiled as usual, slapping hands and flipping the mic, but he knew those excited faces would soon show only disappointment.
“Any questions?” he asked.
Several hands shot up. He called on a girl in the front row.
“Is this place really haunted?” she asked.
“Yes, by the ghost of skepticism,” Stephen said with a practiced chuckle, then quickly moved on to the next questioner, a young man in the back.
The young man did not give the opportunity for a change in subject. “Did the police ever find out who attacked that staff member?”
Stephen was unable to fake amusement at this one. “I consider that a private studio matter. Next, please. How about you?”
This was an older woman, who looked sensible and surely would ask something nonsensational. “I have friends who could provide spiritual services,” she said earnestly.
“Spiritual serv...” Stephen made a noise halfway between a laugh and a huff. “Um, no, no, thank you. Your concern is appreciated but I don't think that's necessary.”
The woman spoke again before he could move on. “It's best not to deny these things. There's clearly a problem here, and it should be addressed.”
Stephen couldn't help shooting her an annoyed look. “Ma'am, it's a private issue, regardless of what information is public.”
“That doesn't make you immune to knowledgeable, friendly advice.”
“Knowledgeable?” He laughed, and it was not well-mannered. “Next question, please.”
But the woman bristled. “It's not very polite of you to dismiss a helping hand so mean-spiritedly.”
There was no pause. “It's not very polite to stick your nose where it's not wanted,” Stephen snapped. “I am capable of handling the problems in my own studio. I don't need to reach out to an overeager rubbernecker.”
The woman was taken aback, eyes wide. And she wasn't the only one. The rest of the audience, the crew, the staff, they all stared as if he'd lost his mind.
“Uh... wow,” one young man in the back row said awkwardly.
The woman said nothing. She just stood up and walked to the exit. Her three friends followed, as did a few other people from elsewhere in the bleachers, shooting Stephen nasty looks. Mark trailed them with apologies. Allison didn't take her eyes off Stephen, her hand over her mouth.
Stephen waited until the insulted audience members were gone. He clutched the microphone in both hands and kept his eyes on the floor. When the doors to the waiting room closed, cutting off Mark's bewildered voice, Stephen did not ask for any more questions. He dropped the mic to the floor, not flinching at the loud pop over the speakers, and went to take his place behind the desk. “Let's get this over with.”
Series: TCR (real, not fake)
Rating: PG-13 for spookiness and language.
Warnings: Violence and mental instability.
Summary: Producing a television show is no easy feat, but it's fulfilling work-- until a strange presence begins to break everything down.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual. IN SHORT: None of this is real. I just like scary stories.
(Jump to: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13)
On Monday, Allison handed Stephen a tabloid. “Have you seen this?” she asked. “Must be slow in the gossip world.”
THE PHANTOM OF THE REPORT
Comedy's Central's The Colbert Report is one of the channel's number one shows, known for the blustery, conservative persona of its host, Stephen Colbert. Colbert's antics create a carnival of the absurd, highlighting the flaws of personality-driven news analysis shows and indulging in simple silliness. But is the show's studio in downtown Manhattan becoming less of a funhouse and more of a haunted house?
Two weeks ago, as audience members waited in line outside the Report studio, an intern fled the building. According to witnesses, she was in hysterics and refused help from other staff. She was injured, her face slashed. The intern, Katie Wilhelm of New Jersey, was taken to the hospital but refused to give a statement to the police. No member of the Report staff was charged with the assault, and police reported no leads.
A week later, receptionist Roddy Kearns was treated after suffering a panic attack when he was locked in a supply closet. Kearns is claustrophobic. No culprit was pinpointed, and Kearns was the only employee with a key to the closet that day.
But one starts to think that these could be more than a terrible crime and an unfortunate accident after the latest incident.
Four interns were dismissed from the show after causing a fire on the studio's third floor. The four had been holding a séance, and the candles started the blaze.
They were unable to escape the room until Intern Coordinator Carrie Sutherland came to their rescue, opening the mysteriously stuck door and putting out the flames, though by that time the fire alarm and sprinkler system had gone off.
“We could've died,” said one intern, Eileen Garland. “It was so stupid of us. Plus you're not supposed to mess with that stuff. I'm surprised we got out, looking back on it.”
When asked if she was suggesting that a spirit caused the fire and trapped them, Garland refused further comment.
We all know from horror stories with such strings of events that more is undoubtedly on its way. Hopefully the Report staff are prepared.
Stephen snorted and tossed the paper onto his desk. “Spooky.”
“Prepared,” Allison scoffed. “Like we're going to hold an exorcism or something.”
“Heh.”
Their eyes locked for a moment, then they both looked at their laps in awkward silence. Allison was the first to break it.
“I'm sorry, Stephen. I lost my cool.”
“No, it's okay. I shouldn't have been so dismissive of you.”
“Damn right,” she said with a faded smile.
“It's certainly not helping anything,” he mumbled, spinning the tabloid around his desk.
“Definitely not,” she agreed, flopping into a chair. “I think a vacation is in order!” she sighed.
