Night Things: The Monster Collection

by West, Terry M.

  With a cocked head and friendly expression, the stranger studied Gary. A cigar burned between the man’s huge fingers. He walked slowly and sat down in a large chair that looked like it could accommodate his weight. He motioned to a plush and ornate couch. Gary walked over and sat on it. The man clapped his large hands together, and it activated the heavier lights in the room. Gary took a more illuminated look at the man, and Gary knew immediately that he was facing a monster. But the type escaped Gary.

  The man’s face looked like it had been sewn on. He had a large and fleshy circular scar that framed his face. His hair was black and thick and combed back with product. Gary looked to the man’s hands, the only other skin not hidden beneath the man’s heavy suit, and sure enough, they looked mismatched. The left hand definitely had a darker shade to the skin tone. Gary was sure there were more heavy scars hidden away on this man’s flesh.

  “My name is Johnny Stücke,” he said, with a gravelly voice that went far deeper than Hell. “Do you know who I am, Mr. Hack?”

  “No sir,” Gary admitted, glancing around. “But I am guessing you are someone important, by the looks.”

  The man’s black lips parted and he sucked on his cigar. “I am a businessman, Gary Hack. I wish to branch out and become a patron of the arts. I have recently acquired some distribution channels, but I need content. That’s why you’re here.”

  “You are a fan of my work?” Gary asked.

  “Not the cable bullshit, mind you,” Stücke chuckled. “I’m not impressed by girls pretending to eat each other’s pussies. I brought you in because of the Bloody Carnivores video. Now that was inspired.”

  Gary nodded slowly. His involvement with the video wasn’t publically known. “How did you find out it was me?”

  Johnny Stücke grinned with surprisingly well-maintained dental work and pointed to his right ear. “This ear came from a man who heard things, you see. And it heard you were the mastermind behind that nasty little business.”

  Gary rubbed his hands together. “Yeah, the effects were great, huh? Some people even thought we actually killed the spooks in that video.”

  “CGI or practical?” Johnny asked.

  “Excuse me?” Gary said.

  “The effects,” Stücke said. “Were they computer generated or make-up effects?”

  “Make-up,” Gary answered quickly. “Old school.”

  “My favorite,” Stücke said. “Who did the effects?”

  “Pardon,” Gary said.

  “The artist. Who was it?”

  Gary struggled for a name. His discomfort seemed a source of amusement for the big man.

  Stücke held up a hand and quieted his stammering guest. “Gary Hack, do you see fur or fangs on me anywhere?”

  Gary shook his head, silently.

  “I know you killed the vamp and the wolf. I know it for a fact,” Stücke said.

  He motioned to a doorway and a hunchbacked man in a butler suit came in with a tray of martinis. Johnny took one. The feral looking, red-haired servant offered a drink to Gary, who declined.

  Stücke poured the martini down his throat and then got back to it. “I don’t care that you wasted them. Vampires are just impulse on two legs. They have no common sense or restraint and they could give a good shit about anyone. And the wolves are only good for something when the moon is full. Otherwise, they’re worthless. And every single furry I have ever encountered was a whiny mother fucker. That’s why I have none of either on my crew. You can’t rely on or trust either breed. So fuck them both, to be perfectly blunt.”

  “What’s your breed, Mr. Stücke?” Gary asked. It may not have been the smartest question to pose, but he had to know.

  Johnny Stücke merely smiled at this as he handed his empty martini glass to the hunchback. “I am one of a kind, my friend. Trust me on that. My father had no name or classification for me. I have lived a very, very long while and though I was preoccupied in my early time with some rather gruesome retribution, I have spent the majority of my years learning and prospering. It is easy to grow and reinvent yourself when you have that immortal spark inside. I’ve put many titles on forms over the years. The only one you need to concern yourself with is the present one; because you’re going to start seeing it on your paychecks.”

  “What do you mean?” Gary asked, trying not to sound suspicious.

  “You are going to work that magic for me,” Stücke announced, as if it were a given that everybody but Gary had been privy to. “Like I said, I have avenues. I need content.”

  Gary looked around the apartment. Even in the darkened edges of the penthouse, he saw a fortune in furniture and art. He decided to relax and hear Stücke out. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I want to finance your vision, Gary Hack. I want to be your sponsor,” Stücke explained, motioning for the ginger hunchback to bring another round. This time, Gary accepted a drink.

  “How would this work?” Gary said, downing the martini quickly.

  “You do what you do, and I foot the bill,” Stücke said. “You use who you want, manage your crew and production, film whatever you want, as long as there is penetration, of course. You work with my post-production house when you are finished, you slap a title card on it that reads a Johnny Stücke Production, and then we are golden. And I will compensate you better than anyone has.”

  “What about creative control?” Gary asked, not above asking a monster gangster for a playhouse free of rules.

