Midnight Movie

by Tobe Hooper

  He was in my room, and he kneeled down by the side of my bed and told me that I shouldn’t be scared, that he’d take care of everything. Naturally, I was freaking the hell out … that is, until he started rubbing right where I’d gotten waxed last weekend with the tips of his fingers.

  It made me shiver. It felt so real, like he was there in the room with me. He traced his fingertips up my tummy, right to the bottom of my breasts, and then back down again. He went back and forth and back and forth, and finally he went all the way down there and he did a little flick, and this tingle started from my ankles, and shot up my legs, then through my thighs, then it went right past down there and all the way to my head.

  Then he was gone.

  My eyes were shut, and I think I was asleep and dreaming, but it’s possible I was fantasizing about this ghost guy, or maybe the shaved-head guy in my women’s studies class, or my trig teacher, the very hot Mr. Lawrence Ellison (oh my God he’s hot!). Whatever I was thinking about, I woke up with my hand in between my legs, and it was soaked, and I was rubbing, and rubbing, and rubbing on this one spot, and it was perfect. It dawned on me that I had a real, honest-to-goodness orgasm. It was like I won the lottery or something.

  I hope Janine doesn’t read this. I shouldn’t even be blogging this. But I can’t help it. I want to SHARE! No, I HAVE to share! It’s really really really weird. My brain is telling me to tell you, and if I don’t tell you, I should poke myself in the eye with a fork.

  HOUSTON CHRONICLE

  EXPLOSION IN ROUND ROCK KILLS THREE, INJURES 12

  FIVE-ALARM FIRE CONTINUES TO RAGE

  APRIL 11, 2009

  BY LEANN MORGAN

  Round Rock, TX—An explosion in an apartment building located in Round Rock that housed what police are calling a “crystal methamphetamine laboratory” killed a University of Texas student and two local teenagers, as well as injuring 12 bystanders. Of the 12 injured, eight are in critical condition at the St. David’s Round Rock Medical Center.

  The three deceased are Steven Lackey, 21, the primary occupant of the apartment; Karen Czarnecki, 19, and Angela Gallo, 19.

  The explosion sparked a five-alarm fire that raged for 15 hours across three city blocks. The property damage is estimated to be $1.5 million.

  An eyewitness said, “It looked like a bottle rocket shot out of Steve’s window. When the spark landed on the street, it made kind of a mushroom cloud, then it looked like the street went up in flames. It reeked something awful. You can still feel the stink.”

  Detective Pedro Rodriguez commented, “Crystal meth has been a major problem in our area for the past decade. There have been countless explosions in countless so-called labs across the city, most of them contained. Obviously this one is, by far, the worst. We are putting together a special task force that we hope will go a long way toward putting an end to the epidemic.”

  Funeral plans for the three deceased have yet to be disclosed.

  twitter.com

  ScaryBarry r.i.p. freeky.

  April 11 9:18 PM via web

  FarceCycle ©ScaryBarry WTF, dude?!? Was that you?

  April 11 9:28 PM via web

  ScaryBarry ©FarceCycle i don’t know. i doubt it. what i fed him was mostly bullshit. thought it wouldn’t do anything.

  April 11 9:31 PM via web

  FarceCycle ©ScaryBarry The key word there being “mostly.” You need to talk to somebody.

  April 11 9:33 PM via web

  ScaryBarry ©FarceCycle not talking. moving on.

  April 11 9:45 PM via web

  FarceCycle ©ScaryBarry I’m talking.

  April 11 9:51 PM via web

  ScaryBarry ©FarceCycle don’t.

  April 11 9:59 PM via web

  GTownRepresent ©ScaryBarry You’re the guy, aren’t you? Send it to me via Direct Message.

  April 11 10:06 PM via web

  ScaryBarry ©GTownRepresent send what?

  April 11 10:17 PM via web

  GTownRepresent ©ScaryBarry Send IT! And don’t fuck with me. You know what IT is.

  April 11 10:38 PM via web

  ScaryBarry ©GTownRepresent it?

  April 11 10:51 PM via web

  GTownRepresent ©ScaryBarry Do not fuck with me. Have ur addy and phone#.

