Party At Sheckler's

by Alan Spencer

  The room was a study. Trudy sat the upset woman on the couch in the middle of the room.

  "Tell me what's got you so upset. I know you can't be a mean person. It's a front for something. I can read people pretty well. And I bet it has something to do with Stan."

  The grief stricken woman turned her eyes up and met Trudy's. "Yes. It's horrible."

  "Then tell me. We'll work this out. We can be friends."

  Minx put her hands in Trudy's. They were trembling. "Just help me, please. I don't know what to do."

  "First, tell me what's wrong. I promise to help you no matter what it is."

  She wasn't prepared for Minx's sordid story.

  Cindy Sheckler, now Cindy Mayhews per the divorce, couldn't wait to leave the party. The people here made her nervous. She wasn't a fan of horror movies. She wanted to be an actress. A real actress. One that can act, read lines, and be respected. Friends told her if she posed as a hospice nurse, seduced Sheckler, he would help her get her feet wet in the industry. Little did she know how done he was with Hollywood. He was reflective, old, and dying, and wanted to remember his "better days". Her foot in Hollywood's door had been severed, so she slapped him with divorce papers.

  They had a prenuptial agreement. Meaning no money for her. That was until she got the invitation to this party and a promise of a fair share of the estate. She was paying the price for that check, however much it was, by attending this horrid party.

  She was on her third sea breeze drink when a person in a pizza delivery outfit came over to her. "Cindy Mayhews. You are cordially invited to pick up your fair share of the estate."

  The guy wearing a creepy latex mask of another person's face opened up the pizza box for her. "Just take the envelope inside and follow the instructions to the exact detail. You will be well on your way in moments."

  She eyed what was inside the pizza box. "Ewwww. What is all of that about?"

  "Take it. Please."

  A fake severed hand clutched an envelope. Surrounding the hand were eyeballs covered in thick pink tissue, tongues, and severed fingers.

  "Gross. Do I have to touch it? Why can't he just give me a check?"

  The pizza guy's voice was gravel in a blender. "We have to play by the rules, don't we? I suggest you read the card and do as it says. You know the rules. Play the game or leave without a check."

  "Whatever. Everybody's a fucking weirdo around here. I can't wait to get home."

  She grabbed the envelope. She tried real hard not to touch any of the gore. The back of her hand grazed the tongue, and it was covered in a sticky rubber glue substance. "Gross!"

  She rushed away from the pizza guy. She rushed to the bar, grabbed a pile of napkins, and wiped the crap off of her hand. Then she tore open the envelope. On plain white card stock, it read: Meet me by the pool.

  More games. Whatever. If this is the old man's last wish before he buys the farm, no big deal. Then I'm out of here big time.

  Cindy power stepped through the main lobby area, across the dining area, took a left down a hall and was out the back door. There was a short stone walkway that trailed through a long stretch of grass into the beginning of the woods. There was a pool house, pool, tennis court, and basketball court cut out of the wooded area. That's where Sheckler was going to meet her.

  The way was dark. It was only eight-thirty, but the normal track lighting on the path was turned off. The evening breeze made her shiver. She was wearing a party dress. Maybe a nice man would drape his coat over her, and maybe that man would be rich, and in Hollywood.

  You tried that once, and that plan failed miserably.

  I guess I'll have to go back and do it the old fashion way and audition and keep trying to get an agent.

  Don't lie to yourself. Everybody cheats and cuts corners to get what they want these days.

  The path opened up.

  She saw the three other women standing around the pool. Shecklers' ex-wives.

  When Cindy stepped towards the other three, that got them nice and heated. Beverly, Sheckler's first wife, was the oldest of the group, and the most outspoken.

  "Where's that bag of shit? He promised me my check. Now I'm out here in the cold waiting for him. It's just like always. We're his playthings."

  "You're not the only one who doesn't want to be here," Gloria said, the second oldest ex. "I got a plane to catch. I'm going right back to LA tonight. I'll miss my plane if this idiot doesn't own up to his end of the deal. Sheckler's nothing but a big dumb kid. I don't care how old that man is, or if he's dying."

