The Revenge of the Voodoo Zombie Monkey Puppets

Benny Nyikos

Johnny Phlegm, the one-time lead singer of the Voodoo Zombie Monkey Puppets, was wrestling two massive grocery bags up the stairs to his apartment when he heard the phone ringing. Johnny was quite short, but it had never been apparent on stage thanks to platform boots and big hair. Now, however, he was just a little man with two huge grocery bags. Swearing casually, the ex-rocker tried to rest the bags of groceries on the stairs as he bolted up to his apartment door. He was fumbling with the keys when the sound of crinkling made him turn around in time to see both of his grocery bags slowly topple and spill their contents down the stairs.

Groaning, Johnny wrenched open the door. His apartment was a depressing one-room deal with a grungy bathroom. The kitchen area was mostly covered in food boxes and dirty dishes. His bed, a stained and worn mattress that dominated its half of the room, didn’t even have sheets. The whole place reeked of smoke and stale food. Johnny leapt for the phone, snatching it off the hook just in time. “Hello?” he said. His once-powerful voice was now hoarse from too many nights spent drinking cheap beer and smoking even cheaper cigarettes.

“Johnny Phlegm, of the Voodoo Zombie Monkey Puppets?” asked a voice on the other end.

Good question, thought Johnny, as if he ever had anyone else up in his apartment. “Yea, that’s me.”

“Mr. Phlegm, I’ve got great news for you!” said the voice, sounding annoyingly cheerful. Johnny heard a few cans bounce down the stairs outside.

“Oh yeah?” asked Johnny. This was starting to remind him of the last telemarketer who’d called him. He’d managed to convince the man after twenty minutes that he really didn’t need to get a Super Platinum Ultra card because his current card was covering the basics of his life as it was: food, rent, beer, and cigarettes.

“This is Victor Zabresky of KRSH Radio. You’ve heard of us, right? We play all the biggest bands of the 70’s and 80’s.”

“Nope, can’t say I have,” said Johnny, leaning against the wall. He thought better of it when some flakes of paint came off onto his clothes.

The man on the phone didn’t miss a beat. “Well, we’re trying to put together a concert consisting of the best bands to ever come from this area, and we want the Voodoo Zombie Monkey Puppets to be our lead act.”

“Why the hell would you want a band that nobody liked back then and nobody remembers now to be your lead act?” asked Johnny. This sounded rather suspicious.

Victor Zabresky laughed. “Oh come on, everybody’s crazy about the Voodoo Zombie Monkey Puppets! You’re one of the most lovable acts to ever hit the stage!”

“I’m sorry,” said Johnny, pushing the phone jack further into the wall to try to clear the sound. “Did you just say that we were lovable?”

“You bet!” said Victor. “Listen, I know you guys haven’t had a show in a while, but if you agree to play at our concert, we’ll be willing to pay you — dollars.”

Johnny blinked. His hand froze on the phone jack, wondering what was going on. “Could you say that figure again?” he asked, his voice even more hoarse now.

“Mr. Phlegm, if the Voodoo Zombie Monkey Puppets play for us, we’ll pay you — dollars, cash.”

“We’re in,” croaked Johnny. Then, stronger, “We’ll be there. We’ll play your concert.”

Johnny Phlegm was in a daze for the rest of the phone call. He couldn’t believe his luck. Several times he was convinced he was dreaming, or more probably having some sort of drunken, drug-induced hallucination. People hadn’t recognized him on the street for years. He never saw his records in music stores, and he didn’t think anybody had even bothered to put their records on CDs. How could this happen? Maybe it was all some sort of weird prank. Maybe one of his old bandmates was having a laugh at his expense. It sure was a lot of effort to go through just to confuse a poor old rocker.

He hung up the phone and without knowing it, he wandered over to his bathroom and started to examine his face in the dirty mirror. His once-vibrant blonde hair was now just yellow, and where it had once been a fearsome mane it now lay there as if something had died on his head. His eyes had lost their wild look and now seemed just tired. He needed glasses to read. A faded T-shirt draped itself loosely over his bony chest. His jeans were torn at the knees and were it not for a simple leather belt, they wouldn’t even stay on his body. He sighed at his image in the mirror. This wasn’t going to be easy.

