"Whew! That snow is really falling down. I almost collided with a great big pickup."
In the Ramada lobby, which featured a giant chandelier, Mitch Talbot stomped snow off his boots.
In that same lobby, a man stood, a man with a clipboard. Tall with long blond hair, a beefy Swede if ever there was one in Fargo, the man had some resemblance to Fabio. Or even that long-haired blond henchman in "Die Hard," the one who tried to kill John McLane for killing his brother. It was appropriate to think of "Die Hard" because it involved an office Christmas party, and here Mitch was at his company Christmas party. Hopefully, no hostages would be taken or guns fired.
The Big Swede spoke.
"Welcome, Mr….."
"Talbot. Mitch Talbot. Soon to be president of the company."
"Ah, yes. It is time for your big promotion." Nodding, the Swede consulted his clipboard. "You're on the list."
His name tag said "Gabe." Mitch didn't recognize him from work, though it was a big company. Since Gabe was dressed all in black, he was probably hotel security but he might also be staff.
"Don't worry about that incident," Gabe said. "Everything is all right now."
It was an odd thing to say if he was a security person. But if he was hotel staff, he'd want guests to feel at ease.
"Congratulations, Mr. Talbot. You've made it."
"Thank you," Mitch murmured. As the two briefly shook hands, Mitch saw the lights flicker off. As he glanced up at the chandelier, he laughed a little. "Must be a problem with the electricity."
With his clipboard, Gabe gestured to the open door of the ballroom. "Welcome to the party," he said.
Mitch stepped into the darkness.
Pulse-pounding music played, and in the dim light, Mitch could make out groups of party-goers sipping from champagne glasses while chatting and laughing. For the moment, Mitch didn't see anyone he recognized. Well, it was a big company.
Gloria might be able to point out some people she knew. But she was home sick. Just as well. She wouldn't have liked that near-miss with the pickup.
In the dim light, the people at the party looked like they were in black-and-white. Like one of those old-fashioned TV shows Mitch used to watch with his grandfather.
Suddenly, the room was plunged into pitch black.
Once again, Mitch laughed. "There really is a problem with the electricity." He addressed people he could not see. "Don't worry, everyone. I'm sure we'll get the lights back on. Just try to have a good time in the meantime."
It was Mitch's cordial manner, along with his ability to make hard decisions, that had helped Mitch rise up in the company, despite some personal difficulties.
A figure stepped out of the darkness, close enough that Mitch could somehow make out the grim face. The face was like that of Boris Karloff or even Lon Chaney in his famous role as the Phantom of the Opera. Involuntarily, Mitch gasped, and the figure dashed off.
When Mitch bolted out into the lobby, he nearly collided with Gabe.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Talbot?"
Mitch's usual casual way of talking was gone. "I just saw Ted Swenson. But it couldn't have been Ted Swenson. He's been dead for 14 years."
The camera pans to the narrator, who has complete darkness behind him.
"Mr. Mitch Talbot. Who, on the eve of his big promotion, attends what should be a typical company Christmas party. But this party has some very unusual and unexpected party-crashers. A typical event for….'The Twilight Zone.'"
A commercial break follows.
We return to the episode.
"You're sure it was Ted Swenson?" Gabe's left eyebrow was arched in what could be a skeptical look or just an inquiring look.
Mitch shook his head. "Actually, it was so quick I can't be sure." He laughed, shrugged, shook his head. "You know what? I can't be sure what I saw. Just forget it. I'm probably just seeing things from all the excitement."
He walked back into the darkness of what was called "The Party Room." But the darkness did not allow him to see anyone, and there was no longer any music, conversation or noise of any kind.
"Hello?" he said as his voice echoed. "Is anyone here?"
A spotlight went on. Inside that light, a little boy tilted side to side, as little boys often do.
He stared at Mitch.
"Oh, hello," Mitch said with a twitching grin. "You must be one of the children of one of the employees."
"My dad is having trouble buying food," the boy said flatly.
