by Alan Spencer
"Seriously folks, there's more fun downstairs. The party isn't over. Sheckler over here, he's a real crazy kidder. His last words were wild and zany stuff. He said he had a movie to show you. One that'll scare the pants off of you. This film will really get your heart racing. Real cemetery cinema. Ghouls give it a thumb's up. The bloody best of horror, Sheckler promised. It'll even entertain them. Them, as in you fine people. So let's pop some popcorn, drink some watered down sodas, and plop ourselves downstairs and have an entertainment orgasm!"
Putrid marched towards the door. Dominic opened his eyes a crack. The crowd of killers parted to let him through. The horror host was going on and on with his desperate and dumb puns about clowns, death, and Sheckler's "film" really knocking them dead.
When the room was clear, he went over to Trudy. He urged her towards the door. The group of them were downstairs. The stairway was clear. All they had to do was sneak down those stairs, dart across the living room, and make it to that other stairway that led to Sheckler's vault of films.
"Follow me," Dominic whispered. "Be as quiet as possible. Watch every step. There's blood and body parts everywhere."
Trudy only nodded her head in agreement. She kept her breaths shallow. She feared to make any noise, regardless of how slight.
He felt all of his processes working overtime. Anytime, he thought his heart would overheat and conk out on him.
He stayed low and crept down the stairs. She stayed right behind him, mimicking his movements. He kept picturing that VHS copy of Stench on the shelf next to Heart Burner and Demented Halloween Hayride III. How he would accomplish taking that video and shove it into the nearest VHS and TV hookup in the living room escaped him.
More steps down the long stairway.
He couldn't count how many times he asked himself if crazy Barbie's confession was the truth. What if the viewing did nothing to the group?
Once they made it to the bottom of the stairs, Dominic was hit on the side of the head by something solid. Trudy screamed. What hit him was Putrid's severed head.
The group of killers was coming for them.
They weren't fooled by their trick.
Now they were very angry.
He guided Trudy across the living room. She struggled to keep up. Dominic moved so fast with the group on their tail.
He located the stairway that led to Sheckler's vault. Faster and faster, they pumped their feet. Once they touched down, they saw the vault was still open from earlier. He pushed Trudy ahead of him into the vault. Dominic threw the steel door shut. Fists banged against the other side for minutes on end. Demands for their blood bled through the steel.
They hugged each other tight.
"Now we're trapped in here. We're dead out there, and we're dead in here. And Putrid. Oh God, they killed him. Why did we think showing them that movie would've worked?"
"We were desperate."
"Why did you talk us into it, Dominic? This is your fault."
The words broke his heart. He stepped back from Trudy stunned. He sank to the floor and pressed his back up against one of the shelves full of reels.
"You and your company. I almost didn't come to this party. You worked it out so I would. If only I stayed home. If only I stayed away from you."
Her face was trembling. Hot tears were crawling down her face. He feared to approach her. She loathed him. What could he say to make her understand it wasn't anybody's fault?
He thought about getting them out of here alive again.
He wondered how long they could stay in this vault without air.
The question didn't have to be answered when he felt a slight breeze cross his body.
"Where's that air coming from?"
She returned from deep thought. "What?"
"I feel a soft breeze. Where is it coming from? Maybe it's a way out. I understand if you hate me, and you never want to see me again, but I'm getting you out of here alive."
She didn't respond. They were searching the walls, moving aside boxes, and knocking things over. The breeze was coming from the left wall. He ripped the giant poster for Carpet Munchers off the wall and revealed a door.
Behind the door was a narrow set of wooden stairs that led to the backyard. No other observations were necessary. They were up and out of the mansion in seconds. They retreated together; away from the party, away from the mass of death, the blood, the guts, the horror.
He wasn't sure how long it was before they reached a road. The journey through the woods went on and on. Without a cell phone, the plan was to wait until a car passed by and prayed a good Samaritan pulled over to help them. Most people would avoid them because they were bloody and looked like hell. He wouldn't blame them for skipping over a bunch of freakish looking people. A 9-1-1 call was all they needed, and they were home free.