Struck by sudden inspiration, he cleared his record player of all the pizza boxes, junk mail, and cigarette packs. He hunted through his old record collection until he found their first record, Corpse on a Shelf. He was shocked to see the image of five wild-looking young men on the album cover, plastered with chalky makeup to make them look like zombies and sitting on a huge store shelf. Shaking his head and trying unsuccessfully to fight back a nostalgic smile, he put the record on the turntable and started to play it.

The ancient speakers spat dust and fought to do their job, whining out a heavy guitar riff that was soon accompanied by thudding bass and wild drums. Without even meaning to, he started to sing exactly where his cue was, his hoarse voice matching the insane wail of a man younger and stronger than himself. He couldn’t keep it up, though, and by the end of the song he was gasping for air. Still, he let the record play as he sank onto his bed and listened. He drifted off after a while and suddenly he was back on stage, choking a microphone with both hands, screaming into it for all he was worth. As the record ended he awoke, wondering for a moment why he was grinning like an idiot. Then he remembered his dream and was already out the door. He kicked aside the groceries as he rushed for his car. He had a band to re-unite.

The first person he had to visit was the only member of the Voodoo Zombie Monkey Puppets he still saw from time to time. Frank Richards had been the lead guitarist and had supplied backup vocals on some of the songs. He now made his living teaching kids to play the guitar. Johnny visited him sometimes to watch movies or sports on Frank’s TV, or just to sit around and talk about nothing in particular.

As Johnny climbed the steps to Frank’s apartment, he reflected, as he always did, on how much nicer this apartment complex was than his. He could hear a simple guitar tune coming through the door, but he knocked anyway.

The guitar inside stopped playing and Johnny could hear people talking. Then footsteps approached and the door opened to reveal Frank glaring grumpily down at Johnny. “What are you doing here, man?” he asked, his expression softening when he saw who it was. “I was in the middle of a lesson.” He paused for a second. “You never come over this early. What’s wrong?”

Johnny realized that part of the reason he’d been so disappointed by how old he had gotten was that Frank still looked almost the same as he had back in the day. He had the same long, wavy black hair, the same predatory face, and the same proud stance. Johnny stood up a bit straighter at the sight, but he still barely reached to Frank’s chin. With the tight leather pants, open white shirt, and the guitar held casually by his side, Frank could have just stepped off the stage. Of course, Frank’s livelihood depended on giving his students the image of a legendary rock star, but Johnny had to admit that he did it quite well.

“You’re not gonna believe this, Frank,” said Johnny, wondering suddenly if he believed it himself, “but some guys at a radio station want us to reunite the band.”

“Hey, that’s cool, man,” said Frank. “Listen, I’m sorry, but I gotta finish this lesson. We’ll talk about it afterwards, okay? See ya.”

Frank tried to close the door, but Johnny threw himself against it and forced it open, slipping inside. He looked around at Frank’s apartment, wondering how in the world he managed to get such a nice place when Johnny was stuck in such a rat-hole. The apartment was covered in music posters, both from the Monkey Puppets and other bands. A lot of them were local bands whose members Frank had taught to play. In the living room—he’s even got a living room, thought Johnny—stood a young man, pierced and tattooed, with an electric guitar draped over him and plugged into a nearby amp.

“Whoa,” said the young man when Johnny entered, “you’re Johnny Phlegm, right? Aw man, it’s so cool to meet you!” He took off his guitar and walked over to where Frank was still trying to convince Johnny to leave. “Dude, you look old,” he said to Johnny. “And uh… have you always been that short?”

Johnny looked at the young man for a moment. It was the first time in quite a while that someone he didn’t know had recognized him.

“Hey, Frank, how about we cut this lesson short?” said the young man. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt the reunion of one of the best bands ever!”

As he started to pack his things away, the two old rockers went into Frank’s kitchen. “What’s up with that guy?” asked Johnny, looking back into the living room. “You’ve got him convinced we were some great, legendary band.”

“Hey, we weren’t that bad,” said Frank, sitting down at the kitchen table. “You want a drink? I got some cold ones in the fridge. Now that you’ve chased away my student I guess you’d better tell me about this radio deal.”