  April 11 11:02 PM via web

  ScaryBarry ©GTownRepresent whatever dude

  April 11 11:09 PM via web

  GTownRepresent ©ScaryBarry Send it.

  April 11 11:28 PM via web

  ScaryBarry ©GTownRepresent right

  April 11 11:30 PM via web

  GTownRepresent ©ScaryBarry SEND IT SEND IT SEND IT SEND IT SEND IT

  April 11 11:40 PM via web

  ScaryBarry ©GTownRepresent jeez, relax, it’s on the way

  April 11 11:48 PM via web

  GTownRepresent ©ScaryBarry If I don’t get that recipe by the morning, I’m on YOUR way, bitch.

  April 11 11:58 PM via web

  EXCERPTED FROM THE DIARY OF DAVID CRANFORD,

  BARTENDER, THE COVE, AUSTIN, TEXAS

  JANINE DALTREY:

  Right after we established ourselves as a couple, Dave became this wishy-washy, indecisive guy. It was always, I love you, I hate you, I love you, I hate you. Our relationship was defined by blowout arguments and awesome makeup sex. But that’s not a relationship, now, is it? For a while, I thought it was. But that was when I was a freshman, and I didn’t know any better.

  So naturally we broke up and got back together I-don’t-know-how-many times. It was always casual, so the breakups went down when we met somebody else, and the reunions happened when we were lonely. When he started calling me, I wasn’t lonely, and when his calls became more frequent and more desperate, I started screening them. I wasn’t seeing anybody, but I wasn’t lonely.

  On the night of April 13, like around eleven thirty, I’m in my jammies, brushing my teeth, face covered in this blue exfoliating cream, ready to crash, and my doorbell rings. We have a security camera by the front door, so I checked out the monitor, and there’s Dave, looking wasted. I said, “What’re you doing here, David?”

  He whined, “I miss you, Janine. Like soooooo much.” He tended to get needy when he was really drunk.

  I told him, “I’m about to get into bed.”

  He said, “Perfect timing!”

  I said, “Not really. Why don’t you go home and sleep it off? How did you get here?”

  He said, “I walked.” Still whiny.

  I said, “I’ll call you a cab.”

  He said, “That’s really nice of you. Can you come down and wait with me?”

  I said, “Dave, it’s almost midnight. I’ve got my face shit on.”

  He said, “Wipe it off and keep me company. I don’t feel good. My stomach hurts.”

  He sounded like a five-year-old crying for his mommy. I’m such a sap that I said, “I’ll be down in a sec.” I called him a taxi, rinsed off most of the exfoliating crap—I missed a bunch of it, because I was in a rush to get down there, then get back up again—and met him on the front doorstep.

  Dave’s a good-looking guy, but that night, not so much. He had that I’m-drunk-as-shit pink complexion—a regular thing for him when he gets his drink on; he’s part-Irish—but it was way worse than usual. I could tell his eyes were bloodshot, even in the dark. His long black hair was all stringy and dirty, like he hadn’t washed it in a while. I told him, “Sweetie, no offense, but you’re a mess.”

  He gave me this weird smile, opened up his arms, and said, “You’re so pretty, Janine. Gimme a hug.”

  A hug was not that big of a deal. I could handle that, no matter how sweaty or smelly he was—and he was really smelly, like he had booze and bologna sweat leaking from his pores. I put my arms around his waist, and he started squeezing me. Hard. Like so hard that I had trouble breathing and talking.

  I kind of hit him on the back and managed to gasp out, “You’re hurting me, David. Let go.”

  He said, “You hurt me, Jani
ne.” He pulled me into him even tighter.

  I said, “How … did … I … hurt … you?” I was getting light-headed from the loss of air and nauseated from his stench.

  He said, “That night at the movie.” Squeeze. “That stupid zombie slasher movie.” Squeeze. “You looked so good.” Squeeze. “And you were talking with that writer guy.” Squeeze. “And that hurt.”

  I started pounding him on his back and said, “Jesus … Christ … let … me … go …” It felt like I was going to black out. He gave me one last squeeze, then let me go, then reached out and pinched my nipples hard, something that, in the right context, I thoroughly enjoyed. This was as far from the right fucking context as you could get.

