by Alan Spencer
The leaf blower spat out a greater, impossibly pounding jet of air. Jamie's flesh was flung off the fingers, revealing the bright white bones beneath. Muscle was shredded in great hunks and smacked the U-haul trailer. Jamie's face was ripped off in one surge of air. Eddie saw her screaming skull and the wide eyes in her sockets that looked so much bigger without the eyelids. One more speed higher, the air tore her into pieces. Her head was a spinning thing going sky high. Her chest, one big piece, got tangled up in the tree branches. The cyclone-strong air kept pounding, beating, and breaking her until Jamie was only a pair of standing legs. The legs miraculously stayed upright.
Eddie begged and pleaded not to be blasted like poor Jamie.
The grounds keeper didn't listen.
"You didn't show me your invitations. Watch this, pal. You're going to have a good laugh over this one!"
"Who are you talking to? Talk to me. I can help you. Anything you want. Money. I'll find an invitation. Please. Listen to me! Just don't kill me!"
The leaf blower was trained on him full blast.
He was looking down the long oversized barrel of the blower.
Suddenly his eyes were blasted out the back of his head.
Whatever dam of emotions that had been building up in Calico Minx was flooding right out of her. The girl was near hysterical. Trudy had to keep holding her hands and telling her everything was going to be okay.
Minx kept talking.
She couldn't stop.
"Stan didn't have a good plan to get your half of Sheckler's movie collection. He knew Dominic wouldn't accept any amount of money. So he hatched this plan to pay the Polson brothers to sue Dominic for rights infringement over Rip-O-Lantern. Dominic owns the rights, but if you throw around a bunch of lawyer bullshit legalize around, Stan thought he could scare Dominic into a deal. The rights issue would bring up another problem. Stan thought dirtying Dominic's reputation would cause other movie rights owners to stay away from Cult Crushers.
"I've been helping that bastard all this time. I admit it. Stan's an evil man. He'll do anything to get what he wants. I'm not innocent, but you have to understand where I'm coming from, please. Stan blackmailed me for years. I can't take it anymore. I'm going to go out of my mind. He pays me well, but he gets me to do these things to other people. I feel so wrong. I'm a good person. I swear to God I am."
Trudy's stomach twisted hearing her confess. "What has he done to you? Let me help you. I promise I'll do everything I can."
"Why? I've been nothing but a bitch to you."
"Sometimes people need help. Life is too short to hold grudges. I won't lie. I'm jealous. You're attractive. You have double the fan boys I have online. You make more money than me. Keeping it real is great and all, but you're a crazy success. You're way better than me."
"That's not true at all. You're a superior horror host. You can ad lib and be clever, and all I can do is ad labia. Seriously. Full frontal and doctor's exam nudity is all I've done to top you, girl. And your ass is so much better than mine."
The labia comment got Trudy laughing. "Look at us. We're each other's greatest fans. Man, if we teamed up, two horror mega bitches, we'd turn the world upside down."
Fresh tears wet Minx's eyes. "It would be incredible. It's impossible. Stan's got me in a bad position."
"Tell me about it so I can help you. Dominic's a nice guy. He'll help you too. We can't do anything unless you let me know what's wrong."
"Okay. When I was sixteen, our band Gash Gusher was catching on. I'm not saying we were Bon Jovi or anything. We could get decent paying club gigs. I was a bass player and lead singer. We were doing so well. Then our tour bus crashes. Half the band was seriously injured. Our drummer broke both of her legs. Another broke her neck. She lived, gratefully.
"Needless to say, the group disbanded. I was suddenly broke, on my own, hooked on all kinds of drugs. I started being in porn. Stan Barton's cousin ran the company, while Stan himself was in charge of the clerical things. Stan found out I lied about my age after I'd been in six sex films.
"Stan promised not to tell his cousin if I helped him blackmail a few of his dad's rich friends. I posed as an escort. The trick, I would have sex with the target, and Stan would threaten to tell the cops they had sex with a minor if they didn't pay up.
