The Dead Zone

Back in 1983, I annoyed my father. We used to drive by this building sometimes, with the world's most horrible sign out front. It was one of those free-standing signs you get, the ones that are really just empty frames, and you can slip a poster, for instance, inside. This one, though, it never had a poster. It had--well, you know those crazies you get on the telly, walking about with sandwich boards on their backs? It had something that looked like one of those, but instead of "THE END IS NEAR", it said

Fair gave me the chills, it did. I never liked the word "zone", to begin with. Creepy word, that: kill zone, red zone, splash zone--never anything good to be found in a zone. The sign was bad, too, those great aggressive letters with their puzzling message. I figured it must be an advertisement for the building behind it. There was AND RSON'S REALTY (which, according to my father, was not missing an E, but an F), a BARBERSHOP and a HAIRDRESSER, a wedged-in SPAR shop, and then, squatting on the corner, THE DEAD ZONE.

"What's a dead zone?" I asked my father.

"I don't know," he replied. "Listen to the radio."

"Are there dead people there?"

"Where?"

"That building back there."

"No. Listen to the radio."

"That was the Military Symphony," said the guy on the radio. My father made a snorty noise in his nose. That was the first time I annoyed him with the Dead Zone.

An indeterminate amount of time passed. We drove by that building lots more times. Every time, I wondered about it. I didn't believe my father about there not being dead people inside. I wasn't sure he'd even heard my question. He really liked the Military Symphony, see. He liked it so much, indeed, that some decades later, he stole my CD of it. I didn't know that would happen, of course, but I was still pretty sure my question had been ignored. So one day, when there wasn't anything interesting on the radio, I pointed it out to him.

"There's the dead zone again," I told him, pointing it out. "See?"

"I don't see anything. What are you waffling about?"

"There! There! That sign."

"Oh, right. So it is."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What's a dead zone?"

"It's a film, silly, just a film."

That was the second time I annoyed him. It wasn't the last, though, because I'd never seen a film back then, and hadn't a clue what he meant. Still, I felt I should understand, having been pronounced silly and all, so I didn't mention it again for a while. But the sign stayed right where it was, and curiosity soon got the better of me once more.

"What's in that building?"

My father glanced out the window. His brow beetled as soon as he saw the sign. "Not this again!"

"Please! Tell me!"

"I told you already."

"I--er, forgot."

"It's the name of a film," he said, using the same voice he used when the dog wasn't listening. "Like on television. That building is a theatre. There are no dead people in it." Then, he got an evil thought in his head, and his eyes glittered. "The dead people are over there--" (he pointed) "--in the funeral home."

I wasn't worried about dead folks in the funeral home, though. As long as they weren't in a DEAD ZONE, all was well.

Why am I talking about this? Oh, because The Dead Zone was on the telly tonight. I was doing my best corpse impression on the couch, so I figured I might as well see it. I fell asleep halfway through, though, and missed the end. Shame, that. After twenty-odd years of curiosity, I'd rather hoped....

(Ah, sod it. I read the book a while back. I know what happens.)

Well, anyway, it's back to the couch with me. Still having trouble holding my head up straight, and so forth. Oh, I'll have so much tidying to do when my health returns. Plates and cups everywhere, and a dead spider in the sink. That's right. I got 'im, the wee fucker from my last entry. Crawled over my hand, filthy bastard that he was, and that was the end of him. Smash! (I think I enjoyed that a little too much.)