With a concerned look, Mitch knelt down to talk to him. "I'm sorry to hear that. You know, the company has an Employee Welfare Program. For when people need help with food or gas or car repairs. Whatever the problem might be."
The boy stared a little more, then: "My dad says we're having a tough time because of the Great Depression." As he frowned, he shook his head. "I don't think it's so great."
"You're a very unusual little boy," Mitch said with a little laugh. He took note of what the boy was wearing. In his black cap and black suspenders, he looked like a street urchin out of a Dickens novel. Once he realized this, Mitch laughed some more.
"Oh, wait. I think I know what this is. You're going to be part of a skit. Oh, yes! A Christmas skit." He snapped his fingers. "I bet you're part of a re-enactment of 'A Christmas Carol.' I bet you're Tiny Tim!"
The boy ran off.
"Wait! Come back!"
Mitch turned, and there was someone else.
"How do you do, my dear?"
The spotlight made it so the woman's head was not visible, only her body from the neck down. She wore some type of old-fashioned dress, with a tight lacy white collar and a skirt that almost touched the floor. As a boy, Mitch had seen pictures of his grandmother in such a dress.
"How do you do?" Mitch said with a slight bow. His wife, Gloria, joked that he looked like Michael Weatherly from "NCIS." Good-looking in a conventional way but not so much as to attract overwhelming female attention. Still, there was some interest from the ladies, and Mitch had to learn to be friendly while not encouraging unwanted attention. It was that quality, along with his ability to recall specifics, that had helped him rise in the company.
Of course, Mitch could be frenetic like Weatherly's "NCIS" character Tony DiNozzo. Helpful when making a spirited speech to the company.
"I was on the most delightful cruise," the woman went on. She sounded like the drunk wife in "Miracle On 34th Street."
"Oh?" said Mitch. He was puzzled as to why he could not see her face.
"Yes, it was quite delightful, that cruise. Until we hit that iceberg."
Mitch smirked. He thought the woman must be joking.
"I'll assume this cruise wasn't in the Mediterranean or the Bahamas. Was it a Disney cruise?"
"I'm not familiar with that. Is Disney one of the great shipping magnates?"
"No," Mitch said with a little laugh in his voice. With a slight frown, but a twinkle in his dark eyes, he shook his head. "You know. Walt Disney. Mickey Mouse and the Little Mermaid and all that."
"Oh, my dear," the woman giggled as she brought a hand up to her hidden face. "You're very amusing. But I can assure you we did not run into any mermaids."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Mitch said in a voice of good cheer. When a man with a tray approached, his face also hidden, Mitch gestured to him. "Would it be possible to get a Diet Coke?"
The waiter sounded apologetic.
"I'm sorry, sir. We don't actually serve drinks here."
Mitch's eyes widened as a smile made his cheeks bubbly. "No drinks at a party? That's something!"
"That's rich indeed," the woman said. She held up one hand as if holding a cigarette, except there was none.
"This is a very weird party," Mitch muttered. As the waiter retreated into the darkness, Mitch shrugged. "At least this way Burnsie won't be getting out of line. He's the kind of guy who would dance with a lampshade on his head. If there were any lampshades around." Mitch glanced around. "Where is old Burnsie, anyway?"
"I haven't seen any 'Burnsie.' And I know everyone."
"You do now, do you?"
"Sometimes a person gets held up by some unfinished business, dear."
"Burnsie never misses one of these things. Maybe, like my wife Gloria, he's not feeling well."
The woman sighed. "People come and go so quickly around here."
Mitch waved a finger. "Dorothy said that in 'The Wizard of Oz.'"
"What's….the Wizard of Oz?"
"You know. The most famous movie of all time."
"What's a...movie?"
"Come on! You're putting me on."
"Oh, my dear, I would never do such a thing," the woman said with a light giggle as she waved her free hand. "It's exactly as I say: people come and go so quickly."
"They do indeed," Mitch said, adopting the woman's funny way of talking formally. "My grandfather was a very fast-moving man. Even though he was very old."
"That's very interesting, dear."