"It's a nasty business. I'm ashamed. But Stan paid me crazy money. It kept me from running as fast as I could in the other direction from the asshole. I've been off the drugs for two months straight. I'm doing better now. My head is clearing up.
"Stan asked me tonight if his plans backfired, would I try and seduce Dominic, and I could tell the police he raped me. Stan threw this at me moments before Putrid took him to Sheckler's vaults. After that, I approached you, and I'm asking you to help me. Please. I don't have any other real friends. You have no reason to be nice to me. I can't do this anymore. They all want to exploit me. I'm sorry for anything I've done to you and Dominic. You're such nice people, and I'm so awful."
She hugged Minx. Everything about it reeked of how Stan Barton was a son-of-a-bitch who had a lot coming to him. She told Minx to stay seated. Trudy texted Dominic again, adding in the new details of the story. He was quick to text her back.
"Blackmail is illegal, and sure, you participated in those scandals, but you were also being controlled by a grand manipulator. It all starts with Stan blackmailing you. It ends now. It's time we confront the son-of-a-bitch. Let's go."
Minx could barely move. She helped her up off the chair and hugged her from the side. "This ends now. We're going to meet Sheckler at his vault, and Stan's going to get his ass kicked."
Stan was kissing the grand maestro's butt after the man had risen from his wheelchair looking healthy as ever.
"Sheckler! I can't believe it. You're well. That's wonderful. So you're not dying? Does that mean we don't get your collection?"
"Shut up, you idiot," Dominic snapped. "You act like it would be a bad thing if he wasn't dying. God, you're a serious son-of-a-bitch."
"No. Hey. Look. It's not like that, Mr. Sheckler. If I had my way you'd live forever. You're the greatest filmmaker in the history of cinema."
He watched Stan try and talk his way into Sheckler's good graces. The words bounced right off of the seasoned movie director. The man's pale face and frail body was a contradiction to the way he moved. Sheckler was a streak of power. The man became a prize fighter, boxing Stan in the belly five times before bringing home a mean left hook to drop Stan right to the floor.
The old man stood over Stan a conqueror. "Don't get up. You move, you talk, you try and swindle me, I'll bust out your teeth."
Dominic was in shock. "Wow. How did you learn to fight like that?"
"You don't make low budget movies without learning how to box."
The director said that as if that was enough of an explanation.
"You believe what Dominic's telling you, sir?" Stan wasn't giving up his case. "How do you know Dominic's not selling you lines of bullshit to get your collection?"
Putrid was shaking his head. "Why don't you quit? We all know you're full of shit. Dominic's a class act. You're a piece of crap."
"I can take down your estate," Stan changed his tune. The man's face turned from desperate to conniving. "I have a team of lawyers who can dismantle your career. You've done wrong somewhere down the line, whether it be not paying your taxes, or, or, or I don't know, but I'll dig it up the dirt on you somehow."
"I want you out of my home right now. I heard rumors about you, Stan, but I never believe things until I see them with my own two eyes. Now that I've had a front row showing of your bullshit, I'm done with you."
"Before you kick him out," Trudy said, entering arm and arm with a teary eyed Minx, "you need to hear something else, Mr. Sheckler."
Stan pointed at Minx. "You shut your mouth. Remember what we've talked about before tonight."
Minx bolted at Stan and slapped his face three times. "You're horrible! I'm done being blackmailed. I don
't need you. Sell your movies yourself. You're a liar and a cheater, and you've ruined my life."
Minx explained how Stan planned to force Dominic out of his half of Sheckler's collection by the Polson lawsuit and the trumped up rape charge. Minx spilled everything else she told to Trudy.
Sheckler dug out his phone and dialed. "Yeah, Biff, come and remove Stan Barton from the party. He is no longer a welcome guest. If he steps foot on my property, he will be considered a trespasser, and he will be dealt with accordingly."
After he ended the call, he said to Stan, "You are no longer eligible to receive my collection. Dominic will receive one hundred percent of it. If you try anymore blackmail tactics on Dominic, Calico Minx, or Gory Girl, know this. I have lawyers too. I have stacks of cash. I made my mark on Hollywood. When you deal with bozos like Ben Afleck and that Sharon Stone bitch, you start to respect legalities. I will honor my contracts I have currently running with Mad Medusa. Other than that, my business with you is over."