“Yeah, I’ll take a beer,” said Johnny, spinning a chair around and sitting in it backward like he hadn’t done in over a decade. As Frank removed a beer for each of them from the refrigerator Johnny explained the deal. When he got to the part about the money Frank spewed beer all over the table and started coughing.

“Why the hell would anyone want to pay that much for the Voodoo Zombie Monkey Puppets? We didn’t get paid that much back when we were big!”

“We were big once?” asked Johnny.

Frank looked at him like he was nuts. “We toured all over the country, man! Remember those crowds? The groupies? The venues? We were awesome!”

“If we were that great, how come we split up and haven’t seen the other guys since?”

“Maybe because our manager robbed us blind, Robbie punched out a half-dozen cops, Mike got lit on fire, and Monster OD’d and almost died. Oh, and we hadn’t written a good song in years,” Frank listed, ticking off each item on his fingers.

“Well, when you put it like that…” Johnny said, who had more or less forgotten about all those things. “So you think we can get back together?”

Frank shrugged. “If they’re all still alive, I guess we could.”

Johnny did a doubletake. It hadn’t occurred to him that some of the Puppets might not have survived this long. He hadn’t heard from any of them in ages, so suddenly it seemed entirely possible, even probable, that at least one of them had died. But surely he would have heard about it? “You really think they could be dead, Frank?”

“Well, I know Mike’s still alive,” said Frank. “I just visited him and his wife on their farm a few Christmases ago.”

“On their farm?” Johnny asked incredulously. “Like cows, chickens, corn… Hang on; are you seriously saying that Mike’s got a farm?”

“I told you, I visited it a while back. Nice place.”

“Hey, let’s give him a call, see what he says,” said Johnny. “So is it, like, a weed farm or something?”

“It’s a normal farm,” said Frank, grinning. “I’ll admit it, I was pretty surprised too, but it’s true. You’ve met his wife, right?”

“Yeah,” said Johnny. He was just thinking about how the last time he’d seen Mike was at the wedding. Mike’s wife, Janet, helped the band with stage effects and sound. The wedding was a day of drunken revelry that just happened to include staggering off to a justice of the peace who somehow managed to resist arresting the wedding guests long enough to perform the ceremony. The honeymoon had to be postponed until the hung-over guests could leave, which took several days. Johnny couldn’t imagine how Mike and Janet had gone from a wedding like that to a boring life on a farm.

“You know, it would probably work a lot better if we just visited him and didn’t call first. I don’t know if you remember, but Mike never really liked phones,” said Frank. “Come on, we’re taking my car. Yours would never make it up the road to his house.”

Johnny was surprised by how farm-like the farm looked. He’d half expected the place to be full of dead animals and burned crops, but there was a distinct lack of carnage in the area. They passed a few cows and Johnny couldn’t resist rolling down his window and mooing at them.

By the time the car had managed to fight its way to the plain white farmhouse at the center of the property, Mike and Janet were already waiting for them. Johnny had to bite his lip to keep from laughing when he saw that Mike was actually wearing overalls and a plaid shirt and had knee-high work boots on. Janet, too, looked rather peculiar in her jeans and overlarge shirt. They both carried signs of their past though, as Mike hadn’t had the heart to cut his thick black hair, only to keep it back in a ponytail. His face was sunburned and creased with hard work, but there was still an energetic, trouble-making look in it. He was starting to grow a bit of a beard that looked terrible on him. Janet had her straight black hair going down her back and was wearing a pair of sunglasses that Johnny was convinced she’d had when he had first met her.

“Hey guys,” said Mike when they got out of the car. He gave them both big, hearty handshakes that convinced Johnny even more that Mike was starting to turn into a redneck. “Johnny, I haven’t seen you in a long time. What’ve you been up to?”

“I haven’t really been doing anything,” said Johnny truthfully. “Looks like you’ve been busy, though.”

“We sure have,” said Janet, smiling. “Why don’t you guys come inside and we could talk over tea?”

“Tea?” asked Johnny, looking at Mike in horror.

“I got beers too, if you want those instead,” said Mike with a grin. “Come on in.” He led the way into the house, wiping his feet dutifully on the mat in front of the door before he entered. Janet followed suit, and Frank made a halfhearted attempt, but Johnny’s natural propensity for dirt made him miss this action and neglect to wipe his feet.

