I suppose after all these years, I’m realizing that these tales are less “science fiction” and more “horror.”
(Music intro, as before)
NARRATOR
Turn down the lights and lock the doors, gentle listeners. It’s time for another episode of… Boring Science Fiction Theatre!
(Burst of thunder…)
This week’s episode… Frankenstein’s Sandwich!
(Music fades, replaced by sounds of DR FRANKENSTEIN tinkering in the kitchen for a few seconds, making a midnight snack. Crickets hum away in the background. Silverware on silverware, plate on plate, plate on silverware, etc. This continues under…)
We introduce Bob Frankenstein, a self-proclaimed master chef of the midnight snack. Little does he realize he’s about to smother his sandwich… with the unknown!
BOB FRANKENSTEIN
(muttering)
Yes… My precious condiments… My children…
BARBARA
(entering, in mid-yawn)
Bob? Bob, what are you doing up?
BOB
I am creating, woman!
BARBARA
Bob, you just ate a few hours ago. We’ll go out for breakfast in the morning.
BOB
Barbara, I will not let some short order cook tinker with my art! The refrigerator is my palette! The bread my canvas! The pickles my paints!
BARBARA
Please, Bob. You’ll be up all night. You’ll get crumbs in the sheets. Can’t I just have one night of peace-
(crash as BOB slams his fists down on his plates – here the clinking stops)
BOB (furious)
Peace?? You speak of peace, when at any moment I am on the brink of a culinary breakthrough? Where is the chicken?
BARBARA:
Chicken?
(sound of a refrigerator opening, hummmmm)
BOB
(maniacal)
I had a piece of leftover chicken! In the fridge! Wrapped in aluminum foil, woman!!
BARBARA
Oh. Yes, I threw it away this morning.
(a moment of silence as BOB takes this in.)
BOB
(breathless, horrified)
You… Threw…
BARBARA
I think it was bad, honey. It was in there for a couple days.
BOB
Foolish woman!
(slam! refrigerator shuts, humming stops)
You will retrieve it for me.
BARBARA
Retrieve it?
BOB
You heard me, Barbara! Go to the dumpster behind our apartment complex and bring me back my chicken! Or my work is ruined!
BARBARA
(her voice getting softer as she retreats)
All right, I’ll get your damn chicken!
(front door slams)
BOB
It’s all right, my children… Soon we will show them all!
(A clap of thunder takes us outside. The crickets are louder, perhaps we hear an owl. Also, the sound of BARBARA angrily crunching through the undergrowth. This continues under…)
BARBARA
(muttering)
Can’t believe I’m out here. Retrieve the damn chicken. This is it, this is the last time I…
(trails off)
Here we are.
(footsteps stop. sound of a dumpster being opened, followed by BARBARA rooting around through its contents)
Should be near the top… Hmmm… This is the milk container I threw out, so… Here!
(BARBARA pulls out the foil-wrapped chicken)
Got it!
(police siren in the distance)
Oh no.
(police siren, still distant, dies down. Two car doors slamming, policemen yell from afar)
OFFICER MIKE
You there! What are you doing?
BARBARA
Nothing! Nothing, officers…
OFFICER STEVE
Put down that foil-covered object and put your hands up!
(Sound of BARBARA running away through the undergrowth)
OFFICER MIKE
Hey! Come back!
OFFICER STEVE
After her!
(As BARBARA’s footsteps fade, the OFFICERS’ footsteps approach. Two gunshots. A dog barks a couple times in the distance. When the OFFICERS’ footsteps reach us, they come to a halt.)
OFFICER MIKE
(panting)
She’s gone…
OFFICER STEVE
(also panting)
She disappeared… down the alley… By the old Frankenstein apartment building…
OFFICER MIKE
That’s the third dumpster robbery in the area this week. What could be going on around here?
OFFICER STEVE
I don’t know, but it gives me the creeps. Let’s get outta here.
(back inside the kitchen. crickets are muffled again. a few kitchen clinks. front door opens and closes)
BOB
Barbara? Is that you, you little Delilah?
BARBARA
(approaching)
Yes, it’s me. Here’s your precious chicken. And I am never, ever doing this for you again.
(the sound of chicken changing hands)
BOB
Excellent! Now leave my sight, woman!
BARBARA
(as she fades)
Oh, don’t worry, I’m leaving!
(sound of the foil being removed from the chicken under…)
BOB
Yes, my lovely poultry! Nothing can stop us now! A quick trip to the microwave, and then I’ll have you! And wash you down with an iced café mocha!
(microwave opens, closes, beeps, starts humming under BOB’s maniacal creator laugh)
Aaaaaah-hah-hah-hah-hah-haaaaa!
(the humming, and all other sound, fades to silence)
NARRATOR
The next morning…
BOB
(ill)
Ohhhhh…
BARBARA
Honey! Are you all right? You’re pale!
BOB
Headache… Nausea… My beautiful creation has turned on me!
BARBARA
(sternly)
Bob Frankenstein… When will you stop playing God??!
(Creepy organ music bursts in. NARRATOR speaks over it)
NARRATOR
Be sure to tune in for next week’s horrifying episode… The Identical Aliens!
(Organ music fades)
DR. ADAM HORN
(threateningly)
All right, Moon-Man. We know you came from the wreckage of that flying saucer down by Miller’s Creek.
ALIEN
Yes, that’s right.
DR. ADAM HORN
It was hard to pick you out, since you have the same height, skin tone, language skills, and general physical appearance as any earthling.
ALIEN
Yes! That’s uncanny, isn’t it?
DR. ADAM HORN
Have you come to enslave us? Destroy us with your superior technology?
ALIEN
(amused)
Ha! No, nothing like that. We certainly have no superior technology.
DR. ADAM HORN
Have you come to warn us of impending doom or spread a message of peace from your advanced civilization?
ALIEN
No, certainly not. We’re just as advanced as you are, no more, no less.
STACEY
Daddy, I have a confession to make…
DR. ADAM HORN
What is it, sweetheart?
STACEY
I’m pregnant with the alien’s love child!
DR. ADAM HORN
Dear Lord! What frightful mutant will result from this unholy union??!!
(Organ music flourish and out)
fin