Mitch gave her a thoughtful look. "You talk like my grandmother. You even sound a little like her."
"Oh, my dear, that's very gratifying. I'm sure she was a delightful woman!" She tapped Mitch on the shoulder. "But now back to important business. Tell me more about this Disney fellow."
Mitch drew his head back a little as he laughed. "Can't believe you've never heard of Walt Disney. Do you not watch TV or movies?"
"What are….'T-V' and movies?"
More laughter. "So it's that way, is it? Very well, I'll play your game." Glancing around at the black-and-white figures in the room, Mitch mused aloud. "You remind me of an engineer we had. He was so busy he had no time to watch 'Star Wars.'"
One hand went up to the hidden face. "Don't be silly, my dear. Why would the stars be at war with each other?"
"You're quite the jokester, aren't you? Tell me more about this cruise of yours. What did you see?"
She shrugged; her arms went up a little. "There wasn't much to see. Just some ice caps in cold northern frigid water."
"Oh, I see. Interesting. Alaska then?"
"No, dear," the woman said as if talking to a very simple child. "The Atlantic."
"And the name of the ship?"
"The most famous ship in the world. The 'Titanic.'"
Somewhere music was playing, and the band provided a light music sting that sounded almost like a bell ringing quietly.
A commercial break follows.
Back to the episode:
"Now I know you're a jokester!" Mitch said in a big bold voice. "If you were aboard the 'Titanic,' you would be very old! Too old to work at Halvorston!"
"As a matter of fact, dear, I am quite young." When the woman stepped forward, she looked like Betty Grable or Marilyn Monroe.
"Well!" Mitch exclaimed. "You must be a very funny and delightful young woman. And smart, too! You know about the 'Titanic.' Though there was that movie." After a brief light chuckle, Mitch once again gestured to the waiter. "Would it be possible to at least get a water?"
The waiter stepped forward so his face was visible as well. Under sharp eyebrows, he blinked. "Water, sir? You don't need water here. Only living water."
As the waiter departed, Mitch muttered this under his breath: "Maybe we'll use a different hotel next year."
When Mitch turned back to the woman, he found that Marilyn/Betty had popped out of sight.
"Hey! What is this?" At first, Mitch was angry but then he laughed as he arrived at a quick conclusion. "Oh1 I get it! This is some great big show you're putting on before I get promoted."
When he clapped his hands, the sound echoed in the dark, and seemingly, empty room. "Very good, guys! Great special effects! Great actress!" He waved his hands in a "bring it on" gesture. "Go ahead, guys! On with the show!"
In response, a spotlight went on, and there stood a very familiar-looking old man.
"Hello, Mitchie," the old man said. "Would you like to watch 'The Waltons' with me?"
More laughing and clapping from Mitch. "My grandfather! Very good, guys! The actor looks just like him!"
The old man waved his hand. "Come on, Mitchie. We'll watch some of the old black-and-white TV shows. 'Dick Van Dyke' and 'Leave It To Beaver.'"
"I would love to!" Adult Mitch plopped down in front of the old TV set, the one with the rabbit ears antenna.
Mitch didn't feel like talking, just taking in the cheerful smile of this old man who looked like his grandfather. As he did so, Mitch occasionally glanced at the TV set as it played "It's A Wonderful Life."
"How do you like it so far, Mitchie?"
"Everything is good," Mitch murmured contentedly. In a casual relaxed way, he folded his hands over his blue suit coat and fuzzy Christmas sweater as he leaned back against the big old comfortable easy chair.
It was interesting that Mitch's grandfather looked like the grandfather, Zeke, on "The Waltons." One neighbor boy had said Mitch's grandfather looked more like Chef Boyardee or Captain Kangaroo. Mitch thought that his grandfather, with his red cheeks and squinting smile, looked a lot like Santa Claus. Certainly Grandfather Talbot looked a lot more cheerful than Grandpa Walton.