The door to the house led into a comfortable kitchen. The room had a rather tasteful country theme to it, but that hadn’t stopped Mike and Janet from hanging up some of their favorite record albums on the walls.

Frank and Johnny sat down with Janet at a white wooden table while Mike went and got three beers. He sat down, passing a beer to Johnny and Frank, and was about to say something when he saw the look on his wife’s face. Sighing and grinning sheepishly, he slid his beer to her and went and got himself another one.

Johnny told the story again, Frank interrupting several times with enthusiastic profanities. When he got to the part about the money, Johnny paused to look at Mike and Janet’s reactions.

The two looked at each other for a second, trying to figure things out. Then Janet smiled and they both burst out laughing. “You know,” said Janet, when she could talk again, “if you wanted to see us again, Johnny, you didn’t have to come up with all this band reunion stuff.”

Johnny blinked in surprise as Mike said, “You really had us going there, man. I never knew you had a sense of humor!” He started chuckling again.

Frank looked indignant. “Is it really that hard to believe? Stranger things have happened. Even if you don’t believe us, you might as well come down to the station with us.”

“Come down to the station with you, eh?” asked Janet with a smile. “You are talking about a radio station, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Frank, laughing.

“Well,” said Mike, considering. “We’ve pretty much finished the chores for today, so I guess we could go with you guys. I mean, why not? It gives us a chance to catch up, at least.”

Janet tugged on her husband’s sleeve. “Actually, we still haven’t fed the chickens, we’re going to have to milk the cows, I think the garden needs weeding, and weren’t you going to mend the fences? The cows could get out any day now.”

“Well, close enough,” said Mike heartily.

“I guess I’ve done the part of the nagging wife now,” said Janet with a sudden carefree smile. “So now that my conscience is clear, I hope you boys don’t mind if I tag along.”

“No problem,” said Johnny. “So who’s next?”

Mike thought for a second. “I don’t know what happened to Monster, but Robbie sometimes visits us here on the farm when he needs a place to hide out for a while. I’m pretty sure I know where to find him.”

“When he needs a place to hide out?” asked Johnny. “I guess it’s nice to know some things never change.”

Johnny got back into Frank’s car while Mike and Janet went to go get their Jeep. As Frank got in, Johnny turned to him and asked, “Do you think Mike still has his bass? I mean, do you think he still practices?”

Frank looked at Johnny, sighing, “I’m pretty sure they had to sell his equipment when they bought the farm.” They exchanged looks and started snickering.

“He bought the farm… that’s funny,” said Johnny as Mike’s Jeep appeared and led them back onto the road.

After following the Jeep for a while, Frank looked around and shook his head. “Oh, I know where we’re going.”

Johnny nodded. “It figures.”

Sure enough, Mike soon pulled up to the police station. Frank parked next to him and they all walked inside.

The people inside the station all seemed to know Mike well and they led the group to the back of the station where Robbie was sitting, dragging a cup back and forth across the bars he was behind. He was wearing a sleeveless green t-shirt and jeans that were cut off below the knees. This showed off the impressive collection of faded tattoos that covered his arms and legs. His hair wasn’t as long as it had been, but was held back by a rubber band in a short ponytail.

“Drunk and disorderly,” said a policeman who was waiting nearby. “Thankfully he didn’t cause much of a stir this time. Just sign here and take him home.”

As Mike signed some forms, Robbie looked up and grinned sheepishly at them. “Oh, hey guys. You all came to get me? That’s nice of you. I really appreciate it.”

“These two are thinking about reuniting the band,” said Mike, walking over, “and since we didn’t want to have the concert in front of your cell, we figured we’d better get you out of here and back onto the street.”

“Excellent,” said Robbie as his door was opened and he walked out, “I knew you would want to do something like that eventually.”

As they walked out of the station Mike thought for a second and said, “Of course, it helps that we’ve been offered a whole lot of money to play just one concert.”

“Rock on!” said Robbie when they told him the amount. “Oh, man, this is the best day of my life!”

As Frank and Johnny got into the car, Robbie leaned up between the two front seats and asked, “So, where to?”

