Galactic Canary:
What the fuck is going on?! He was going to kill you, dude! What?
Uteri:
It’s okay, it’s over, I hope. He’s gone, what are they going to do now, you know?
NRG:
I guess, but...this is just so strange. What a night, huh? Midnight madness, must be.
Cherry Thrush:
We’re in the middle of the most powerful witching hour of the year. Plus it’s a full moon. What else do you need to know?
Chaos:
You ladies are something else.
Dentata:
I’ll say!
Trip:
Hey, what time is it? Do you think we could still see DJ Fetish? Let’s go, let’s go! We might still be able to see him open!
The women rush back downstairs out of Mr. Motel Chain’s tower, oddly unfazed by the recent occurrences, and begin discussing the various events that caused their unique powers. They are all still rolling and tripping, you must remember. Everything is heightened — their powers, their sense of themselves and each other. It’s perfect, in a way. What is it they say in Casablanca? “This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.” Groups of them hold hands on their return to the party. The camera follows in front as they walk into the foyer, now several paintings short.
12:00 A.M.
THE WITCHING HOUR
Kaleanathi’s time is now. The sky is beginning to open up over the Motel Chain Mansion. The sky glows an iridescent purple, and bits of the roof begin flying into the maelstrom above. The sacrifice for the corruption is now complete. The Mansion emits an unearthly orange glow.
Katie Hernandez:
This is Katie Hernandez, Channel 5 News. We have an emergency weather alert: There is an extremely high level of fog in the Hollywood Hills. Visibility is about two feet. Get off the freeways, stay off the roads, pull over until further notice. It is not safe to drive.
In the bowels of The Motel Chain Mansion, a group of Stoners have wandered into a cave that seems to go through the center of the earth. It was an accident that they found the cave. It was well hidden, and you have to go through a carnival funhouse first. The group don’t even know how lucky they were to get out of that particular funhouse when they did — the monster was right behind them. They’ve been following this path for ages, and it hasn’t brought them to anywhere yet.
Stoner #1:
We’re going down pretty far. I heard that in caves like this if you get down far enough and spend long enough in the dark, if someone were to even spark their lighter for a joint...
Stoner giggles all around.
Stoner #1:
...we would all go blind, man.
Stoner #2:
For real?
Stoner #1:
I swear, dude. My friend lives down by the Carlsbad Caves, by San Diego. They tour guide tells them that before they go down into them.
Stoner #3:
Has anyone ever done it? I mean, how do they know for sure that’s true?
Stoner #1:
I would hope no one is stupid enough to risk everyone’s sight to find out.
Stoner #2:
Let’s just walk for a bit longer. This is pretty chill.
Stoner #4:
Peace.
12:05 A.M.
DJ Fetish begins his set a few minutes late. Doesn’t really matter when he starts, it’s all going to end the same way. He begins his first record, and recalls when he first began spinning. He loved this scene so much. He believed in it. Peace, love, unity, respect. That is not the vibe he’s been getting lately. Money, money, drugs, money. That’s all it’s about now. It’s time for it to end. He puts the needle to the record, and the first strains pierce the ears of the listeners.
12:10 A.M.
The large group of victorious women arrives at the dance area just as people begin acting really weird. A few dancers buckle over, some begin convulsing, some start shouting gross profanities. Soon, everyone is screaming. Bodies fall to the ground, wracked by wave after wave of seizures.
NRG:
What the hell is going on?
The camera pulls back from the dance floor and shows the Mansion — the entire roof sucked to the sky — with DJ Fetish’s music playing all throughout the hill. Bodies convulse like fish out of water. The ones that remain unaffected scream and run, covering their ears.
Chaos:
It’s the music! Get that asshole!
12:15 A.M.
The women charge the DJ platform. Simultaneously they all throw their powers at DJ fetish. Poison spit, fireballs, screams, knives, strong potent odors... He crumples down.