Cheery-faced Grandfather had introduced Mitch to some wonderful old shows like "This Is Your Life" and "The Andy Griffith Show." Even "You Bet Your Life" with Groucho Marx. (Young Mitch found Groucho's thick eyebrows very funny.) Of course later on Mitch discovered other TV shows.
One was "Lost," about people stranded on a mysterious island. Much different from the one devised by Jules Verne or the one depicted on "Gilligan's Island." After all, Gilligan, while peddling around his island, had never encountered polar bears or a smoke monster, though he had met many other unusual folks.
In the final episode of "Lost," Jack Shepherd's father, Christian, explained that the people on the island had created a place that prepared them for the afterlife. Naturally, Mitch would think of such a thing when he seemed to be encountering dead people.
It might seem odd a big executive watching so much TV. Yet Mitch found TV a wonderful way to relax and recharge when he wasn't busy studying reports. Shutting off his brain, giving his mind a rest, seemed to help him process information and synthesize it. It was why Mitch was called "the Seer" by some and "The Great Future Prognosticator" by his former coworker Seth.
Groaning a little, Mitch rose from his bean bag chair.
"It's been great watching TV with you, 'Grandfather.' I must go now."
Suddenly, he was transported to another part of the dark room, and he blinked as he jerked a little. It was like he'd been thrown around, with no memory of what happened in-between.
He was probably just tired.
As Mitch now stumbled around in the pitch black, a great voice spoke from above. At first, the owner of the voice sounded like a ringmaster but then he suddenly launched into the voice of an excited narrator in a commercial.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Submitted for your approval! Mrs. Clara Keller! A school teacher for forty-one years!"
Smiling like Michael Weatherly with big perfect white teeth, Mitch leaned back in his designer suit (with ugly Christmas sweater underneath) and clapped his hands.
"Good one, guys!" he shouted to his unseen audience. (There was that time for an '80's party he dressed like a man from the 1880's, with a powdered wig and royal suit.) "Mrs. Keller was already pretty old when I went to Richholt Elementary. I doubt she's even around now!"
Richholt. There was a Bible-based joke about the elementary school. Just as a disciple in Jesus' time asked, "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?", some wags, young or old, asked, "Can anything good come out of Richholt?"
Mitch continued to shout but in a laughing voice. "Nice work, though, guys, bringing back a pleasant memory. Mrs. Keller was one of my favorite teachers! Very realistic-looking actress, too!" He glanced around as he smiled, laughed, and bent over to slap his thighs. "This is like a weird version of 'This Is Your Life!'" He turned to an imaginary associate. "My grandfather introduced me to that show."
The booming announcer talked over Mitch's last words. "Mrs. Keller has positively influenced students for the past forty-one years!"
As the pale figure held doughy hands to her rosy cheeks, Mitch clapped his hands some more.
"Way to go, Mrs Keller!"
"Those students went on to positively influence other people, and those other people still others!"
"Whoo! Yeah!"
"Creating a chain reaction of positive action!"
"Yes! Chain reaction of positive action!" Mitch rolled his fist in a circle as he did the "whoo-whoo" from the Arsenio Hall show.
"Mrs. Keller," the announcer said, lowering his voice slightly. "We know a secret dream of yours has been to be a ballerina. Mrs. Keller, Clara, as a reward for your positive influence, would you dance for us now?"
Mitch drew in his breath sharply. Even though Mrs. Keller was in a tutu, she did not exactly have the figure for a ballerina. She was like Rebel Wilson or an older overweight Mae West. Mitch also thought she had a face like Little Lulu from the comic books or Penelope Garcia from "Criminal Minds." But right now he was more worried about the dancing. Mitch braced himself for disaster and the inevitable laughter that would follow. Gentle piano music, which had the tinny sound of a player piano, signaled the dancing was about to begin.
Yet as Mrs. Keller twirled around like a figure in a music box, with a smile like an angel, Mitch found himself oddly moved. When she finished and bowed , the spotlight went off. Mitch applauded wildly, which made up for others not applauding. His was the only sound of two hands clapping.
"Come on! Let's give it up!" he urged as he flapped his hands. When there was no response, he continued to wander the dark room.