The other two exchanged looks, then, sighing, got out of the car again. Seeing them, Mike walked over. The realization seemed to have hit them all at once: They had no idea where to find the last member of their group.

“Where could Monster have gotten himself to?” asked Frank.

“Dunno. Maybe we should check some rehab place or something,” said Johnny.

Mike sighed. “He’s probably serving about a million life sentences somewhere. Hey, maybe Robbie knows. They musta had the same lawyer.”

Robbie, seeing that they were talking about him, rolled the window down and looked out. “Is there a problem, officer?” he asked with a grin.

They all tried to stick their heads into the window, then jumped back. Johnny, who had the thickest skull, recovered first and stuck his head back into the window. “Hey Robbie, you wouldn’t happen to know where Monster is, would ya?”

The others gathered around, trying to look inside and see Robbie’s reaction. Indeed, he looked rather worried. “Um, guys,” he said slowly, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but…” He paused, suddenly not able to look any of them in the eye.

“What? What is it?” they asked, all fearing the worst.

“Oh, ah, he’s not dead,” said Robbie, not looking any less nervous. “He visits me sometimes. Well… maybe I should just show you.”

“Is he a vegetable or something?” asked Frank. “Lost all his limbs in a freak wood-chipper accident?” He looked at the expressions on his bandmates’ faces. “Hey, man, it could happen.”

“Listen, just get in the car, guys,” said Robbie. “I’ll show you where to go.”

They were all bursting with curiosity, but Robbie refused to say anything more. He insisted that they had to see for themselves, hinting that they wouldn’t believe him otherwise. Johnny could see Mike and Janet in the Jeep behind them, discussing eagerly what could have happened to Monster. Johnny longed to do the same, but Robbie looked so nervous that he decided not to even talk to Frank about it in front of him.

As they drove along Johnny noticed that things were getting less and less familiar. In fact, the houses were starting to look more and more alike, each with tidy lawns and basketball hoops in the driveways.

“Are you sure this is right?” asked Johnny. “I mean, it looks kinda… suburban.”

Robbie flinched at the word, then merely nodded. Robbie kept telling Frank where to turn, and Frank was glad of it, since it all looked the same to him.

After a while Frank found himself watching for a house that would be different from the others, with an overgrown garden, peeling paint, no windows and quite possibly a few squad cars pulled up in front. Perhaps that was why it took him so long to notice that Robbie was telling him to stop: the house he was pointing at looked the same as all the others.

They got out warily, followed by Mike and Janet coming out of the Jeep behind them. “This is some kinda front, right?” asked Mike, eyeing the house suspiciously.

Johnny, who half suspected that Monster was being held hostage inside by an insane middle class family, walked up to the driveway, followed by the others. The mailbox read “Kensington,” and Johnny tried to remember if that was Monster’s last name. He gave up after deciding that he didn’t even know Monster’s real first name, much less his last. He stopped at the door and turned around, looking back at Robbie. Everyone else was looking at Robbie as well, so he sighed and walked up next to Johnny. He rang the doorbell and stepped back, giving the rest of them a nervous smile.

Johnny didn’t know what he expected to see. He definitely didn’t expect to see what opened the door because it was so surprisingly ordinary. Standing behind the screen door, still holding the doorknob, was the plainest-looking suburban housewife he’d ever seen. She was wearing an oversized teal sweater and grey sweat pants, with blondish hair hanging around her shoulders.

For a second she seemed startled, then exclaimed “Robbie! And, my word… Johnny Phlegm!” She opened the screen door and leaned out. “Are you all out there?”

Johnny had been wondering if Monster had gotten a sex change and that was what Robbie had been so nervous about telling them when he suddenly recognized who the woman was. “Amy!” he exclaimed, at which she smiled at him. “I didn’t recognize you—” he was about to finish his sentence when a boy and a girl, about six or eight years old, appeared from a room in the house to see who was at the door. Johnny had been about to add “—with a shirt on,” as he’d never seen the rabid groupie fully dressed before.

Amy gave him an exasperated look as though she knew exactly what he’d been about to say, then brightened and said, “Well, you can’t all just stand out there all night! Come on in!”