Console and Trip try to figure out how to turn the music off. They find the “off” button and press it, but the music has been hardwired into the sound system and can’t be directly accessed from DJ fetish’s turntables.
Trip, shouting over the music:
The speakers! We have to do something about the speakers! Dismantle them or something!
Console, yelling back:
No good, it’s wired into the whole house!
An exhausted Wake manages another, smaller, regeneration and dissolves the speakers surrounding the DJ platform.
Galactic Canary, to the other Firebirds:
The speakers, they’re everywhere! Let’s fire some down.
The Firebirds try to burn some of the ones up in the trees. Most of them fall, but the house is so big... The sea of corpses gets deeper and deeper.
12:20 A.M.
The camera does a fast cut to a speeding car driving away from the hill. The fog alert is on, and no one is on the streets. The Driver just wants to get a safe distance before he slows down or even pulls over. The white van took a little beating getting out of those woods, but it was much closer to the exit than most. Probably because he got there so late. Well, not late exactly. It’s not like he was there for the party or anything. He was taking care of business. His cell phone rings from the passenger seat.
Driver:
Hello.
Caller:
Operation Bad Vibe ― was it successful?
Driver:
The explosives are timed for 12:30 a.m. 10 minutes and counting.
Caller:
You didn’t have any trouble planting the nitroglycerine?
Driver:
Not at all. I put one batch inside the house and then planted the rest in the woods outside. They won’t know what hit them. Fucking trendy ass corporate bullshit. Burn, assholes, burn! This is the peak of the party, too. DJ Fetish, Mr. Corporate himself, just opened. Good timing, huh?
Caller:
You were the last man to go in. If you set the bomb correctly there should be no problems. We rendezvous at the house on Soap Street. Got it?
Driver:
I’ll see you there. Down with corporate bullshit.
Caller:
Right on, brother.
The camera pulls out of the rear window and focuses on a bumper sticker that reads: Bad Vibes Rule. The bad viber drives off into Kaleanathi’s smog.
12:25 A.M.
Kaleanathi stirs the ocean. The incantations have brought it to a boil, churning in her earth cauldron. The red mud from the bottom of the ocean mixes with the calcareous ooze. Kaleanathi hums to herself as the energy surges into her being. The tornado over The Motel Chain Mansion swirls and thickens. The time is now.
12:30 A.M.
The Stoners decide to sit down and take a break. They’ve been walking forever. Then they all see a bright white light, flashing painfully, blossoming...
Stoner #1 has time to call out “You asshole,” thinking someone sparked a lighter.
And then, nothing.
12:40 A.M.
Kaleanathi rains down crimson ash at the former site of the Motel Chain Mansion. The house is already rebuilding itself, in dreams and memories. She begins to prepare the next catalyst, already eager to feed again.
Katie Hernandez:
We are l
ive at the so-called Motel Chain Mansion, where there appears to have been a massive explosion. Our helicopters are on site. Let’s cut to them and see what they can reveal.
Cut to the weather helicopter.
Cindy Walters:
Thank you, Katie. It is a night of dismal despair for the thousands of young people here at a rave being thrown in this mansion encompassing the entirety of a Hollywood hill. It appears there has been a huge explosion of some kind. CSIs are on site right now trying to figure out the cause of this terrible tragedy. The homegrown terrorist group, the Bad Vibe Kids, have claimed responsibility for this horrific explosion. If you know of anyone who may have gone to this rave party, please call the following numbers. They will be able to assist you further. Back to you, Katie.
Cindy’s smile fades and she turns back to the site, looking sadly down at the wreckage below. She sees a figure, female, stand up out of the ashes, dusting herself off and coughing so hard a spray of blood emerges.
Cindy:
Stan! Get the camera rolling! Look!
Stan gets the camera rolling as more figures stand up and brush themselves off.
Stan:
Holy shit!
Cindy:
Are you getting this! Survivors! We have survivors, people!
FADE TO BLACK.
PART 2:
NON-FICTION
THE NIGHT THE SKY OPENED UP:
THE MURDER OF WENDY SOLTERO
The Murder
The night the sky opened up and I saw hell was also known as October 28, 2000.
