Real Phantoms
“So these are our suspects?” Judy looked about at the array of machinery
in the area just in front of the studio floor. It was the next day. She
had come with Irene to rehearsal. To all appearances she was simply an
interested friend, but Mr. Lenz knew, the moment he saw her, that she
had come for another purpose.
“I’ve seen the papers,” he said to Irene. “I know your friend is
missing, and I can tell you something about what happened backstage last
Saturday. I was standing at the door to the film storage room and saw it
all. She came back here during intermission. Your guest star hadn’t
arrived, and everybody was all excited. When they saw this girl you call
Clarissa Valentine they jumped to the conclusion that she was Francine
Dow and brought out the wig and costume.”
“I see.” It was clear to Judy what had happened. “Clarissa said she came
to New York hoping to get a little part on TV. That was the way she put
it. The part she got wasn’t so little.”
“She was there when she was needed,” Irene put in, “but how did she
happen to go backstage in the first place?”
“I think I can answer that question,” Judy said. “She went back for
those two bottles of shampoo she left in the dressing room, and when she
saw Francine Dow wasn’t there, she stepped into the part because she
didn’t want the show spoiled and because—well, it does happen that
sometimes one person’s failure is another’s opportunity.”
“I guess that’s the way of it,” agreed Mr. Lenz. “That girl can really
act. With all the publicity she’ll get when she is located, she’s sure
to be in demand, and I don’t mean just for spot advertising.”
“Speaking of advertising,” Judy began as if it had just come up casually
in the conversation, “there was a commercial on this channel last
Saturday—”
“If you mean the golden hair wash commercial, it won’t be shown again. I
can promise you that,” the projectionist went on, becoming excited. “I
know why you’ve come. I could see you were curious. Well, that young ad
man had talked somebody here into showing that film, phantoms and all—”
“Phantoms?” The word burst from Judy’s lips. “What phantoms, Mr. Lenz?”
“That,” said Mr. Lenz, perching on his counter like an angry bird, “will
take a little explaining.” He waved his hand toward the pigeonholes
behind him, where rows upon rows of film were stored for future use on
the program. “It’s my job to bring the contents of those cans to life.
There’s everything there—spot commercials, feature films, half-hour
shows—everything. People who watch these films know what they’re
watching. If they don’t like the program they can turn it off. If the
commercial displeases them they can always walk out of the room until
it’s over.
“But here,” he went on, “is something being fed into your mind without
your knowledge and without your consent. You can’t turn it off because
you don’t know you’re watching it until, suddenly, you feel compelled to
buy some product or, worse yet, you’re plagued with guilt because you
didn’t buy it. This is called subliminal advertising, and it’s
forbidden—just as it should be. Only once has it been used on this
channel—”
“Was that last Saturday, Mr. Lenz? Was it shown on Teen Time Party?”
“Yes. Superimposed on the picture of the golden-haired girl you saw was
another picture—a shadowy, faceless figure which the advertiser wished
you to imagine was yourself. This phantom was flashed on the screen too
fast for your conscious mind to be aware of it. But your subconscious
mind recorded it. And a desire was planted. You began to want to be like
the beautiful golden-haired girl rather than the faceless shadow.”
“I dreamed of faceless people,” cried Judy. “They had golden hair, and
they were all alike. They frightened me, Mr. Lenz. I couldn’t get them
out of my mind.”
“Did you associate them with such words as _drab_ and _dull_?” he asked.
“That’s what Clarissa kept saying about her hair. I thought—we all
thought she’d hypnotized us in some way. Why? Were those words flashed
on television, too? Were all those queer feelings we couldn’t explain
the result of that program we watched?”
“I’m afraid they were, my dear. But the film will not be shown again. I
can promise you that. Erase it from your memory, if you can. But
remember! Those faceless phantoms could be real if we once lost our
freedom to think!”
He stopped, as if spent by his outburst, and Irene said, “We’ll
remember, won’t we, Judy? This has certainly been a lesson for me.”
“What do you mean, Irene?” asked Judy.
“Because I’d just about decided to do the golden hair wash commercial.
That is, I thought if Clarissa used the stuff, she could do the
commercial for me. And with all the publicity she’ll be getting, people
will be eager to see her. But now that I know that sponsor uses
subliminal advertising, I wouldn’t think of working for those people,”
Irene exclaimed.
“What’s more, Mrs. Meredith,” Mr. Lenz observed, “if the golden hair
wash people don’t give up the use of subliminal advertising, no major
network will have anything to do with them.”
“That’s right,” Irene sighed. “And I did so want to be on one of the big
networks. It isn’t just the extra money. It’s being able to entertain so
many more people—especially you,” she confided with a fond look at Judy.
“You won’t see me on your TV at home until I do.”
“It’s a shame,” Judy sympathized. “But you’ll get there sooner or later.
And when you do, I hope you’ll repeat _Sleeping Beauty_.”
“I’d like to,” Irene said, “but how can I unless we find Clarissa?”
Judy shook her head. “We haven’t anything, not even a picture of her for
the papers, and so far they haven’t been able to locate any minister
named Valentine in West Virginia. Peter says it’s probably not her real
name.”
“You’ll find her,” Mr. Lenz said. “But if she goes on the air for golden
hair wash, she’ll be giving up more than she can possibly gain.”
“Peter said there were thieves of the mind,” Judy said, “and I’m
beginning to understand what he meant. You wouldn’t know it if they
flashed those faceless phantoms on a film you had made. It would be
their film, wouldn’t it? They could do that—”
“Not without warning the viewers,” Mr. Lenz interrupted. “The public
does have that much protection. The technique has been used in horror
films, but the viewers have been warned.”
“Warned of what?” asked Judy. “Were they told that the film would give
them nightmares?”
“Yes. As I told that young ad man, it’s still in the experimental stage.
It’s dangerous—”
“As dangerous as an atom bomb. That’s what you said,” Judy reminded him.
“And that,” declared the projectionist, “is exactly what I meant. The
day a man’s thinking can be controlled without his knowledge will be the
day that marks the end of freedom.”
“No!” cried Judy. “We won’t let that happen!”
Mr. Lenz gave Judy’s hand such a grip that she winced, but afterwards it
was good to remember. And there were no more nightmares, for Judy at
least. After she had talked it over with Peter she knew exactly what had
happened and what they had yet to do.