The house was almost so normal that it wasn’t normal any more. The band members slunk in, feeling almost ashamed. Mike and Janet could barely get themselves to walk past the threshold, and when they did they immediately removed their muddy boots. Robbie seemed to relax now that the horrible secret was revealed, but he got tense again when he heard a familiar voice call from the back of the house, “Who is it, dear?”

“Come out and see, Paul honey,” said Amy, smiling now.

In a second a man appeared and Johnny had an urge to get up and excuse himself for breaking into a stranger’s house. This clean-shaven, short-haired, polo shirt-wearing suburbanite couldn’t possibly be the infamous Monster he’d known years ago.

For a while everyone was completely silent. Then the man cleared his throat and said, “Oh, hi, fellas. How are you?”

“What happened to you, man?” exclaimed Frank, who seemed visibly deflated. As the one who’d clung the tightest to what he’d had before, it disturbed him to see someone who’d given it all up so completely.

“Oh… well, I… uh… got out of all that stuff,” said Paul Kensington. He looked [lamely] at his kids, who were both staring wide-eyed at the aging rockers who were now reclining on their sofa and sitting in their chairs. “I started a family. I guess you could say I was ‘born again.’ It’s never too late, you know, as I’ve been trying to tell Robbie.” He seemed to be winding up a bit, and, sensing that he was about to start preaching, Robbie cut him off.

“So man, we were wondering if—” he paused, looking at the others for reassurance. Before he worked up the nerve to ask Paul to rejoin the band, one of the kids piped up.

“Dad, are these guys your old band?” asked the boy.

“That’s so cool!” squealed the little girl.

“It’s not cool,” said Paul quickly. “I did a lot of bad things in those days, and I hoped that it was all behind me.”

Amy shot him a glare to remind him to be nice in front of their guests.

“Come on, Dad,” said the little boy. “You never even let us listen to your records. Are you going to play some songs with them now?”

“No, I’m not,” said Paul. “Those days are behind me now, and reminiscing about the old days and pretending to be a rock-and-roller isn’t going to pay the bills or put gas in the car.” He seemed more annoyed at his children’s enthusiasm than the interruption of the others.

“Oh, hey, about that,” said Johnny, standing up and taking a few steps forward. “What if it did? Like, what if we were going to do one more concert, and make a ton of money?”

“You think you can buy me?” asked Paul, who actually looked insulted. “Robbie, after all I’ve been through, after all I’ve managed to do, you think I’d just go back to all that?”

Then Frank mentioned the amount they would be playing for.

Amy let out a gasp and looked, wide-eyed, at her husband. For a second the kids stood with their mouths hanging open, then they started running around, shrieking at the tops of their lungs “Dad’s gonna be in a rock band again! We’re gonna be rich! This is so cool!”

Paul grabbed his kids by the shoulders to quiet them down. “Calm down, nothing’s going to happen. I told you what I was like back then. Do you think I’d want to go back to that?”

“Aw, come on, Dad, you’re no fun!” whined the boy.

“What about all that money, Dad?” asked the girl.

Johnny spoke up. “It’s not like anyone’s asking you to smoke a pound of dope or something. All we need is your butt in a chair behind a set of drums and some drumsticks in your hands that hit the drums occasionally. You can be pretty sure they’re not expecting us to be any good.”

Paul looked at his wife, who shrugged. “That’s a lot of money,” she said.

For a moment it looked like Paul was about to accept, but then he sighed and shook his head. “The devil doesn’t make offers wearing his horns and waving his pitchfork. I’m sorry guys, but I’m a new man now.”

Robbie got up and moved for the door. One by one, the others got up and followed. “I guess we can always find another drummer,” said Mike, but even he didn’t believe it.

Frank and Johnny were the last to leave. Frank was still having trouble believing that Monster had changed into this quiet, plain man, and Johnny was saddened by how close they’d gotten to putting the band back together.

As they were about to walk out the door they heard Paul call after them, “Franky, John, get back here.” Surprised, they turned to see Paul dragging his kids back by their hands. He looked up at them and smiled, ashamed, “No, not you guys. My kids’ names are Frances and Jonathan. I guess we named them back when we still supported what we’d done together.”

“We were originally gonna make up the whole band again,” said Amy. “But we figured these two were enough of a handful.”