  Stücke considered it. “Well, I am going to need to have some input in this arrangement. I trust you, but it’s my money. I am sure there are certain sensibilities that I will want reflected in a Johnny Stücke production. But you have to expect that, Gary Hack. You creative folks would float off into the ether without us business types to ground you.”

  “So, we’re talking collaboration,” Gary said, sitting up on the edge of the couch.

  Stücke grinned around the burning cigar in his mouth and pointed at Gary. “Yes. I got a million ideas, Gary Hack. I got a bunch of places to go with this arrangement.”

  “And what were you thinking about as far as compensation?” Gary asked.

  “Ten thousand a gig,” Stücke said, blowing smoke into the air between them. “It will be a standard director-for-hire contract. But I will throw you points. And you will want them.”

  Gary nodded softly, trying not to show his excitement. “That sounds agreeable. And that’s just my pay, correct? Not a budget for the whole production?”

  “That’s just your salary,” Stücke assured him. “You submit a budget for the rest. I know you have people. Bring them aboard. I’ll need socials for the W9’s, but otherwise, it’s your show, Gary Hack.”

  “And what did you have in mind for our maiden voyage?” Gary said. “Do you want me to pitch some stuff?”

  Stücke’s gray face lit up. “Like I said, I have a million ideas.”

  “Let’s hear one,” Gary encouraged him.

  “Zombie gangbang,” Stücke said, holding up his mismatched hands in the air to fatten the proclamation.

  Gary digested it, and it wasn’t an easy task to keep his face straight and free of negative reflection. He was on the tail-end of his buzz, but even wasted he would have recognized this as a bad idea. “There are… complications with that,” Gary said carefully.

  “How so?” Stücke asked, but Gary could tell from the monster’s tone that Stücke was probably aware of them. “Tell me about these complications.”

  Gary felt like he was being played with, but he carried on, regardless. “There is the horde law. We can’t have more than three assembled together in one place.”

  “I will have a small army on hand for crowd control. And we will keep them segregated to smaller groups,” Stücke suggested, and Gary realized the monster had thought this out. “We don’t have to have a hundred of them on screen at once. We just need to keep a line flowing. I want this to be epic.”

  “So you want a hundred of them?” Gary said,
uneasily. He had figured a dozen at most, and that number made him very nervous. A gathering of a hundred zombies was enough to ignite an apocalypse. And there were stiff laws for assembling so many. It was considered a terrorist act. There was even an international law pending at the U.N. that wanted to classify a gathered horde as a weapon of mass destruction. This was serious shit.

  “I will have at least twenty-five guys on hand with semi-automatic weapons and flame-throwers,” Stücke assured the director. “If things get tense, we’ll put them down but quickly.”

  “But the penalties…” Gary said. His dread was now visible.

  “You let me worry about them,” Stücke said. “You’re there to make a movie. I will handle the other details. You spread enough money around this city, and you would be surprised at what you can get away with.”

  “There are other considerations, though,” Gary continued. “When these zombies get sexually excited, they want to eat. It is how they… cum.”

  “So let them cum,” Stücke said.

  “What do you mean?” Gary asked.

  “There are a lot of people out there serving no purpose,” Stücke explained, crushing out his cigar on his gray palm. “Surely you know someone who won’t be missed; maybe a total raging cunt, who you wouldn’t mind this fate befalling?”

  “You want to murder someone in the movie?” Gary said, a little heated despite the dangerous creature in the room. “Why would you think I would be okay with that?”

  Stücke shrugged and lit another cigar. “You murdered a vamp and furry in your last film. What are you a racist or something?”

  “That was… different,” Gary said, realizing immediately that he had just confessed to it. “They weren’t human. Killing a night thing isn’t a crime. You kill a human on film, even one who won’t be missed, and you’ll have people investigating you.”

  “We can credit it all to effects,” Stücke insisted. “We’ll run a disclaimer. No animals hurt bullshit. They won’t be able to prove jack shit unless they show up on set.”

  “It’s too big a risk,” Gary maintained.

  “What’s your suggestion, then?” Stücke asked, and Gary could tell impatience was beginning to simmer in the man.

  “Okay, two things,” Gary said, deciding to take this bull by the horns and twist it to the ground. “Number one, we get a vamp or furry or other night thing that could pass as human. We doll her up, and let the zombies tear her apart. No legal repercussions that way.”

  Gary hated the thought of feeding another night thing to the cinematic Gods. But it was easier to live with than a human sacrifice.

  Stücke considered it, pushing his black lips up. “Okay, that’s sounds like a plan. What’s the other thing?”

  “For this particular movie I want a higher salary,” Gary declared. “Twenty grand.”

  Stücke smiled and sucked on his cigar. “Double, huh? You got balls asking for that.”

  “It’s a dangerous gig, even with your assurances,” Gary said. “You want me to whole-heartedly embrace this thing, you bump my pay.”

  “Done,” Stücke agreed.