"Hello, Mitch."
Mitch turned and saw the spotlight was on a man's body but his head was not visible.
"Hello," Mitch said uncertainly.
"You may not remember me. We worked together in Accounting some years ago. Seth Gorenson."
"Seth! Yes, of course! My goodness! You were quite old back then. I'm surprised you're still around."
"Oh, yes. Still around."
Mitch smiled and nodded. "You certainly don't sound very old."
"Oh, age doesn't really matter here, Mitch. You know that. Or you will."
Eyebrows up, Mitch raised an imaginary glass. "I suppose at a Christmas party, everyone feels young. Everyone feels like a kid."
"Oh, yes!"
"I'm glad you were able to make it back for the party. I assume you're retired. Or you've moved on to somewhere better."
"Oh, yes. I've moved on to somewhere better."
"Good old Seth! Always so positive and so full of life! Always with the positive philosophy. We called you 'the Happy Philosopher Accountant.'"
Mitch glanced absently at the gold cross around the man's neck. As he did, his mind wandered. This whole party situation was like talking to people in a very dark hospital. For all he knew, all the people present had pig noses with big lines under their eyes, almost like they were aliens. And the voices, when he heard any, were so quiet and haunting.
Seth went on. "I heard you were about to be president of the company. Congratulations, Mitch." A sharp finger went up. "Just remember, Mitch: there's an even higher greater promotion." He lifted a watch with no hands. "Well, I must be going. Can't move on to a better place. Already there. Farewell, Mitch."
As the man walked away, Mitch thought how that was so Seth. "Farewell," he said with a little laugh.
He continued to wander around the dark place.
"He hasn't translated yet," someone murmured in the dark. It sounded like the voice of Orson Bean.
"I believe the correct term is 'crossed over.'"
"Hello?" Mitch said. "Who's there?" But the area around him seemed empty.
It was then that grim face appeared once again.
Ted Swenson.
From a nearby band, or a music system, a sharp music sting played.
(A commercial break follows.)
"Ted?" Mitch said, shock all over his shadowed face.
The grim-faced figure stood there for just a moment then he dashed off.
Suddenly, Mitch felt very angry, and there were tears building up in his eyes.
"Is this your idea of a cruel joke?" he shouted. "Okay! You got me! I was drunk in my office when poor Ted slipped on the ice in the parking lot. The police never found out. No one at the company ever found out. But let me tell you: after that, I started changing my life!" Now his eyes welled up with tears as he spoke in a loud gagging voice. "So you got me! Are you happy?"
A white curly-haired dog yapped at his feet. He seemed very happy to see Mitch.
But Mitch glared at the darkness around him and the unseen ones behind it.
"And now you bring back my dog?" He waved his blue-suited arms wildly. "Get out here, you awful practical jokers!" He pounded his fist on a nearby empty table. "All hands on deck!"
But instead of his tormentors, Mitch got a scene in a spotlight. A woman who looked like Gloria, dressed in black, wiped crystal tears from her eyes. High on a podium stood the Rev. Timothy Johnson, draped in blue and yellow robes. Sporting a neatly trimmed brown beard, he spoke in a solemn tone.
"We commend to you the soul of our brother Mitch Talbot."
Now Mitch angrily paced in the darkness, scowling deeply, teeth bared.
"So now you think that's funny? My wife in tears because I'm dead? You act out this sick scene by getting an actress who looks like my wife? You're showing me the near-future, is that it? The soon-to-be?" He stopped, stared. Realization dawned on his face. "Except...she's not an actress, is she?"
Mitch turned abruptly, fear on his gray face, and there was Gabe.
Only now Gabe had giant white wings above curly blond hair. In place of a black suit, he wore a long white robe with a thin shiny gold rope at his waist.
"My apologies, Mr. Talbot. Mitch."
"Apologies for what?" Mitch asked with a frightened frown. Yet he already knew. Or at least suspected.
"We created a facsimile of your company's Christmas party. We thought the occasion would be a good venue for you to make the transition."