Stan heard this and went on the rampage. He charged at Sheckler with both hands ready to choke. Dominic stepped in, dug into his pocket, and sprayed a jet of mace into the man's eyes. Stan's screech was sharper than a crushed eagle's cry. He folded over and collapsed while cursing and raging.
Biff, a bald headed body builder wearing a tight black shirt and pants, entered the room. He lifted Stan up over his shoulder and was about to carry him out. "You okay, sir?"
Sheckler smiled. "Thanks, Biff. I'm fine now that you're taking out the trash. Offer Mr. Barton the chance to wash out his eyes. He can leave on the limo he arrived in. Goodbye, Stan."
Stan's closed eyes were puffy and leaking tears.
He wasn't done talking.
"This isn't over. Not by a long shot. I'll take you all down. That whore rag will get hers, for starters. I'll crush you in my hands, Dominic. You're nothing up against me. You and that bitch are going down. You watch me! I'm not done. I'll never be done until I get what I want. Your collection will be mine, Sheckler! If you won't give it away, I'll take it from you!"
The words faded up the stairs. Once they couldn't be heard anymore, Sheckler walked up to Minx and gave her a hug.
"You don't have to take anymore of that man's abuse. I'll make sure he can't hurt you in any shape or form."
Trudy whispered in Dominic's ear.
What he heard surprised him.
It also intrigued him.
"I take it you're not working with Mad Medusa anymore, Minx?"
She gave a strong shake of the head. "Hell no. I'm done with that fucker."
"I recently made Trudy co-owner of Cult Crushers. We're both fifty fifty partners. We make the business decisions. I already talked to Putrid about reliving his character if and when Sheckler so graciously gave us his films. How about a triple threat? Gory Girl, Calico Minx, and Putrid Peter all working for us? I love the idea. Talk about a serious horror-gasm."
Minx's eyes froze on Dominic. "Are you for real? After everything? I mean, Stan and I put you through some bad shit. And Stan, you should have him arrested."
"Stan's gone. He doesn't exist. It's just us. Day one. From scratch. How about it? Why don't you work for us, the good guys?"
"Yes! I can't believe you'd have me."
Sheckler clapped. The director hugged Putrid and everybody else. "This is wonderful. I'm happy to give Cult Crushers, and company, my horror collection. I knew this night would be full of twists and turns, and we've barely started the party."
Sheckler reached into the bottom of his wheelchair, removed a towel, and started to wipe off the make-up that made him appear sickly. The movie man's smile grew. He knew they were watching him in shock.
Putrid was the first to speak. "So you're not dying?"
Sheckler gave a hearty laugh. "No. Far from it. My doctor says I'm very healthy. I have many years ahead of me."
"Then why this party? Why give away your collection?" Dominic posed. "You spent a ton of money for this, didn't you? I'm confused."
"Oh, I had a plan. This whole evening has a special purpose. I have something very special to show you guys, now that we've determined we're the good guys. I must reveal my true intentions for inviting you out here tonight."
Everybody waited for the man to reveal the shocking truth.
"Get your hands off of me, you Neanderthal. I'll sue you for touching me. I can take care of myself. Let go of me before I really sic my lawyers on you. You'll be buried neck deep in lawsuits. Those muscles will sure stay hard in prison, won't they? Plenty of time to pump that iron in Sing Sing."
Biff released his hold over Stan. He had helped the hostile guest out the back of the mansion. They were standing next to a garden hose. "You want to wash out your eyes, sir? I bet that mace hurts."
The security guard didn't wait for a reply. He turned on the hose and doused Stan from head to toe in cold water. "That'll cool you off."
Stan was about to blow up. "Oh, you! I can't wait to sue you. I won't forget this. None of it. This is outrageous. Nobody should be treated like this."
Biff had been a bouncer at various bars, night clubs, and even movie sets, and he knew when people were drunk, high, or pissed off, their mouths spat out threats they would never follow up on. They would wake up the next day, move on with their lives, and forget about the muscle bouncer who escorted them from the party.