The road was quiet in both directions. Desperate, they carried on, moving at a fast pace. Ten more minutes, and not a single vehicle. They were out in the middle of nowhere. How many cars would happen to pass their position?
Before Dominic gave up, a vehicle pulled over.
The U-haul driver was an older man wearing a black t-shirt and faded pants.
"You folks look distressed. My name is Jim Jakes. I'll get you to the closest hospital. Hop on in."
Jim Jakes handed Dominic a cell phone. "Better call the police. Looks like you two have been through hell."
Dominic was relieved there was a signal. He talked to the dispatcher and told them the unbelievable occurrences at Sheckler's mansion.
When the call was over, he saw Trudy's distraught expression.
Jim Jakes had been talking the whole time.
"...work, and I work hard, that's how I gets the job. This U-haul is full of his items. They're not mine. They're my friend's. He doesn't haul much from town to town. You see, I offer a special service. It's a matter of convenience. That's what businesses are for. To offer busy people good service. That's convenience for the customer, and a paycheck for me.
"I'm the best mover, you see. I clean your residence, pack it up, and move on. It's a load off any murderer's shoulders to know they're not leaving anything behind. Especially evidence. I once helped a gentleman pack up his apartment overnight on four hour's notice. The idiot left a severed head in the freezer. The asshole didn't forget his ice trays, but he forgot the noggin' of that bitch he killed. Can you imagine? True story. What would these killers do without ol' Jim Jakes at their service?"
Blood Movers, Dominic thought with a dip of the stomach. Oh my God, no!
Dominic mouthed to Trudy, "Play along. Stay calm."
She motioned to the back seat. There was Putrid Peter's headless corpse.
Dominic had to think fast.
They were on a busy highway now. Interstate 70. The morning sun was rising. Rush hour was beginning.
There was no playing along to trick anybody.
Jim Jakes reached under his seat and revealed a thick cleaver.
"Sheckler's party isn't over yet! No sir, no!"
Dominic punched Jim Jakes in the jaw, jerked the wheel in the direction of the shoulder, and sent the U-haul trailer crashing into the concrete median. Jim didn't try and attack them once the car was stopped. He fled out the driver's side. Dominic could see him open the back of the U-haul rig.
Out they came.
The mob of killers.
Jack the Ripper flashed his packed in breasts covered in green mold and caused a bus driver to crash into the vehicle in front of him. After plowing through four vehicles, the bus tipped over onto its side, completely blocking the interstate. The pile up was instant. Crash after crash, the wild wrecking of vehicles going seventy plus miles an hour. Turned over, crunched up, turned on their sides, pinned between many vehicles, those in the cars were sitting ducks for the killers to unleash their bloodlust.
The old farmer was reaching through a shattered driver's side window to slash a woman's throat while the woman with scissors was poking out a man's eyes. Grounds reaper wa
s using his giant leaf blower on a taxi driver who was trying to run away from him. The wild burst of air ripped off the man's clothing in two seconds. The skin was crudely torn in strips, everything from his buttocks to the back of his head. The psychotic police officer was pumping his 12 gauge and unloading in all directions. "I won't be issuing traffic tickets. Your violations will cost you your life!"
The Cleaver husband and wife were hacking through the roof of a mini-van trying to slice up a mother and her four children. "They're from well-off stock. Lean, rich cuts. I pray our steel is up for the task of rendering such fine flesh."
Rip-O-Lantern was using the scythe on a long pole as a hockey stick and high swung. Heads were launched up into the air and smacked down onto the pavement. Heads were constantly rolling.
A woman in a green witch mask and black dress was shoving a broomstick between a woman's legs. Ride the Witch's evil witch split the air with her maniacal laughter. "Ah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah! I'll split you in two! Or how about some magic?" The fake witch dug into her pocket and tossed a bag of purple powder that melted the woman's face into a sick boiling flesh putty.