  Andrea, aka, Andy, was only ten years older than Cindy. She was the friendliest of the ex-wives. "Look, this is his night. I know we all hate his guts. He's not going to be with us much longer. We can at least humor him, can't we?"

  Beverly sneered. "Yeah. Humor him. Humor this." She flipped off the mansion. "I put up with his horror shenanigans for years. I put in the most time. You're just a bunch of bitches he banged. He took advantage of you dumb girls. God didn't give you the good sense to know once you opened those legs, you gave up your power over a man."

  Cindy was about to let the old bag have it when somebody approached the pool. The others quit talking and looked for Sheckler. The man approaching them wasn't the night's man of honor.

  "It's just a grounds keeper," Beverly said with distaste. "I don't know what he's doing at this hour. Everything's so dark. How can that man see what he's doing?"

  The grounds keeper was lurking in the shadows on the outskirts of the pool. He heard what Beverly said.

  "I can see just fine...for my purposes."

  "Have you seen Stan anywhere?" Cindy asked. "We're waiting for him."

  "You're where you need to be," the grounds keeper said. "And Sheckler's where he needs to be. Every man needs a good woman to support him. You allowed this man to damage people's lives. If it weren't for you, many people would still be happy and well."

  The women were now on high alert, except for Beverly.

  "Now wait. What right do you have to speak to us that way? I'm going to get you fired. Now screw off. I'm going back inside and finding Sheckler. This is one of his games, I'm certain."

  Cindy gasped when the groundskeeper approached the pool and stepped into the light. He wasn't dressed as a groundskeeper at all. He wore a welder's mask. The rest of his body was covered in black rubber. At his chest was a steel nozzle that extended six inches. Attached to that nozzle was a hose that trailed to a giant tank on his back.

  Before Cindy could run, and before any of the other women could react, giant flames sprayed them from the crude nozzle. The orange flames hit them like liquid. The women were burning fast, covered from head to toe in what chewed through skin and ate into bone in seconds.

  Cindy was the only one who managed to jump into the pool and douse the flames. She was in agony, suffering third degree burns. She mewled and moaned in horrible pain. When she lifted up her head to get air, the strange man stood over her with a .45 magnum in his hand.

  "I hope you enjoyed your party. It's going to be your last!"

  The killer pulled the trigger.

  The bullet bored through her forehead and spattered her brains across the surface of the water.

  Sheckler's vault was amazing.

  Old movies posters covered the walls from Sheckler's old films. Boxes of lobby cards and old props were stacked high. Metal shelves were crammed with movie reel cases. Many were unfinished films of Sheckler's, early backyard films, or uncut versions from his catalogue. There was also thousands of VHS, Beta, Video disc, and laser disc horror films that were super rare. Sweat was rolling down Dominic's back taking in the enormity of the collection. He reached out on the shelf and plucked Heart Burner.

  This was one of Sheckler's last films before going A-list Hollywood. The tagline was: Break his heart, he'll burn yours. The plot was a man who ran a dating service who could bring people together romantically with ease, but he couldn't get a date himself. He loses his mind anytime a woman s
ays no to a date, and he burns them with a mini flamethrower strapped to his chest.

  Stan was obnoxious about his end of the collection. "Oh my. This one is hard to get. No way. I can't believe Sheckler would give me this movie. If my side it this good, I'm sure you've got a lot of good stuff too. Name your price."

  "Can it, ass monkey. You could offer me a billion dollars. I wouldn't offer you one movie from my side."

  "Throw me a reasonable cash sum. Try me."

  "I'll try punching your block off, dildo breath. Quit talking. I'm not making deals."

  Putrid was sitting in the corner in a chair made of fake bones. He was smoking a cigarette and shaking his head. "You two are a bunch of children. Listen to you guys."

  Dominic didn't hear him. He was clutching onto a VHS copy of Preserves. The cover showed a man in overalls with a cartoonish grin smearing a giant piece of toast with jelly, and that jelly was gory goop. The tagline on the front said: Henry Granger had a problem disposing of dead bodies, until he opened up his jelly business.

  "Two million dollars, Dominic. You hearing me over there? I'll give you two million for your half of Sheckler's estate."