Mitch's eyes widened slightly. "Transition into what?"
"From life to death." The woman who spoke was Betty/Marilyn. The others that Mitch had encountered stepped out from behind the giant wings of Gabe. Except Ted Swenson was no longer grim-looking and gray-faced. Instead, he wore a gentle grin while his face glowed.
"Sometimes the dead have trouble finding their way," Betty-Marilyn explained.
"That's interesting," Mitch said nervously. "What does that have to do with me?" In the next moment, his face crumpled up with realization and awareness. "I'm dead. Aren't I?"
Mitch's grandfather nodded as he stepped forward. Grandfather Talbot was somber-faced for a moment then he offered his familiar comforting smile.
"You didn't just almost collide with that pickup, Mitchie. You crashed. If it helps, you felt no pain."
"Unlike some of us on the 'Titanic,'" Betty-Marilyn said pointedly.
Mitch had many questions but he decided to focus on this one. "How can you be from the 'Titanic?'"
The glowing woman responded with an impish grin. "My dear, space and time mean very little in this place."
"You have moved on to a better place, Mitch," Gabe said. His voice was quiet and gentle but authoritative.
Mitch's hands spread out. "Here? The Party Room? The dark ballroom?"
"No, Mitchie. This is just a station on the way. A rest stop."
"Not very restful," Mitch said with a twitching smile. In his face, he turned very serious. "What makes me worthy?"
"None are worthy, Mitch." As Gabe held out his hand, a silhouette appeared of a figure on a cross. "The Lord loved the world so much He gave His life for anyone who believes in Him."
Middle-aged Mitch, in his face, was once again a child, one with wide moist eyes. "But I never entirely believed."
"He accepted a thief on the cross at the last moment because he believed as much as he could. But to believe is not simply to think or agree, Mitch. It is to act." Again, Gabe gestured to the figure on the cross then turned penetrating glowing eyes on Mitch. "You offered the gift of your reformed life."
"You changed, Mitch." As Seth stepped forward, he no longer looked so old. Instead, he was a young man with a cherub face and his usual cheerful smile. "You even set up an Employee Welfare Assistance program."
The little boy from the Depression took Mitch's hand. "Don't be afraid. Like you, I was lost. But now I'm okay. Where we're going, we're all okay, mister."
As Mrs. Keller put her pale doughy arms around Mitch, she whispered sweetly in a voice like that of Edie McClurg.
"I'm so proud of you, Mitch."
"You, too," Mitch whispered tearfully.
Grandfather placed a hand on Mitch's shoulder. At their feet, Fluffy yapped happily.
"I think you'll like what you see here, Mitchie." A glow started to swallow up the grandfather's kindly face. "It's even better than the old black-and-white TV shows we used to watch."
"It's in color," Betty quipped.
"Real bright colors," the boy said.
"The brightest colors ever!" Ted shouted. "And oh! So much fun. So much rejoicing!"
Stepping back a little, Mitch's grandfather held out his hand to a spotlight that grew in intensity. As it pulsed and fluctuated wildly, Mitch squinted against it.
"Don't worry, Mitch," Ted said. "You'll get used to it."
"But will Gloria be all right?" Mitch asked, hands moving over his eyes.
"Yes, Mitch," Grandfather said. "She'll be perfectly all right."
"Everything is all right now," Ted said quietly.
"Congratulations, Mitch," Seth said. "You've received the highest promotion of all."
The angel held a flat palm up in a kind of gesture of peace.
"Welcome to the party, Mitch. The best party of all that goes on forever!"
As Gabe gestured toward the growing spotlight, the darkness in the room turned to light.
After one more laugh (but certainly not the last), Mitch engaged in a broad smile. A smile not only of trepidation but also anticipation and excitement. He walked into that great light, and it swallowed him up.
The camera pans up to a starry sky, and the voice of the narrator is once again heard.
"Mr. Mitch Talbot. Who has just received the highest promotion there is. He moves on now in his journey, to a blessed realm far beyond….'The Twilight Zone.'"