  He said, “You looked so good. You had on that short black skirt that I like so much, and that cute little red T-shirt, and those sandal heels, and all I wanted to do was hug you, and kiss you, and you wouldn’t even come inside the bar.” Then—and this is something that I never imagined I’d ever see—David Cranford started crying.

  Of course my stupid nurturing instinct kicked in, and despite his obnoxious late visit, and despite the hug that almost broke my ribs, and despite the fucked-up nipple pinch, I wanted to make him feel better. I put my hand on his arm and said, “David, I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

  Before I could say “—hurt you,” he took my hand and put it on his crotch. His dick was hard, but, like, scary hard. It had been a while, but I totally remembered how big he was. Still, this felt noticeably bigger. He ground my hand into his dick and said, “Squeeze it. Squeeze it hard. Squeeze it as hard as I was squeezing you.”

  I tried to take my hand back, but he held it even tighter and pushed it even closer. I kind of started crying and said, “Stop it, Dave. Let me go.”

  He softened, then loosened his grip, got down on his knees, and said, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t want you to cry. I just wanted a hug and a hand job.” Then he grabbed me around the waist—gently, mind you—and buried his face in between my thighs.

  I was so stunned that I couldn’t move; for that matter, I couldn’t even think. We stayed like that for probably a couple of minutes, both of us crying. A few people walked by, but none of them stopped; I’m sure that from the outside, it looked like we’d just had a fight and were in the process of making up. Finally, the cab showed up. I told Dave, “Listen, your ride’s here. Go home and we’ll talk about this tomorrow. We’ll go to the park.”

  He looked up at me with these pathetic goo-goo eyes and said, “You promise?”

  I said, “I promise.”

  He stood up, then said, “Okay. I’m holding you to that.” And then he walked to the cab, opened the door, and got in. Before he slammed the door shut, he checked his watch and said, “You know what, Janine? It’s twelve oh-three.”

  I said, “Right. Past both of our bedtimes.”

  He said, “But that means it’s tomorrow.”

  I said, “David, go.”

  He said, “And you promised we could go to the park tomorrow.”

  I said, “Right. Tomorrow.”

  He said, “It is tomorrow.” Then he told the driver to fuck off, hopped out of the taxi, and was immediately in my face. He yelled, “It is tomorrow! We’re going to the motherfucking park!” And then he picked me up by my hair and kicked me against the front door to my building like I was a soccer ball.

  The next thing I remember, I’m lying in a hospital, both of my arms in traction, a breathing tube down my throat, and my little sister is fucking a doctor at the foot of my bed.

  NARRATIVE: On April 14, 2009, David Wilson Cranford of [REDACTED] in Austin, TX, was placed under arrest at [REDACTED] for a public attack on Janine Anne Daltrey of [REDACTED] in Austin, TX.

  When I arrived on the scene at [REDACTED], Cranford was repeatedly kicking Daltrey’s prone body. She was wearing a thin white T-shirt and pink shorts. The shirt was ripped and exposed her breasts. Both items of clothing were covered in blood, but I could not immediately determine specifically where the blood was originating from. She had multiple lacerations on her face and arms, but the cuts were not gushing.

  Daltrey was emitting a high-pitched scream, thus I knew Daltrey was conscious. I yelled at Daltrey to get her attention, but she was not lucid enough to respond. Cranford turned around and demanded I leave, then lifted Daltrey parallel to the ground and dropped her face-first, dislodging three of her teeth. I unholstered my weapon and gave him a verbal warning to stand down. Cranford advanced, so I fired my weapon, hitting him in the knee. Cranford continued moving forward. I fired at Cranford’s other knee, yet he continued to advance. When Cranford was arm’s length away, I removed my TASER from my belt and discharged it on his left temple. Cranford collapsed onto the sidewalk, where I placed him in handcuffs and took him to the squad car. Once at the car, he began thrashing wildly and attempted to bite me. In order to contain him, I was forced to hit him on the head with the butt of the TASER.

