2. OBTAIN A LICENSE To BLESS. You want to vanquish a vamp? Graduate from the seminary. Priests have the power to marry couples, preside over services, and, best of all, turn regular water into holy water. And holy water is like battery acid to bloodsuckers. Sure, you could just ask a priest for a few gallons if you didn’t feel like going though all the trouble, but a real vampire hunter is locked and loaded with the power of Christ 24/7 and uses that power to preemptively bless as much liquid as possible: swimming pools, bottling plants, rain clouds, even reservoirs.
3. SHOOT THEM WITH BLOOD-TIPPED BULLETS OR ARROWS. “Wait, don’t vampires like blood?” Sure, if it’s fresh and warm. But if the blood comes from something that’s already dead, it gives them a fatal case of food poisoning.
Buy a bucket of blood from a meat-packing plant and dip your bullets or arrows in it. Let it dry and dip again. Repeat this process until each projectile has a thick scab on its tip. Pouring a teaspoon of blood into shotgun shells works, too.
4. OPEN A 24-HOUR TANNING SALON. Vampires love to look good. Sexy hair. Sculpted bodies. Tailored outfits. But what’s the one fashion accessory that’s beyond their reach? A healthy tan. Vampires know that the artificial UV rays of a tanning bed won’t hurt them. What they don’t know is that your tanning beds come with built-in pneumatic stake drivers. Anyone who schedules a tan after midnight has to be a bloodsucker. Sure, you’ll kill a few innocents here and there. But if they were tanning in the middle of the night, they were probably very lonely people anyway, and nobody will miss them.
EVERY VAMPIRE CRAVES A GOOD TAN.
5. INTERVIEW IT. Ultimately, a vampire’s vanity is its greatest weakness. No bloodsucker can turn down the chance to tell its life story, especially to an author or journalist. You’d think they’d be reclusive—cautious of drawing attention to themselves, lest they stir up any local vampire hunters. But they couldn’t care less. They live long, lonely semi-lives. What’s the point of it all if they don’t have anyone to share it with? Place an ad like this in the classifieds, and get ready for the phone to start ringing:
VAMPIRES WANTED
To be interviewed by media professional for sympathetic, comprehensive look at their lives. Discreet. Two-hour maximum commitment. No compensation. Contact: [your e-mail or phone number here]
How you ambush and kill them when they show up is your choice.
6. BECOME A VAMPIRE. It’s the nuclear option of anti-vampire warfare. Destroy the enemy, even if it guarantees your own destruction.
Becoming a vampire is easy. Just wander the dark city alleyways (near cemeteries if possible) until one comes along and sinks its fangs into you. As your blood is being drained, request a membership in Club Dead. They’ll have you suck blood from them, and before you know it, you’ll be craving some red nectar. Once you’re transformed, finding other vampires will be easy, since bloodsuckers can smell each other from great distances and you’ll be invited to all their parties. And since you’re now as fast and as strong as they are, killing them will be easy, too. Of course, the rub of this whole deal is that once you’re done killing all the other vampires in your area, you’ll have to kill yourself.
HOW TO TELL IF YOU’VE BEEN DEAD SINCE THE BEGINNING OF THE MOVIE
Used to be that a man knew where he stood. Whether he was battling vampires or amorphous blobs, a horror hero could always count on one thing: He was alive. But these days, there’s a new dance that’s sweeping the Terrorverse: the twist. The shocking revelation at the end of the movie—he’s been dead since the 10-minute mark. It’s a device that would never be accepted in any other genre.
SONNY
You mean I …
(bites fist)
You’re tellin’ me I never made it past them tollbooths on the causeway?
To achieve this hoodwink, horror screenwriters give their heroes a condition known as F.R.E.D., Failure to Recognize Earthly Death. If you’re trapped in a horror movie, don’t take anything for granted, least of all your life.
