Only one local show was watched week after week. Frankie Philpot's World of Phreakie Phenomena.
The story, as everyone knew, went like this. Frankie, a mild-mannered dentist, had discovered some years ago a set of gold-filled molars that not only picked up a local radio station, but also (when the patient's arms were held up in just the right position) could tune in voices from the great beyond.
From that moment on, Frankie had dedicated all of his nondental time to exploring the supernatural, and he produced his findings at six o'clock every Thursday night.
His dental practice doubled, of course, since every kid in town wanted a paranormal dentist who might be able to tighten his or her braces just enough to pull in radio signals from dead people—or even better—famous dead people.
Kids watched his show every week, hoping beyond hope that something mystical would actually happen, but nothing ever did.
This week's show, however, promised to be very interesting.
Kevin, Teri, and Josh arrived at the small office building where Franklin I. Philpot, D.D.S., had his offices. The waiting room was empty when they arrived.
"Dr. Philpot has canceled all his afternoon appointments," the receptionist explained through her little glass window. She handed Kevin a small pink card. "This is a voucher for a free teeth cleaning," she told him. "We're sorry for the inconvenience."
"We don't have an appointment," said Kevin. "We just need to talk to him."
"It's an emergency," added Josh.
"There are other dentists," suggested the receptionist, beginning to write them a referral.
"But it's about Elvis!" Teri blurted out.
The receptionist perked up and put down her pen.
"What about Elvis?"
Kevin and Josh turned to Teri. "Yeah, what about Elvis?"
Teri didn't miss a beat. "My retainer," she said. "Of course I can't be sure, but I've been hearing Elvis singing through my retainer." The receptionist didn't quite buy it.
Teri pulled the retainer out of her mouth and held it in the receptionist's face. "You wanna check?"
She grimaced and backed away. "Maybe you'd better show Dr. Philpot." She disappeared into the inner offices, and they snuck in right behind her.
It looked like any normal dental office—several examining rooms with dental couches, X-ray machines, posters about gum disease. The only difference was an office in the back that had been converted into a low-budget television studio.
Hal Hornbeck sat alone in the studio with his feet up, like an emperor, eating chocolates out of a golden bowl.
There was evidence everywhere of Hal's abuse of the glasses—food that must have appeared right before Frankie Philpot's eyes now littered the ground. Philpot was not in sight; he was probably on the phone with someone bigger and more important than himself. This thing was about to blow sky-high, if Kevin didn't do some heavy damage control . . . but he couldn't do that until he got the glasses away from Hal.
"Well, if it isn't the goon patrol," said Hal, not even bothering to stand up. "I knew you'd get here sooner or later."
"I want my glasses now!" said Kevin.
"Extremely Full Nelson!" said Hal, and instantly Kevin felt his neck pressed forward and his feet lifted from the ground, although no one was there. Kevin couldn't talk—could barely breathe. How dare someone use his own glasses against him!
"It's too late," said Hal. "Philpot's already putting me on this week's show."
"You moron! You can't show the glasses on TV," insisted Teri. "Then everybody will want to take them away!"
Hal gave her an ear-to-ear smirk. "Not if they don't know it's the glasses. Right now Philpot thinks I'm the one with the power, and you'd better not tell him different!"
Just then, Frankie Philpot, dentist of the supernatural, burst into the room, fumbling with his video camera. His eyes and hair were wild, as if he had just won the lottery. In his excitement it took him a few moments to notice there were new people in the room.
"Are these your friends?" Frankie asked Hal. "Are they . . . like you?"
"No," answered Hal, "they're mere humans."
"Don't listen to him," began Josh. "He's—"
"Josh," said Hal, "you shouldn't talk with a frog in your throat."
Josh suddenly began to gag and cough. Teri opened her mouth to speak, but when Hal turned to look at her, she shut it again, for fear of what he might do.
Frankie Philpot didn't care about the kids in the corner. He anxiously raised the video camera, ready to record the magic of Hal Hornbeck.
"I've had this power for as long as I can remember," Hal began, once the camera was rolling. "I was born with it...."
Josh kept trying to clear his throat but couldn't stop gagging. Teri, who was trying desperately to free Kevin from the invisible stranglehold, turned to Josh and gave him the Heimlich maneuver.
"Go on," said Frankie, "tell me everything!" This must have been the highlight of Frankie Philpot's life—documented evidence of a supernatural being. "Where are your people from?" he asked.
"Originally Pittsburgh," answered Hal.
Teri gave a tug on Josh's gut, and Josh coughed out a good-sized bullfrog, which shot across the room like a bullet, right into Hal's face, knocking the glasses to the floor.
"Great aim, Josh!" said Teri.
Kevin flexed his arms and neck, spun around, and finally broke out of the Nelson. He dove to the ground on top of the glasses, like a football player recovering a fumble.
Frankie Philpot did not waver; he had a job to do. "Forget about them," he told Hal, never moving the videocam from his face. "Tell me more about yourself."
Kevin and Josh raced out, and Hal was about to follow, when Teri, thinking quickly, took hold of a dental X-ray machine and pulled on the long mechanical arm that connected it to the wall. The thing looked like a huge blue insect head. She aimed it at Hal's chest.
"Make one more move and I'll fry you!" said Teri.
Hal froze in his steps.
At last Frankie lowered his videocam. "Is something wrong?"
Josh and Teri were on his heels, while, much farther behind, Hal was pursued by Philpot, who refused to let any phenomenon go undocumented. "Wait!" he cried to Hal. "I just have a few more questions."
Kevin turned down a dead-end hallway.
Finally he put on his glasses, and the yellow lettering on the steel doorway ahead of him came into clear focus. It said DANGER: HIGH VOLTAGE.
"Kevin, this way!" said Teri as she and Josh turned toward the elevator, at the other end of the hall.
The glasses were already filling Kevin with warmth, taking away his shivers and his headache—but not quickly enough. The electricity was humming behind those doors. Kevin could hear it, and he began to wonder. He pushed the glasses farther up on his face.
All that electricity . . . and only a few feet away . . .
He took a step closer to the steel door of the electrical room, and then another. Josh grabbed his shoulder.
"Don't, Kevin," said Josh, almost reading his mind. "You got the glasses, that's enough.... You don't have to do this."
Kevin shook off Josh's arm. "I want to do it." Kevin reached out, pulled open the door, and looked deep into the rat's nest of high-voltage copper coils.
A heavy wave of electricity shot from the transformer and began to course across the surface of the glasses with the random pattern of a tornado funnel. Josh fell to the ground and grabbed firmly onto a steel doorstop, as if he feared being dragged away.
Up above, the lights began to flicker and dim, as if someone in the next room was getting the electric chair.
Teri and Josh had never seen Kevin charge the glasses. It was an awful, private thing they felt they had no business watching, but they couldn't turn their eyes away.