“I thought I was named after Saint Francis!” said the little girl, shocked. “You mean your name is Frank too?” she asked Johnny.

Frank waved a bit. “Actually, I’m Frank.”

The little boy looked at the two, then at his father. “Dad, come on, you’re not gonna join the band again? Didja name us after them or not?”

Paul sighed. “How much were they paying us again?”

“You’re not paying us?” screamed Paul Kensington, not realizing that it had been years since he’d raised his voice. They were all in the KRSH lobby talking to a very apologetic-looking Victor Zabresky.

“I’m not saying I can’t pay you,” said Victor, sweating profusely as Robbie cracked his knuckles and glared at him. “It’s just that, as I said, we just got word from the manager of Jump Lads that they could be in town for the concert, and you know how big they are now. I mean, you guys are great, but you were popular then, and the Jump Lads are huge right now. You can still play, and you’ll be paid for your efforts, of course, but I’m afraid we’ll have to offer you a slightly…smaller figure.”

“Yea, slightly,” said Robbie with a growl.

“Take it easy, bro,” said Mike, who had been holding him back for a few minutes now.

“I’m sure it’s all right,” said Johnny, who didn’t look convinced. “Come on, the point was to get the band back together, and that’s what we’ve done. Who cares how much we get paid, so long as we play?”

“I care,” said Paul, and the others agreed. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They turned and walked out, dejected. As Paul was almost out the doors, Victor Zabresky called after him, “Will you at least consider it? We here at KRSH would really appreciate it if—”

He was cut off by Paul announcing quite loudly what he could do with his KRSH. He then turned to Johnny and whispered, “Don’t tell my kids I said that, okay?”

“I don’t think that’s an option,” said Johnny, as they noticed that Amy and the kids had been waiting outside.

“Way to go, Dad! You tell him!” they said, jumping up and down. Paul sighed.

“You know,” said Paul, as they all stood around in front of the station, “we could still try to pull this off. Call some people, you know, set up a show. Just not for those KRSH… guys,” he finished, looking at his kids. They looked disappointed.

“Let’s be honest, nobody wants us,” said Johnny. “But it sure would have been nice to put on one more show.” The others all agreed.

“Hang on, guys,” said Frank, tapping Johnny on the shoulder. “I think we could do this. I mean, I still know some guys, and we could find the equipment. A sound system, some lights. I could just call in a few favors.”

“We still don’t have a venue to play at,” said Robbie. “Unless we want to set up in a parking lot or something, and play ‘till we all get arrested. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?” The others looked less than thrilled. “Okay, a field or something then.”

Everyone seemed to have the idea at once and all heads swung toward Frank. “What?” he asked, but Janet poked him in the ribs. “Man, you gotta be kidding.”

A week later the Voodoo Zombie Monkey Puppets were standing in front of a hastily-built stage on Frank’s farm. Though the equipment on the stage was rather old and battered, it had performed fine in their tests. The band members were all dressed as close as they could to their old outfits. Janet, Amy, and Paul’s kids were there too, looking just as dejected as the band.

“So when are we doing this?” asked Paul. He was wearing a set of brand-new jeans and a white T-shirt, looking the most out-of-place of the bunch.

“The concert starts at seven,” said Johnny. “That’s in half an hour.”

They stood for a moment until Robbie spoke up. “Let’s face it, guys. Nobody’s gonna show up. They’re all off watching the Jump Brats or whatever that band was called.”

None of them wanted to believe it. After working so hard at getting the band together and preparing for the show, they had never considered that they might not have an audience.

Johnny looked down the road, hoping to see a sign that somebody would be coming to the show. He sighed. The road was as empty as it had been for the last few hours.

Or was it? Johnny squinted. He was fairly sure he saw a figure running up the road. He nudged Frank and pointed. Frank looked, trying to make it out. Soon they were all watching as a man ran up to them, out of breath.

“Wow, are you guys the band?” he asked. “Listen, there’s a problem. There’s, like, a ton of cows down there across the road, and we can’t get up here. We tried moving them, but those things are mean!”

“The fence must have broken!” exclaimed Janet. “Mike, I told you to fix it!”

“Aw, dang,” said Mike as everybody glared at him. “All right, I’ll get the Jeep. Come on, you guys are gonna have to help me.”

