by Mercy Loomis
Copyright 2013 by Mercy Loomis
Cover design by Mercy Loomis. Cover art by Fernando Gregory, GreenThumbsUp, and keyseeker.
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This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead (or undead), is entirely coincidental.
My long wool coat hung on the back of my folding chair, half of the heavy black fabric pooled on the ground. I’d tried to shove it under my chair so as not to take up all the foot room of the people sitting behind me. I already regretted my attempts to dress up. Yes, this was a radio production, but wasn’t half the fun of attending a live broadcast pretending to be back in the 1940s? But my smart little hat now rested in my lap, and my faux-kid gloves lay atop it.
The room was hot and crowded. At first it had been a pleasant contrast to the howling December wind outside, but after a few minutes it was just stifling. The massive door to the hallway was still open, providing a pathetic hint of air circulation. Doors, I should say, as there were two: one that closed off the hallway, and one that closed off the room, leaving a thin space in between to deaden any sound. Even though the doors were huge, like the doors on bank vaults, for some reason they made me claustrophobic. Possibly because once they closed, we’d be stuck in this room for the next hour or more.