As the broadcast blared on, the frantic tone of the announcer lessened and then there was a swell of music. Orson Welles introduced himself over the radio waves, his deep voice filling the damp cellar. The high-strung description of the attack had ended and now Orson Welles was talking about Halloween. Edward and Vivian stared at the little portable radio, confused, until they heard:

You are listening to a CBS presentation of Orson Welles and the Mercury Theatre on the Air in an original dramatization of The War of the Worlds by H. G. Wells. The performance will continue after a brief intermission. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.

“Oh!” Vivian and Edward exclaimed at the same time as they looked from the radio to each other, startled. Edward was the first to laugh. He was the only one to laugh. Vivian said, “Oh!” a few more times, and then, “Well . . .” Then Charlotte began to cry, and Vivian snapped. She marched straight over to the radio and switched it off in a violent motion.

“Well, of all the . . .” Vivian clutched the crying Charlotte to her as she stomped up the steps into the kitchen, with Edward trailing behind.

She marched to the middle of the living room and stood there not knowing what to do next, and bouncing Charlotte in an attempt to stop her crying. She could not believe they’d just spent all that time in the cellar fearing a Martian attack, when it was just a stupid story. It had sounded so real.

“Here.” Edward reached out his arms for the baby.

“I hate to be made a fool of!” Vivian spat while stubbornly clinging to the wailing bundle.

“Honey, come on, give her here.”

She huffed, pushed the baby into his arms, and stomped to the back door, unlocking it and flinging the door open for some fresh air. The smell of burning leaves still hung there as she looked up into the moonless sky, tapping her toe in irritation, almost daring a Martian spaceship to appear. She heard the snapping of twigs and froze in place, her eyes following the sound to the shrubbery that bordered the far corner of the yard.

“Edward.” It came out in a whisper. Her voice felt pushed down inside her chest, like something was pressing on it to keep it from escaping. Her fingers squeezed the doorknob and she took a deep breath.

“EDWARD!”

The shriek brought Edward running from the living room, clutching the still-crying Charlotte to his chest.

“There’s something out there in the bushes!” she hiss-whispered to him as he pulled her back into the house with his free arm. He handed Charlotte back to her, and then stepped over the threshold onto the back porch, and then a few more steps out into the yard, squinting at the area she had pointed to. He stood stock-still for a full minute, staring at the shrubbery. The bushes remained still, and the only sound to be heard was the chirping of a few late-season crickets.