The disgruntled teenager from Prom Bomb stuck a bundle of red TNT sticks onto the bottom of an SUV and lit the fuse. The fuse burned in a blink, and a great explosion rocked that car and the twelve others around it into a burning pyre of flying metal pieces and sizzling human meat.
The heavy set man in an undershirt and a black rubber apron was shoving two men head-first into a meat grinder on wheels. His flabby arms were hard at work churning the bodies into pink hamburger. The Horny Butcher kept searching for a female to grind up.
A news chopper was flying overhead filming the terror. The two nurses with flame throwers kept taking shots at the chopper when it would hover lower to get a better shot. The nurses were rewarded the third time around, catching the entire whirly bird on fire. It crashed down onto the already compacted pile of busted up cars and added new heat to the already burning inferno of death.
Cops and ambulance sirens wailed. A S.W.A.T. team circled in. The area became a bullet storm. Screams relayed and blood sprayed. The psychos were still on the attack. The warnings from bullhorns didn't matter. These killers were going to kill no matter what.
Through the commotion of new explosions, ducking for cover during more pounding reams of gunfire, Dominic was alone. He had lost Trudy. He was alone, here on the murderous interstate.
The scene was spinning on a revolving axis. He couldn't focus on any one thing anymore. Fatigued, horrified, and on his last legs, he was about to pass out. The last thing he saw was a sideways view of Rip-O-Lantern, that pumpkin-headed, cleavage bulging bitch, charging at him and taking a wild swing.
Interrogations. Hospital check-ups. More interrogations. Media interviews. Dominic spent that last thirty-two hours dealing with cops and medical personal. The FBI had a good long talk with him. He repeatedly asked to see his brother, Frank, but the request was denied. Four different interviewers had him document the proceedings at Stan Merle Sheckler's mansion. The party. The bloodbath. The deaths of all the people pretending to be b-movie killers. The woman named Barbie Westbridge who claimed to have led the escape from an unnamed sanitarium. The Sheckler movie viewing that turned a group of sane individuals into murderers. The alleged hypnosis being the cause. The revenge plot. Sheckler's murder. Dominic spilled everything so many times, and still, they demanded him to go over it again.
When the investigators were through with him, he said he could return to New Jersey with Trudy. An escort would deliver them to a hotel for a rest. From there, they could get a rental car and finally go home.
Trudy was a disheveled mess outside the police station. He hugged her close. They were both happy to be alive. They didn't say much to each other. He said he'd take her to the closest hotel. They could buy new clothes, rest, and go about returning to New Jersey.
The next day, Dominic arranged for a rental car. They took the journey home. Everything was about not talking about the events that had transpired. He didn't blame her. He wasn't up for chatting about the situation.
It was late into the night when they arrived at his apartment complex. When they got home, they ignored the extensive collection of horror movies and passed out in Dominic's bed.
One month later, when everything seemed to be getting back to a version of normal, they received a very special surprise in the mail.
The surprise was a group of big wooden crates that arrived in the mail special delivery. Sheckler's collection of horror films. Dominic worked with Trudy to unload hundreds of reels, prints of films, VHS tapes, DVD's and every item from Sheckler's vault. The collection took up every last bit of room left in his already cramped apartment.
At the end of the month, Dominic moved into a larger loft downtown. He built special shelves for the Sheckler collection. They had a lot of work to do re-releasing Sheckler's legacy.
And protecting it.
Sheckler's vault was now a humidity controlled room with a key code panel. Nobody was getting in without the code. Trudy agreed with him the room wouldn't be enough to totally secure their priceless goods.
The question of security was answered after many late night talks. Today, that problem was solved. Together, they had built another special room beside Sheckler's vault.
Inside was a chamber with an arsenal. Axes. Hatchets. Tongue rippers. Maces. Chainsaws. Semi-automatic rifles. Bear traps. Electric chair. Gas chamber. A wild assortment of death instruments.