  Stan's voice was annoying him. He was experiencing the biggest horror fan boy orgasm, and this moron wouldn't stop talking.

  "Shut up, would you? Let me enjoy this."

  "Just think about it."

  "I have. No thanks. Now shut up, you baby dropper."

  "Three million dollars."

  "Can it, fudge finger. I can't stand your voice."

  "Three and a half million. Final offer."

  "Pass. No more deal talking. God, you're a serious pony choker."

  Dominic's phone vibrated. Trudy had texted him. What he read really stole his attention. His first instinct was to panic. But then he remembered the situation with Rip-O-Lantern being complicated. The rights were owned by the Polson brothers.

  One brother claimed to have purchased the rights and owned them exclusively. The brother promised this was true, and the other claimed this was true on their end as well, so he paid both brothers equal money and signed a contract. What the Polson brothers didn't realize was that their movie had fallen into the public domain three years prior to the deal. Still, Dominic didn't want to screw anybody over and did the right thing. One of the brothers must've wanted more money and contacted Stan Barton for help, or vice versa.

  It was clear Stan Barton wanted to scare him with a lawsuit. Stan must've failed to do his research, because Dominic had done the deal squeaky clean.

  "Go ahead and sue me, donkey dick. You got nothing on me and Rip-O-Lantern."

  Stan came around from his shelf with a shocked expression. "What? Who said I was suing you?"

  "Your goon girl, Calico Minx. She told Trudy about your little plan. You might've talked to the Polson brothers and turned them against me, but I own the rights to that movie. It's under my name for the next six years. Bring on your lawyers and lawsuits. I'm not afraid of you. We'll go to court. You got no leverage over me. You're not going to scare me. And what you were going to have Calico Minx do in case your plan didn't work is vile. Let's get one thing straight. You're an asshole, but this is low, even for you. All bets are off."

  Anger was coursing through his veins. His hands were bunched into fists. The room was growing hotter. Putrid got up from his chair, seeing the change in Dominic.

  "What's going on here?"

  "Yeah," Stan said, starting to cower. "Stay back. You got a crazy look in your eye."

  "I just heard everything you were doing and going to do with Calico Minx. It's pretty evil. Blackmail is against the law. You really put her through hell. This isn't about legalities. It's about comeuppance."

  He pounded his fist home. Two shots to Stan's stomach. The man buckled to the floor, coughing and almost retching.

  Dominic lifted him back up by the front of his shirt.

  "Get up, you scum bag!"

  He punched him one more time square in the mouth. Stan toppled backwards and struck the floor. He was wiping blood from his mouth and not caring about the tears streaming from his disbelieving eyes.

  "Oh, you're going to get it! Your ass is going to jail. I hope they rape your ass. I'll pay somebody to rape your ass. Yeah. You're going to get it, Dominic. You had no right to attack me like that. Oh, you're going to get it good in jail. Real good rape."

  Putrid stood in-between them. "Whoa. What was that about, Dominic? You just went off on him. Who cares about a collection? I don't take you for the type to be violent. You seem like a nice guy."

  "I am a nice guy. It's this steaming pile of shit that had it coming."

  Everything came to abrupt halt when Sheckler arrived on the scene in his wheelchair. He was smiling until he saw Stan on the ground. Stan got up and stood beside Sheckler.

  "You can't give half the collection to him." He was pointing a shaking finger at Dominic. "He assaulted me. He's crazy."

  Sheckler, in his weak voice, said, "Is this true? Did you attack Stan?"

  "I did, and I'm sorry I had to do it. I mean no disrespect. If you'll allow me to explain, I can set this right."

  "Don't let him talk. He has caused a public disturbance. Dominic said if I didn't hand over my end of the collection, he was going to break my kneecaps."

  Putrid turned his head to Stan. "Now that is not what happened at all."

  Stan wasn't giving up. "They're both lying. They were talking earlier, Mr. Sheckler. They want the whole collection to make a ton of money. They want to screw me over. Dominic can't handle that temper of his, and now he's caught up in his lies."

  "Shut up, Stan," Sheckler said. "I only work with you because you put out a good product. I never liked you. No sugar on it. You're an entitled son-of-a-bitch. Now let Dominic speak his side of the story. I'll hear both sides and make a determination myself. Or do you think I'm incapable of deciding for myself, Mr. Barton?"