In that previous life, Hallowe’en weekend was my favorite of the year, and my university friends and I were all a’tizzy about costumes and the annual monster bash our amigas had at their off-campus house. Los Angeles in October is balmy, no coats required — perfect costume weather. No limitations. My plan was to dress my 'Run, Lola, Run'-esque red-haired Asian self as a cyber Laura Palmer, wrapped in plastic and all; Twin Peaks was my then-current obsession. That and bitching about The Boyfriend, who was ever more clingy and who I had decided I would be leaving sooner rather than later. After our most recent spat, The Boyfriend drove off in his black Saturn to work on his Wolverine costume for the party. I was planning on dis-inviting him at the last minute just to stick it to him.
My friend Audrey showed up for our pre-party chill-out night at our favorite haunt in Hollywood, a funky little retro bar called Kane, our version of Cheers. Kane was all but empty, a nice change to the usual Friday night there, which meant we could smoke inside. Their repertoire of 70s funk was jiving and while Audrey flirted with The Bartender, I danced to James Brown and Stevie Wonder as was my wont. In the interim, out would come my notebook, and Audrey and I would discuss plot and character points of American Monsters. All in all, a mellow night, as we had planned.
Or so I thought.
Out of nowhere, Audrey was absolutely wasted. She started writing notes to The Bartender that were all but scribbles. Before we knew it, it was 2am and Audrey refused to leave the bar. Me, I’d only had a few cocktails so in theory I could have driven us back to campus. The problem was, I still didn’t know how to drive, let alone have a driver’s license. As I was debating calling The Boyfriend (totally unappealing) or a taxi (no cash on hand but doable), up drove our friend Wendy. Thank God, I thought. Then I asked her what she was doing at Kane at 2am.
Apparently Audrey had left Wendy a number of strange voicemail messages, and since she was in the area she thought she’d stop by and see what was up. I’m sure the fact that Wendy, like Audrey, had a crush on The Bartender also factored into the surprise visit.
In true Twin Peaks fashion, Audrey began speaking gibberish. Wendy asked if she’d taken anything and after talking with the remaining bar patrons, some of whom were Wendy’s friends, the skinny emerged. Audrey had likely ingested a fair amount of cocaine. How did this get past me? Was I so caught up in my dancing and my monsters I didn’t even notice my friend reliving the disco years in the bathroom? Apparently so.
Audrey was making no sense. We poured her into Wendy’s car, lovingly named Spike after her favorite Buffy character, and I thought we’d be on our way back to the dorms. Audrey had other plans, jumping out of the car and running like a crazy person down the street. We drove after her and pulled her back in. She did it again. We did the same. Spike’s left-side passenger door didn’t open from the inside so we forced her into that seat and I had my arm on her keeping her in place.
The only sentence she said that made sense was, “Take Sezin home, and take me back to Kane.” Wendy didn’t know that in spite of her sort-of romance with The Bartender, Audrey had slept with him the week before, and seemed to be cooking up this situation so that she could have a repeat affair. Bitch, I thought. Wendy was looking so hurt as she figured it out, and asked me about it. I told her it was something she and Audrey would need to sit down and discuss, I wouldn’t get in the middle.
Wendy was concerned about leaving Audrey’s car parked in front of Paramount Studios overnight. I was disgusted with Audrey, that this whole load of nonsense was so she could betray her friend, again, and not even have the balls to be honest about it. “Fuck her, let’s go home,” I told Wendy. But Wendy didn’t feel comfortable with that, and decided to stop by our friend Martell’s house, just around the corner on Sunset and Tamarind. If he was home, maybe he’d follow us and drive Audrey’s car back.