  Gary nodded, realizing he would now have to convince his crew to participate.

  “I’ll have the location locked by the end of the week,” Stücke said. “I want to start shooting in two. Get me a budget within forty-eight hours.”

  Gary nodded and then cleared his throat. He was thirsty, all of a sudden. “Can I ask you a question about this?”

  “Sure,” Stücke said, summoning the hunchback.

  Gary accepted another martini. “There aren’t many people who are into zombie porn. It’s pretty sickening, actually. It doesn’t have the erotic flavor of vampire porn. It’s grungy, even for the heavy fetish crowd. Most people don’t care for it.”

  Stücke flashed a devilish smirk at Gary. “Who said I was making it for people?”

  “You’re making it for the zombies?” Gary asked, trying to figure how that would work.

  “They are on their way up the financial food chain, Gary Hack,” Stücke said, shifting up in his seat and making his pitch. “I got news for you; the zombies are going to end up with most of the menial work out there. They may not be cut out for the food industry or anything that requires a sterile environment, but they will damn sure mow your lawn or clean your pool. Americans may not like it at first, but let’s be honest; zombies can do the work for half of what immigrants will do it for, you know? Even the Mexicans and you don’t get much cheaper than that. Oh, we may despise them now, but in a short time, we’ll be depending on them and advertising to them.

  “They are going to save American businesses billions on benefits alone. And those rotting bastards will be looking for some recreational activities, just like the rest of us. They have appetites, and they will be willing to spend their money to feed them. It will make them feel alive. This movie is for them, Gary Hack. And I want it to be the fucking Gone with the Wind of zombie porn, my friend.”

  “It makes sense,” Gary had to admit. “Okay, we’re good.”

  “There’s just one more issue to address,” Stücke said, standing. He walked over slowly to the director. “I understand you have some appetites, yourself.”

  “What do you mean?” Gary said, sinking back into the couch as the big man approached. Gary grew cold and frightened. He had to remind himself that he was dealing with a fiend.

  Stücke stopped, standing close to Gary. The monster eyed the man. “I need you sober on set, Gary Hack; especially on something of this magnitude.”

  Gary raised his hands, defensively. “The only thing I indulge in on a movie set is work. My personal life or appetites have never screwed things up. I am a professional. You can trust me on this, Mr. Stücke. You are not a man I would want to disappoint.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Stücke said, smiling. “Because once I make an investment, I don’t write it off. If it turns out to be a bad one, I simply salvage what I can from it.”

  Stücke flashed his brown hand in front of Gary’s face. “Nothing goes to waste, Gary Hack.”

  “I understand,” Gary said, as calmly as he could.

  Stücke backed off, only slightly, and then he noticed the gris-gris bag around Gary’s neck. He gripped it with two large fingers and held it up. Gary followed the gray hand. “You are wearing a talisman, Gary Hack?”

  Stücke released the leather pouch and Gary settled back against the couch. “It’s a gris-gris bag,” he explained. “A street vendor sold it to me.”

  “Which vendor?” Stücke asked.

  “A black guy over on fourteenth,” Gary informed him. Gary tried to hold a tranquil expression, even with the Stücke standing over him. “He has a whole set-up. He sells trinkets and elixirs, as well as items to ward off the night things.”

  “What’s his nationality?” Stücke inquired further.

  “I haven’t been able to peg him,” Gary replied. “He doesn’t have a heavy foreign accent or anything, but there is a definite exotic flavor to him.”

  Stücke nodded and considered that information. “This is African voodoo, most likely.”

  Stücke returned his attention to the gris-gris bag. “But that doesn’t stop us all, Gary Hack. It’ll keep a furry, zombie or a vamp at a distance, but the higher forms of spooks will shove it up your ass. Here, I got something for you.”

  The man-monster walked over to his large desk and pulled a 9mm from a drawer. He brought it over to Gary. He pulled the clip from it and snapped a bullet out. He held it to Gary’s face.

  “Silver bullets,” Stücke announced. “They’ll kill a furry, paralyze a vamp and slow a zombie down. All of the bumps in the night are affected by silver. And getting hit with one of these sleek bastards stings like a mother fucker, at the very least. This is more effective than a smelly necklace.”

  Stücke reloaded the weapon and handed it to Gary. “A gift,” he said, with a smile.

  Gary took it and nodded gratefully. The elevator doors o
pened and Gary’s silent escorts stared at him from inside.

  “Your ride is here,” Stücke said. “We’ll talk soon.”

  ***

  “A zombie gangbang video?” Ella Howes whispered, incredulously. “Jesus, Gary. You are just determined to get us killed.”

  Gary and Ella sat at a booth in the Greek diner around the corner from Gary’s apartment. His place was too messy for business meetings, so they occurred here, where the food was mediocre but the coffee was fantastic.

  “I am putting in for three times your rate,” Gary said, tapping the spiral notebook that rested on the table.