"Your eyes, sir? You want to wash them out? I'll hold the hose."
Stan unleashed another line of threats, then he snatched the hose from Biff's hands. "I can do it myself, thank you."
"I've been maced before," Biff said. "It'll hurt for some time. It's a good thing you have a driver. I would strongly recommend not getting behind the wheel otherwise."
"I don't need your advice, roids. I'm out of here. Screw you."
The bouncer let the words bounce right off of his thick pectorals. He followed Stan to the front of the mansion to the collection of parked limousines. The obnoxious guest retreated into his vehicle, and the limo immediately left the property.
"Some people," Biff muttered under his breath, "really have problems."
The odd flicker of light caught his attention. He imagined someone running with a lighter in their hands. The flicker came from far off, near the beginning of the woods. Biff recalled what Sheckler said to him before the party.
I have many fans. Most of them are the nicest people. Others are a little off in the head, if you know what I mean. I wouldn't be surprised if there were gatecrashers at the party. You see anything that strikes you as odd, look into it. You prevent a problem, I will pay you a handsome bonus.
He was already moving at a fast jog trying to find the source of light. The swell of music and conversation of the party grew muted. He trained his ears and could hear feet crunch over leaves.
I'm onto you.
I'm this close to a bonus.
My wallet is going to burst.
The crunch of leaves continued. He kept to the trail, making sure his own steps were quiet. Whatever horror dork this was, he could put them in a chokehold and subdue the threat. He knew what fans of any celebrity were capable of, and Biff wasn't about to let anybody get a chance to hurt a harmless old man wanting to throw one last big hoorah.
The footsteps stopped.
He caught the flicker of odd light again.
This time the light was right behind him.
"The fuck?"
Biff's body locked up.
How could anybody mentally process a sight?
The figure had the body of a scarecrow. It wore a flannel shirt, jeans, and black gloves. Straw poked out of every sleeve and opening. That was only the beginning of the strangeness. The flannel's top three buttons were undone to show the swell of breast cleavage lightly damp with evening sweat. The cherry on top of the fucked up sundae, the mysterious person was wearing a pumpkin on their head. The lights Biff was tracking were coming from inside the triangular eyes and toothy jack-o-lantern's grin. The lights themselves appeared to be some
thing battery operated.
Biff wasn't scared anymore. A crazy woman dressed herself up as a pumpkin-wearing scarecrow to impress Sheckler. Big whoop.
"Whoever you are, I'm sure your costume would impress Mr. Sheckler. I'm impressed. The problem is, you weren't invited. I'm very sorry. It's a private affair. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
The scarecrow/jack-o-lantern sized Biff up.
"You going to leave, or do I have to make you leave? I already kicked out one person tonight. Won't trouble me to make it two. We can all have a goodnight if you make this easy on the both of us."
The voice was a whisper. "I have an invitation."
"Then let's see it."
I know this whacko doesn't have an invitation.
This outta be good.
The figure drew to the left, lifted out a long pole from the darkness, and hoisted up a scythe. The blade swooshed down in a practiced arch. His eyes couldn't keep up with the speed of the gleaming metal.
Biff's head was suddenly split in two. Another slash sliced through his neck, causing the two halves of his face to crash together in a bloom of flying brains and spurting blood.
Rip-O-Lantern kicked aside the security officer's body, causing a fat gout of blood to squirt from the neck stump.
"The only invitation this party requires is a R.S.V.P. to the grave."
The murderer drew closer to the mansion, plotting their next move.
The kind of rage coursing through Stan Barton wasn't the type where you could count to ten to slow your breathing and ultimately calm down. This was the caliber of rage where you count to ten while checking that you have a full clip in your Beretta.
I won't be cheated. Sheckler's collection is mine. In the end, I'll get what I want. I always get what I want.
Don't they know who I am? They threw me out the door like I was trash. Calico Minx is going to get it. I got enough dirt on her to bury that bitch ten feet deep. Slut's going down with the rest of them.