While Wendy was ringing his doorbell, Audrey pitched another fit and tried to get out of the car. Wendy saw me struggling with her and rushed back to the car. We both wrestled Audrey back into the seat, cursing like sailors. Wendy and I had a really intense connection. I could see that she had figured out Audrey had done something untoward with The Bartender, and I could see her pain. Martell wasn’t home. “Let’s go,” I said. Audrey was calm for the first time, realizing she wasn’t going to get what she wanted. “Let’s just chill for a minute,” Wendy said.
The last moments I had with Wendy were spent in silence. I wish I had filled that absence with an “I love you, Wendy-bird.”
A car turned onto the street behind us, breaking us out of our reverie. The car proceeded to pull right up Spike’s ass. Something wasn’t right, I felt it. I turned to look and saw a boxy 70s style car with a huge grille mouth, just inches from Spike’s bumper. “This is weird, Wendy, let’s go!” She looked in the rearview mirror. “It’s okay, they’re just dropping someone off.” She was right.
Then...
A young girl at Wendy’s window. She has a small silver gun. “Give me your wallets, bitches!” she says in a thick Mexican accent. The gun is at Wendy’s head as she looks, wide-eyed, forward. I turn towards the girl. I look into her eyes and try to reason with her. “Please don’t hurt us! We’ll give you anything you want! Just please don’t hurt us!”
“Don’t look at my face, BITCH! Get your fucking head down!”
This isn’t happening this isn’t happening this isn’t happening how can this be happening this isn’t happening.
My head down, I can’t breathe. My purse is on the floor. I get it, I get my wallet, I wonder what Audrey is going to do because she doesn’t have a wallet, and my wallet is rough in my hands, it’s made from a Turkish carpet and it’s in my hand and then I hear the gunshot.
Because of the close range the ringing in my ear lies to me and tells me it was a warning shot outside the car, it sounded so far away. But where’s Wendy?!
Wendy’s gone.
In what was both the longest and fastest moment I have ever experienced, I had a queer doubling. Thinking the shot had been a warning, while knowing that Wendy, the spirit of the person I love, was no longer present in the car with us.
Wendy’s body started slumping over on me.
Oh my God she shot Wendy sheshotWendysheshotWendysheshotWendysheshotWendy.
“I’m gonna count to ten and if I don’t have your wallets the rest of you bitches are gonna get it.”
And that’s when I knew, for real knew. Wendy
was shot in the head. Wendy was dead.
I handed the girl my wallet. I wanted to scream at her, “You cunt! You didn’t even give us a chance! You bitch! Why?! WHY THE FUCK?!?” Wendy was slumping deeper and deeper towards me. There was a smell of fireworks and blood in the car. Audrey handed her a little blue make-up purse she must have found on the floor. The Girl takes it and the brown car drives off.
“Oh God, she’s shot Wendy!” I turned to Audrey, hoping for support. She couldn’t offer any.
My ear still ringing, I slung my purse over my shoulder — no idea why, habit? I opened the door and pushed myself out of the car. My hand slipped right into Wendy’s blood. It was hot. Boiling. My hand was covered in blood — my turn to freak out. I opened the door for Audrey, and showed her my hand.
ohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.
I was on the brink of breakdown. Audrey didn't let me, she just started running down the street.
As suddenly as The Girl appeared in Spike’s window, I heard a voice in my head screaming, “HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE!” The urgency of it frightened me. “HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE NOW NOW HIDE NOW HIDE NOW HIDE NOW!” Audrey was trying to run, calling out The Bartender’s name. I grabbed her arm and yanked, hearing a pop as I dislocated it.
Across the street, there was a big white van. “HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE”, the voice screamed. Not Wendy’s voice, but still her, I knew it. I pulled Audrey across the street and we crouched behind it. With all the anger and fierceness I could muster, I told her, “Shut. Up.” She listened. I didn’t know what I was waiting for. Another message from The Voice? A car drove around the corner and stopped right next to Spike. I could see the tires from under the van. I clapped my clean hand over Audrey’s mouth. Muffled voices, then the car speds off with a squeal, and I heard it turn the corner where Tamarind meets Sunset Blvd.
American Monsters Page 11