1. RETRACE YOUR STEPS. Were you recently involved in anything that could have sent you to an early grave? A robbery? A car accident? A plane crash? Something you feel lucky to have narrowly survived? Do you remember what happened immediately afterward? Did you wake up in the hospital surrounded by friends, family, and flowers or is the whole thing a blur? Is there a large chunk of time you simply can’t account for? Posttraumatic time loss is a leading indicator of F.R.E.D.
2. ARE YOU BEING HAUNTED? F.R.E.D. victims often experience a phenomenon known as reverse haunting. This occurs when they mistake living people for ghosts—usually a family that’s moved into “their” house. Just as ghosts appear solid to certain living people, living people can appear as apparitions to certain ghosts. Ergo, if your condo suddenly becomes infested with ghostly men, women, and children who act like they own the place, they just might.
3. OBSERVE OTHERS. How do others act toward you? Are they rude? Disrespectful of your personal space? Do they fail to hold the door or apologize when they bump into you (and has that been happening a lot)? Do they avoid eye contact unless they’re dogs, homeless people, and creepy children? Do your poker buddies always forget to deal you in? Are your kids more standoffish than usual? Does your wife bring strange men home and sleep with them like you’re not even there?
The problem may not be your less-than-winning personality, but rather your less-than-detectable pulse.
4. BREAK THE RULES. Being dead has its advantages. For one, you’re not governed by rules of common sense and decency. Therefore, one of the surest ways of confirming your death is testing whether or not those rules still apply.
Enter restricted areas. Perhaps a locker room of the opposite sex or the Pentagon. If no one stops you (and you aren’t a transvestite or four-star general), you might be dead.
Stop flushing. If no one complains after a few days, there’s a solid chance your waste is not of this earth.
Root for the Yankees at Fenway. If you don’t die by the seventh-inning stretch, you’re already dead.
Use the salad fork for your main course. If no one snickers at your stupidity, all signs point to your morbidity.
Wear socks with sandals. Or black shoes with a brown handbag. If you don’t get any disapproving looks from the local fashion police, you’re almost certainly dead.
Mess with Texas. No live human being could mess with Texas. If you succeed in messing with Texas, it’s a sure bet you’re as dead as a June bug in July.
5. BE SPECIFIC. Your screenwriter’s working overtime to stay one step ahead of today’s savvy audience. In order to make it seem as if you’re still alive, the writer has to create situations in which people look as if they’re responding to you even when they aren’t. And to do that, the writer desperately needs you (the hero) to be as vague as possible:
HERO
Listen, Sam.… I know I haven’t exactly been the world’s best brother, but I just want you to know. I love you.
SAM
(looks away, whispers)
Why, Liam? Why do bad things happen?
Which means that you should be as specific as possible:
HERO
What’s the square root of nine?
SAM
(looks away, whispers)
Why, Liam? Why do bad things happen?
6. KEEP A TIME JOURNAL. Based on a handful of interviews with F.R.E.D. victims who had recently become aware of their death (but not yet moved on to the next plane) it seems that ghosts experience short “bursts” of existence. Some omnipresent editor reaches in and makes one burst seamlessly flow into the next in such a way that the ghost has no idea that anything out of the ordinary has happened.
Because of this phenomenon, F.R.E.D. victims are notoriously bad at keeping appointments, since their time has little to do with ours. If you’re a normally punctual person who suddenly starts missing lunches or wondering where the time went, try keeping a log of your day. Simply write down where you are and what you’re doing eve
ry half hour for 12 hours, and then review your log in the evening. If you have significantly fewer than 24 entries, there’s a chance someone’s been cutting out parts of your existence.
7. FORCE THE ISSUE. Ultimately, all the journal keeping and specific dialogue in the world is no match for a trip to the convenience store. You really want to know if you’re dead or not? Force the issue. Walk up to a stranger and ask the time. Stroll into traffic and see if anybody swerves. Walk into a convenience store and try to buy a pack of cigarettes. If the clerk doesn’t seem to see or hear you, you’re dead. If he sells you a pack of smokes? You’re alive.
Careful, though. Those things’ll kill ya.
IF A MAN GOES UNNOTICED IN A WOMEN’S RESTROOM, HE’S BEEN DEAD SINCE THE BEGINNING OF THE MOVIE.