  Once Cranford was in the rear seat of the squad car, I radioed for both backup and an ambulance, then when Officers Rangold and Martinson arrived, I asked them to guard Cranford while I canvassed the area for eyewitnesses, of which there were several. Lucille Wharton of [REDACTED] in Austin, TX, said she witnessed Cranford dragging Daltrey along the concrete by her hair for approximately fifty yards. Michael D. McGee of [REDACTED] in Las Vegas, NV, added that Daltrey was facedown while being dragged and pointed out what appeared to be two teeth lodged in a crack on the sidewalk approximately twenty yards from the spot where I subdued Cranford. Dorian Stanger of [REDACTED] in Austin, TX, pointed out a trail of blood that led to Daltrey’s apartment building approximately two hundred yards away.

  I gained entry to Daltrey’s apartment building, where I attempted to interview all the first-floor tenants. Marissa Robertson, whose unit is approximately ten yards from the front door, was the only tenant who was willing to speak. Robertson told me that at approximately 11:45, she heard Cranford and Daltrey conversing through the security system for several minutes, after which Daltrey came down to street level. An argument ensued, then Robertson heard a loud “crash,” after which she looked out the window. She witnessed Cranford lifting Daltrey from the ground. Daltrey hit Cranford on the chest, after which Cranford slapped Daltrey with the back of his hand. Cranford then dropped Daltrey onto the ground and kicked her in the ribs, the stomach, and the knee. Cranford then lifted Daltrey from the ground, threw her into the air, and, as she came toward the ground, kneed her in the chest. Cranford then took Daltrey by her hair and dragged her to the sidewalk. Robertson did not follow.

  I returned to the arrest scene. After bringing Officers Rangold and Martinson up to speed, I entered the front of my patrol car and read Cranford his Miranda rights. Cranford spit at me several times, then tried to break the rear window with his head. After five attempts, he gave up. (Note: He remained conscious the entire time.) I then drove Cranford to the Precinct, where Officer Melvin took Cranford’s statement.

  http://andidaltrey.blogspot.com

  Andi-Licious

  The Useless Musings of Sophomoric

  Sophomore Andrea Daltrey

  APRIL 14, 2009

  UM

  I went to visit Janine at the hospital and it was awful. She was beaten up, bloodied, and in a coma. There were tubes sticking out of everywhere, and the young doctor said she was going to make it, but he didn’t know when she’d get better.

  He was so nice and cute that I wanted to thank him, so I stood up and gave him a hug and a little kiss on the cheek. Then, all of a sudden, I felt him get hard, and it was weird, because it wasn’t like I did anything sexy. I just kissed him on the cheek. I wasn’t wearing anything cute, just some sweat clothes, but he got really hard, he started breathing all heavy. It was nice.

  He closed the door to the room, then asked me if he could kiss me on the mouth. I said okay, because I had to. I couldn’t help myself. So we kissed, and he got so hard so hard so hard. I had to touch it, ev
en though I wasn’t good at touching, but I did anyhow, because I had to had to had to.

  The second I touched him, he squirted all over the place. I’d never seen so much at once. He stayed hard, then asked if he could touch me, and I said okay. I pulled off my sweatpants and my panties, then I leaned against Janine’s bed and spread my legs a bit. He rubbed me with his index finger, and the second he touched me, I got so wet, like I’ve never gotten wet before, and just like that, I had an orgasm. Now that I’d discovered orgasms, I wanted to keep having them.

  I almost passed out, and he kept touching me, and I kept cumming and cumming and cumming. I grabbed him by his lapels and threw him against the closed door, then I wrapped my legs around him and put him inside me. I didn’t care about protection or anything. All I wanted was him inside me.

  When I kissed him, he came so hard and so fast. When I took him out of me, his cock was shooting out this blue gooey stuff, and he passed out, and I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was fuck and fuck and fuck some more.

  So I told Janine’s unconscious body that I’d be back soon, and I came back here to write this, and now I’m going back out to fuck somebody, and I’ll tell you all about it, I promise I promise I promise, because it gets me hot knowing that I’m getting you hot and now that I know what it’s like to be hot I’m going to stay hot.

  EXCERPTED FROM THE PAPERS OF DR. AARON GILLESPIE,