Stephen frowned. “We don't get one until the holidays.”
She rolled her eyes. “I wasn't being serious.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Not really, I guess.”
“We can't just abandon the show.”
“With how it's been going the past two weeks, I don't think it'd be an unwelcome suggestion to take some time off to reset,” she replied pointedly, as if expecting him to agree.
“Oh, so that's it?” he snapped. “You want us to just quit?”
She folded her arms and gave him a weary look. “So much for making up! Relax, Stephen. It was just a thought.”
He glared at her. “Really.”
“Well... maybe not for you,” she relented.
“And why is that?”
She couldn't keep eye contact with him. “Stephen, everyone is upset, but you... To be honest, you've been a little scary.”
“Scary?”
“Different.”
“Different is scary. I see.”
“Everyone else is just... reacting, but they're the same. You, you're being so quiet and angry, and it's not like you at all.”
“What I'm hearing is that it's okay for everyone else to be nervous, but not okay for me.”
“This is exactly what I'm talking about!” she exclaimed. “You're so hostile!”
“I'm sorry for being on edge when this whole place is going to hell!” Stephen snapped. “And you want me to take time off to just let it all fall apart!”
“That's not what I--”
“You don't just quit when things are tough!”
“I know that, I just--”
“I'm not going anywhere!” Stephen shouted.
Allison rapped her fingers on her thigh, but was otherwise very still, and suddenly very solitary. When she opened her mouth again she didn't yell. She only said, “Okay. You're the boss.”
\\\\\\\\\\\\
All day Stephen waited, expecting Jon to call about the article and give some advice, or maybe ream him for not being able to bring his staff to reason. But Jon never called. DJ did, asking for a quick run-down of the topics the Report was going to cover. He said only that Jon was “busy.” Stephen didn't press it.
Allison was speaking to him again, but her tone was always cool, eye contact always critical. But that was the least of his problems amongst the stresses of the day. The interns, instead of losing another card in the city, had lost one of their party and spent two hours finding him. When the writers weren't struggling with writer's block, they argued about what they'd managed to write. Someone had attempted to make a bag of popcorn, but keyed too much time into the microwave and set off the fire alarm. The temp who'd taken over the receptionist duties had, of all things, neglected to check the messages and it was three in the afternoon before Stephen learned that his make-up artist couldn't come in because of a family emergency.
It all boiled up to a last minute panic that was becoming painfully characteristic. Tonight was worse than any other, because Stephen felt that they simply were not ready. They weren't iffy or cautious, just not finished, to the point that delaying the audience with rewrites would have been pointless. He knew they wouldn't be able to pull anything off in time for broadcast.
Stephen put out the effort he could when he ran out to the audience. He smiled as usual, slapping hands and flipping the mic, but he knew those excited faces would soon show only disappointment.
“Any questions?” he asked.
Several hands shot up. He called on a girl in the front row.
“Is this place really haunted?” she asked.
“Yes, by the ghost of skepticism,” Stephen said with a practiced chuckle, then quickly moved on to the next questioner, a young man in the back.
The young man did not give the opportunity for a change in subject. “Did the police ever find out who attacked that staff member?”
Stephen was unable to fake amusement at this one. “I consider that a private studio matter. Next, please. How about you?”
This was an older woman, who looked sensible and surely would ask something nonsensational. “I have friends who could provide spiritual services,” she said earnestly.
“Spiritual serv...” Stephen made a noise halfway between a laugh and a huff. “Um, no, no, thank you. Your concern is appreciated but I don't think that's necessary.”
The woman spoke again before he could move on. “It's best not to deny these things. There's clearly a problem here, and it should be addressed.”
Stephen couldn't help shooting her an annoyed look. “Ma'am, it's a private issue, regardless of what information is public.”
“That doesn't make you immune to knowledgeable, friendly advice.”
“Knowledgeable?” He laughed, and it was not well-mannered. “Next question, please.”
But the woman bristled. “It's not very polite of you to dismiss a helping hand so mean-spiritedly.”
There was no pause. “It's not very polite to stick your nose where it's not wanted,” Stephen snapped. “I am capable of handling the problems in my own studio. I don't need to reach out to an overeager rubbernecker.”
The woman was taken aback, eyes wide. And she wasn't the only one. The rest of the audience, the crew, the staff, they all stared as if he'd lost his mind.
“Uh... wow,” one young man in the back row said awkwardly.
The woman said nothing. She just stood up and walked to the exit. Her three friends followed, as did a few other people from elsewhere in the bleachers, shooting Stephen nasty looks. Mark trailed them with apologies. Allison didn't take her eyes off Stephen, her hand over her mouth.
Stephen waited until the insulted audience members were gone. He clutched the microphone in both hands and kept his eyes on the floor. When the doors to the waiting room closed, cutting off Mark's bewildered voice, Stephen did not ask for any more questions. He dropped the mic to the floor, not flinching at the loud pop over the speakers, and went to take his place behind the desk. “Let's get this over with.”