CHAPTER V
FANGS OF FURY
ALIENS AND BEASTS
NEWT
We’d better get back, ’cause it’ll be dark soon, and they mostly come at night … mostly.
—ALIENS (1986)
I have to admit … I’m rather fond of aliens and possessed beasts. Unlike some of our clumsier adversaries, there’s a certain class to the way they savagely kill. In some ways, it’s an honor to be murdered by them. That said, it’s an even greater honor to light a victory cigar from their burning corpses.
HOW TO SURVIVE A GLOBAL
ALIEN ATTACK
The TV sputters, then quits. Dirty dishes rattle in the sink. An earthquake? Before you even finish the thought, the power cuts out. You open the drapes, letting in the sulfur-yellow glow of streetlights. Then it hits you:
YOU
But if the power’s out, why are the streetlights still …?
You notice neighbors gathered in their yards, eyes wide as saucers, pointing at the sky. A sky filled with yellow lights. And so it begins.
Rumors fly. One hundred ships. One thousand, hovering over every major city in the world. Tanks roll through the streets. World leaders address their anxious flocks. Religious services are standing-room only. Heart attacks and attempted suicides wreak havoc on emergency rooms. And then there’s you. Wondering whether to stay, go, or swallow that cyanide capsule you’ve been saving for just such an emergency.
1. DON’T BE A SUCKER. It’s a movie rule that dates back to the Truman era: When aliens come to Earth en masse, they do not come in peace. Ever. No matter what olive branch they offer in one purple hand, they’re concealing a ray gun in the other. One alien? No problem. You’ve got yourself the makings of a fine coming-of-age movie. More than one alien? It’s a full-scale attack. Guaranteed.
There are only three reasons aliens come in groups:
To eat us. Apparently, humans are quite the scrumptious delicacy. (Though you have to wonder, what do they eat back home?)
To enslave us and steal our resources. Their planet’s almost out of crude oil, so they’re here to take ours. (Ha, ha! Joke’s on them!)
To destroy us for no reason. That is, other than the fact that they’re total dicks. Dicks who (after eons of evolution, philosophical discussion, and scientific advancement) have decided that the meaning of it all is to kill.
Never trust an alien. Not even if they give you the cure for cancer wrapped in the end of world hunger. Don’t you realize they’re just making sure we’re plump and tumor-free?
2. STAY AWAY FROM THE SHIPS. Let those flute-playing hippies be the first to feel the aliens’ wrath. “Oh, look! They’re flashing some lights! Aren’t they pretty? I wonder what’s gonna happen next?” Allow me to ruin the surprise: You’re going to be blasted with a Xoraxian Krellbor that turns your bones into lava.
3. LOOT. You might think that looting is wrong, but when the ships begin firing, you can drive over to the local megastore and wait patiently for one of the cashiers to show up for work. And when you finally grow a brain and realize that civilization is closed until further notice, throw a shopping cart through the window and start grabbing supplies:
Food. Dry, canned, and powdered only. As much as you can carry.
A pistol. And plenty of ammo. Not for fighting aliens—for protecting yourself from humans who decide they want some of your supplies.
Camping equipment. Tents, sleeping bags, flashlights, waterproof matches, hand-cranked radios, binoculars, knives, propane tanks, blankets, batteries, and rope.
First aid supplies. Bandages, hydrogen peroxide, and pain relievers are priorities.
Large-capacity squirt guns. See explanation on this page.
4. RETREAT TO A REMOTE LOCATION. Even the biggest alien invasions are limited to urban areas, at least during the first phase. If they’re here to eat us, that’s where the most people are. If they’re here to enslave us, that’s where our heads of state are. And if they’re just dicks, that’s where they can do the most damage in the shortest amount of time.
You have no business being anywhere near a metropolitan area. If you’re in a tiny, long-forgotten town that you’ve been dreaming of leaving your whole life, stay there. If you’re a city dweller who drives into the surrounding countryside and makes snarky remarks like “Can you believe people live out here?”, go live out there.