Celebrating the completion of their project, Dominic grabbed one of the axes from the walls and gave it a test swing. He imagined splitting a head in half.
"Nobody harms our collection."
Trudy loaded a bullet into a 12 gauge and blasted an imaginary intruder. "Sheckler's legacy shall live on forever."
Dominic strapped on a flame thrower and doused a band of black-masked villains. "Nobody shall harm the collection."
Trudy swung the scythe in a long and wide arc and gutted a thief. "Intruders shall perish."
"The collection is ours."
"Forever and ever."
"Trespassers shall die."
"Ours forever."
"The collection is ours to protect at any cost."
"Hahahahahahahahaha!"
"Ahahahahahahahaha!"
Imaginary blood was constantly spilled.
One day, it would be the real thing.
You survived Party at Sheckler's.
The horror is far from over.
Experience more blood-curdling video terror.
The massacre continues with the novella Mom and Pop Monster. Gold Video, a beloved video rental mainstay, is closing forever at midnight. The only problem...a monster lives within it walls.
Enjoy!
Mom and Pop Monster
Gold Video was closing its door forever at midnight.
The beloved mom and pop institution would be no more.
It sure isn't 1987 anymore, Chris Plum mumbled to himself, standing in front of his favorite hangout place. A cardboard sign taped to the front window announced this tragedy in red paint: GOLD VIDEO CLOSING TODAY.
There was no thank you for your patronage, or a note of appreciation for so many years of business. Gold Video wouldn't receive a grand sending off. Droves of fans didn't surround the building bemoaning the loss of a local institution. It would be forgotten tomorrow.
The good ol' days of home video were over. The Gold Video logo on the window used to shine like real gold. Now the letters had demurred into an ugly baby shit beige. The building had three giant levels. The property was a bookend to an abandoned apartment complex.
This was downtown St. Louis, Missouri. Evidence of drug use and prostitution were displayed on the sidewalks every morning. Dirty needles and filled condoms were the trophies of the previous night's seedy escapades. Harvey Gold, the video store's owner, even had to get rid of the drop-off box slot. People thought they were funny and dump into the slot dirty diapers, trash
, and one time to Harvey's dismay, a baby.
That was the end of all drop box privileges.
When he rented movies here, he carried pepper spray and a box cutter in case somebody tried to jump him. Chris was an IT guy. He fixed computers for a telemarketing agency five blocks away from Gold Video. He was a nerd tech type. He was barely five foot eight. He was a skinny rail at one hundred and sixty pounds. He needed all the help he could get to keep the bad guys away from him.
Chris took in the video store for another few moments from outside. What was he going to do now to watch new movies? Stream them?
The thought made him cringe.
He wasn't the type to stream movies despite his IT background. He enjoyed walking to Gold Video after work, two to three times a week. Sometimes four to five if his wife was too hard on him. Harvey Gold would be waiting behind the counter drinking something he shouldn't be. The owner was good for a few laughs. He had stories to tell and shared them with the gusto of a drunken sailor. The man had experienced the VHS video boom from beginning to its ultimate slow demise.
Beyond movies, there were other movie fans that trolled the aisles that Chris enjoyed conversing with. Gold Video was like church. Like minded people got together to indulge in what they enjoyed most. Movies was church for Chris, and Gold Video was the Mecca.
How did Gold Video make it so long without closing down? Thirty-seven years was a very long time to stay in business. Any mom and pop video store that outlasted Blockbuster, and the hundreds of other video chains across the country, deserved a special award.
The state could arrange to keep Gold Video around as a historical sight. The place had to be the last of its kind. The city was probably happy to be rid of Gold Video and the giant empty apartment building, he believed. Both video store and apartment complex were going to be leveled soon.
Harvey claimed he still had three years on his current lease. The problem, he couldn't pay the bills anymore. Once the property owners realized this, the city developers swooped in said Harvey had to vacate the premises within two weeks.