  He lowered his head. "I don't think that, sir."

  Sheckler sighed. The frail old man was saddened by the situation. "Okay. What happened, and make it good. I can see now I can't split up my estate between you two. The problems it'll cause, for one. Two, I don't want two companies fighting over rights to my films. I want to guarantee my legacy, not have them tied up in legalities. One will get the collection, and the other one won't. So make it good, Dominic. What happened here?"

  Dominic could barely get the words out, he was so nervous. He could easily screw this up all because of Stan.

  When he was done talking, he couldn't believe what Sheckler did in reaction.

  "You know for a fact Sheckler's collection is in that mansion?"

  Eddie Johnson knew about the film vault. He was head of marketing for Mad Medusa Releasing. When Stan was in his office, in between looking up porn and taking naps, the man would talk up how he was inheriting the Sheckler collection very soon. Eddie knew a goldmine when he saw it, and that vault was a goldmine. If handled carefully, tonight could prove to be quite the lucrative venture. Eddie had Jamie Kidd, a girl who performed a lot of graphic design work on the Mad Medusa website, along with him for the haul.

  "Yes, I'm positive," Eddie answered Jamie. "I heard Stan talk to Sheckler over the phone during one of his power lunch conferences. You should've heard Stan kiss that guy's butt. You heard of brown nosing. This is brown facing."

  "What if we get caught?"

  "We've gone over this, Jamie. We'll wear our scary masks. Nobody will know it's us. We'll blend right in. We sneak into the party late, when everybody has had too much to drink. We search the place for the vault and raid the thing. If it's already been cleaned up by our boss, we follow him home, and we steal the shit there.

  "It's perfect. How many people want Sheckler's unreleased films? There's serious money and collector's value here. The cops would have to weed through so many suspects. We play it cool, we'll get what we want. Unless you've changed your mind?"

  Jamie was scared, but she wanted the pay day too.

&nb
sp; He could see it in her eyes, those dollar signs.

  Eddie noticed something strange up ahead. He lifted up a corner of a giant tarp and revealed a U-haul trailer. "Huh. That's weird. What's this doing here?"

  A voice nearby made them jump. "Where are your invitations?"

  He was quick to counter the angry stranger's demand. "Who are you to ask?"

  "I'm Jimmy Green. I'm the grounds keeper."

  "What're you doing working so late?" Eddie pointed at the worker's giant leaf blower strapped over his shoulder. "Blowing leaves in the dark? Why don't you go blow somewhere else, pal."

  Eddie could see faint features on the grounds keeper's face. Strange, he thought, how he wore a baseball cap. What hung from the bill of the cap was a black curtain of material that obscured the man's face.

  "Where are your invitations? You weren't planning on sneaking into the party, were you?"

  "Fuck off. You understand me? You want to make something of it, I'll kick in your face."

  "Eddie, don't." Jamie was scared. She drew close to Eddie. "I don't like this. We should leave."

  "Because of this joker who takes his job a bit too seriously? I don't think so. Hey, man. I tell you what. Fifty bucks says you didn't see us here. Deal?"

  The grounds keeper stepped closer. The man's voice was suddenly conversational. "You ever seen a movie called Grounds Reaper?"

  "Yeah," Eddie piped up. "It's a cult classic. You're dressed up like him. Of course. You're a fellow fan. Sorry about earlier. It all makes sense now."

  The stranger didn't hear him. "Where's your invitation to the party?"

  "Dude, screw off. Why aren't you at the party where you should be?"

  The grounds keeper aimed the leaf blower at them. "Invitations. I want to see them. Now."

  "Fuck you."

  "One more chance. Show me your invitations."

  "What? What are you going to do to me? Seriously. I'm asking you. You going to blow us away with that thing in your hands?"

  "Yes."

  The grounds keeper yanked back a string, starting up a giant motor. The motor was a spinning blade shooting sparks. Eddie and Jamie were thrown up against the side of the U-haul by a great gust of hot air. Eddie couldn't move. The skin on his face was rippling like waves on water. Jamie was in the same terrible situation.