After a hasty cow-herding and a quick attempt at fence-repair, the massive tide of cars started pouring in. Mike and Janet didn’t even seem concerned that they were tearing up the field. Soon the area was packed with people, a mixture of middle-aged fans who had been around in the band’s glory years and young fans who were enthusiastic but didn’t seem sure as to what order the words in the band’s name came.

“Good luck, guys,” said Janet in the backstage dressing room (actually Mike and Janet’s barn, which was right behind the stage.)

“All right, lads,” said Johnny, hoisting his guitar. “Let’s give ‘em a show.”

A chorus of affirmative profanities proved that the band was as ready as he was. They left the barn and climbed up onto the stage. When they came into view the crowd let out a roar. Johnny wiped his eyes—it was, after all, dusty in the field—and walked up to the center microphone. He glanced behind him to see Frank on his right and Mike and Robbie on his left, with Paul behind them, seated awkwardly behind his drums and wondering what he was doing there.

“How are you all doing tonight?” asked Johnny. He didn’t really have anything planned, but he figured that was a good way to start. The crowd’s approving roar reassured him, and he continued. “It’s good to see you all here. I hope you’ve prepared yourselves, because for the first time in…” he paused. “…a long while, you’re about to see the Voodoo… Zombie… Monkey… Puppets!” The crowd bellowed its approval, and Johnny looked around him at the others. They were all grinning, though Mike and Robbie looked rather worried. Johnny didn’t even look back at Paul; he could hear him sweating.

As soon as the crowd’s roar began to die down, Frank bent his knees, leaned back, and picked a riff that shot out across the field. Mike joined in with the start of a tune and Robbie picked up the bass line. Paul started drumming a bit late, but the crowd didn’t seem to notice, and in a moment Johnny was yelling into the microphone and was almost drowned out by the sound of the audience yelling the song back at him.

It was halfway through the show and the band was getting its breath back behind the stage with Janet, Amy, the kids, and various assistants Frank had found. Several wannabe-groupies who had found their way backstage were also lounging around, wondering what to do.

“Well guys, it’s official,” said Johnny. “We suck.” This was greeted with hearty cheers from the rest of the band. “When did we get so old?”

“Hey, Robbie’s not bad,” said Mike, “and Frank’s hitting every note dead-on.”

“Yea, he’s just making us look bad,” said Robbie with a grin.

“Good thing we’re not making any money off this,” said Paul. “I’d hate to think we were putting on such a miserable show and charging money for it.” The others muttered their assent.

“Uh, guys, about that,” said Janet. “Listen, I was just looking at the audience, and I think someone’s passing some buckets around. It looks like people are giving donations or something.”

“What?” said Johnny, shocked. “Someone’s ripping us off?”

“Nah, I think it’s for us,” said Janet. “They’re hell-bent on paying for the concert, whether we want them to or not.”

“Those bastards!” said Robbie. “Now we’re gonna have to get good or something.” He scowled and swore.

The crowd started to increase in volume. It was time for the second half of the show to start. The band got up and started to file toward the stage. As they passed her, Janet handed each of them a water bottle. Johnny passed her last.

“Come on, you know you’re all dehydrated,” said Janet. “Don’t want you passing out onstage.”

Johnny thought he saw a glint in her eye. “What are you up to, girl?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing,” said Janet. She looked to see if the others had gone. “Just making sure Paul gets his old favorite flavor of water.” Johnny blinked at her. “You know,” she said, “Russian water.” Shaking his head, Johnny headed up to the stage.

The second half of the concert was certainly more interesting than the first. Frank kept up his excellent performance, and the rest of the band actually improved. Mike had stepped up his performance to make sure the people got their money’s worth. Robbie was motivated by a couple of squad cars that had showed up to make sure things didn’t get out of control. Johnny had realized that he could make it through songs if he let the audience sing the refrains for him, and the crowd seemed to love it. Halfway through their finale, Johnny turned around during a quiet part to see someone new on the stage. Paul Kensington was no longer sitting behind the drums. Flailing away like a deranged dungeon keeper beating a row of prisoners, Monster sat in a halo of flying sweat. Truly, the Voodoo Zombie Monkey Puppets were back.

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