GOOD REMOTE LOCATIONS:
Woods (spring and summer). Leafy treetops provide excellent cover, and abundant wildlife provides food when the canned stuff runs out.
Caves (fall and winter). There’s a reason we lived in them for thousands of years. They’re easy to heat, they protect you from the elements, and they keep you well hidden. The deeper the cave, the better.
BAD REMOTE LOCATIONS:
Cornfields. These are probably being used as terrain markers or staging areas for the invaders. Besides, a cornfield is one of the last places you want to be in a horror movie (see “What to Do If Your Corn Has Children in It,” this page).
Prairies. Wide open spaces have no hiding places.
5. STAY CLOSE TO WATER. If you have a boat, now would be the time to get something more practical than a superiority complex out of it. Aliens tend to ignore the 70 percent of our planet covered in water. Drive a few miles offshore and wait this whole mess out if you have the option. If you have access to a submarine, even better.
If the closest you can get to water is the puddle that forms on the roof of your tent, fear not. Remember those large-capacity squirt guns you looted? Fill them up and keep them close at all times. If you run into a spaceman, you stand a better chance of killing it with a good soaking than a hail of bullets. Alien invasion movies are basically metaphors for man’s overreliance on technology, so it’s almost always something primitive that brings the aliens to their knees. Earthly bacteria, bee stings, or water.
ZORAC
Prepare the fleet! The blue planet shall be ours!
CROM
But the blue planet is covered in korlock!
ZORAC
So?
CROM
So, doesn’t korlock turn our syndaks into meklar?
ZORAC
(thinks)
Good point.
(to others)
OK, everybody hear that? Stay away from the korlock parts.
CROM
But you can’t just …
ZORAC
ENGAGE!
WHEN ALIENS COME TO EARTH EN MASSE, THEY DO NOT COME IN PEACE. EVER.
POOR CAREER CHOICES FOR HORROR MOVIE CHARACTERS
Surviving a horror movie is hard enough without choosing one of these 99.9 percent fatal professions:
A) GRAVEDIGGER. A job that requires you to dig graves. In a cemetery. Alone.
B) POLAR SCIENTIST. “Hey, I know—I’ll go to the most isolated part of the world. A place where night lasts for six months! What a great idea!”
C) SECURITY GUARD. If something goes bump in the night, you’re the guy who has to check it out.
D) CAMP DIRECTOR. You’re an authority figure who bosses teenagers around in the middle of the woods. It’s a shock you lived long enough to read this senten— …
E) HOOKER. Prostitution is
so fatal in movies that hookers rarely even get the courtesy of an on-screen death. The first time we see them is when our grizzled hero cop is scraping them out of several Dumpsters.
F) JANITOR. Strange. You could’ve sworn you locked the door to the pool. Why are the lights off? And why does that laughter sound like it’s coming from the water?
WHAT TO DO IF THERE ARE SNAKES ON YOUR PLANE
Bears on a bus? Sign me up. Meerkats on a sailboat? Adorable. Snakes on a plane? The very definition of terror.
Horror movies and airplane movies coexisted peacefully for more than a century. Sure, there were a few isolated incidents—a monster on a wing, a psychotic passenger. But they were always minor. Focused on an individual rather than the entire plane. That is, until the long-standing truce was shattered. We now live in a Terrorverse where no one is safe from a painful, venomous death.
Thank you for flying American Scarelines.
1. RECRUIT SKILLED PASSENGERS. “Wait … isn’t step one ‘land the plane’?” Sure, if you’re over land. But guess what? You’re not over land. You’re nowhere near land. And if by some miracle you are over land? The landing gear doesn’t work. Your screenwriter is no dummy. You think somebody sadistic enough to trap hundreds of men, women, and children in a tube full of snakes is going to let you off that easy?
The first thing you need to accept—no matter how tough you think you are—is that no one can survive this ordeal alone. You need help. And lucky for you, an airplane is just the place to find it. In movies, all transoceanic flights have at least one of each of these on the manifest:
How to Survive a Horror Movie Page 8