Jan 31, 2015

PERFECT CIRCLE

Summer between my junior and senior year in college. I was living in my college house in a small town in southern MN. Three of my housemates were also there that summer. We mostly spent our time working or getting drunk or trying to get laid. Typical awesome college summer.

One particular Thursday evening, we four ambled down to the local bar and drank a few pitchers and ate some hot wings. Our waitress was my friend Sarah. Strawberry blonde, blue eyes, 5'2", nice rack. We had all known her since freshman year so she stood around for awhile, shooting the breeze, whatever. About 11 or so we packed it in and headed back to our house, saying goodnight to Sarah as we headed out the door. My buddies all had to work the next day, so they headed off to bed; I worked night shift at the local hospital that summer, so I was used to being up all night. So I stayed up and watched some TV, figuring I'd fall asleep around dawn, wake up mid-afternoon, and then head to work the following night.

At about 2am, there was a frame-rattling pounding on our front door and I could hear a woman crying for someone to help her. Just as I reached the front hallway the door flew open (we never had it locked) and Sarah - our waitress - came running in. She was in boxers and a t-shirt - no shoes. She ran to me and grabbed on to me and I could feel her shaking. My buddies slowly came wandering out of their rooms, wondering what the hell was going on.

Eventually, the only sort of story we could get out of Sarah was that someone had been in her house that night. Her housemates were all gone for the summer, so she was living by herself. We told her she needed to call the police right away, but she got a really weird look and refused. She wanted us guys to go back to her house and see if anyone was there.

We armed ourselves as best we could. I grabbed my Maglite, and my buddies had baseball bats and golf clubs. We gave Sarah a pair of flip-flops and a sweatshirt and we walked the five blocks to her house. That's right, she'd run five blocks to our house barefoot. To describe her as freaked out is a bit of an understatement.

When we got to her house, her front door was standing wide open. She said she thought she'd left it that way when she'd run out. When we got into the house, at first everything seemed normal. The rooms were all tidy and clean; no dishes in the sink; no messy laundry on the floors; the windows were down and locked; the air-conditioning was running. There was no one in the house.

But then we got to Sarah's bedroom.

My first thought was literally "There was a tornado in here." Her vertical blinds were bent and twisted into each other. Her drawers were open, and clothing strewn about the room. All of her lights were on; her TV was on; her radio was on. Directly in the middle of her floor was a pile of junk, like someone had dumped a drawer on the carpeting: pens, envelopes, key-chains, junk. AND IT WAS ALL ARRANGED IN A GEOMETRICALLY PERFECT CIRCLE, about two feet in diameter.

My buddy Troy said "Let's get the fuck out of here."

Back at our house, Sarah told us what had happened. Just thinking of her story now, I've got goosebumps again.

Sarah's shift ended at 1am. She'd cleaned her station and then walked back to her house from the bar. She said she'd made sure all the doors and windows were locked, had climbed into bed, watched a little TV, and then she thought had gone to sleep about 1:45. She didn't think she slept very long.

Shortly after falling asleep, Sarah was awakened by a clicking sound. She sat up in bed when she realized the sound was her vertical blinds clicking off of each other, as if they were blowing in a breeze. Since she had just checked all the windows, this didn't seem possible. Then she realized her TV was back on, which she had just shut off. Strangely, however, there was no picture; just a blank blue screen.

Then she saw the little girl. Sarah said she looked like she was about six or seven years old. The little girl was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of Sarah's bedroom, and at first Sarah thought she was playing with a toy or something on the floor. Sarah's first reaction wasn't fear; her first thought was that this little girl was sleep-walking or something and had managed to get into the house. So she said "Honey, are you okay? Do you know where you are?"

At the sound of Sarah's voice, the little girl looked up - and she had no eyes. Sarah said she could see through two holes where the little girl's eyes should have been; she could see the room behind her. Sarah jumped up, ran out of the room, ran out the front door, ran to our house. She said she came to our house because she had seen us at the bar that night and knew we were home.

Sarah said that while at first she thought the little girl had been playing with a toy on the floor, she now thought the girl had been arranging her stuff in that circle. That perfect circle of junk on the carpet was exactly where the little girl had been sitting.

Story source.

Jan 30, 2015

HOLDER OF THE END

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house in you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of the End". Should a look of child-like fear come over the workers face, you will then be taken to a cell in the building. It will be in a deep hidden section of the building. All you will hear is the sound of someone talking to themselves echo the halls. It is in a language that you will not understand, but your very soul will feel unspeakable fear.

Should the talking stop at any time, STOP and QUICKLY say aloud "I'm just passing through, I wish to talk." If you still hear silence, flee. Leave, do not stop for anything, do not go home, don't stay at an inn, just keep moving, sleep where your body drops. You will know in the morning if you've escaped successfully.

If the voice in the hall comes back after you utter those words continue on. Upon reaching the cell all you will see is a windowless room with a person in the corner, speaking an unknown language, and cradling something. The person will only respond to one question. "What happens when they all come together?"

The person will then stare into your eyes and answer your question in horrifying detail. Many go mad in that very cell, some disappear soon after the meeting, a few end their lives. But most do the worst thing, and look upon the object in the person's hands. You will want to as well. Be warned that if you do, your death will be one of cruelty and unrelenting horror.

Your death will be in that room, by that person's hands.

That object is 1 of 538. They must never come together.


The Holders.

Jan 29, 2015

TWO GUYS, ONE QUIP: THE BEAST MUST DIE

A joint effort between The End of Summer and Exploitation Movie Review, “Two Guys, One Quip” is a new venture to honor the cheesiest, oddest, and most unheralded crop of films we can stand. Some films can be tackled solo and some cannot. Some films are so excruciatingly unusual that multiple parties are needed to catch every single solitary weirdity. "Two Guys, One Quip" is a free-for-all, back-and-forth, "I'm-just-gonna-say-whatever" approach to double-teaming an easy target in the unsexiest way possible. Below you will find nothing close to actual, legitimate film discussion, but instead sarcasm and douche-bag superiority flying fast and furious. Profanity will be immense, constant, and unyielding. No on-screen target is safe. No incompetence will pass by unmocked. And no punches will be at all pulled. Some films are asking for it. This is one of them.


Exploitation Movie Review (EMR): The Beast Must Die is a 1974 offering from Amicus productions, a rival production house to Hammer but without the good movies. This film, one of the studio’s final efforts (the next would be the gloriously insane Vincent Price vehicle Madhouse), took a step away from the usual horror-anthology output for which they had become known and concerns a multi-millionaire’s ‘big-game’ hunt for a werewolf that he suspects is amidst the guests he has invited to his country manor house. In an effort to try something a little different, and all the time cashing in on the burgeoning Blaxploitation genre, this film features a singularly charming gimmick that invites you, the viewer, to “be the detective” and to compile evidence throughout its duration just in time for the “wolf-break” near the end of the movie.

Sounds gay. I’m in.

Hey, do you wanna pretend to be the guys from "True Detective"?

The End of Summer (TEOS): Matthew McComplicatedName wishes he could be as depressing, and Woody Harrelson wishes he could have as much sex with Alexandra Daddario, as me.

EMR: ...ohhh-kay, cool. Well, I’ll be Rust and you can be Marty. That means you can do loads of chicks in the ass and I can drop sweet head-butts on people.

TEOS: Oooh, can I be Michelle Monaghan? Then we can sad-fuck. :D

EMR: What’s...what’s even the right answer to that question?

TEOS: I really like this pre-credits on-screen narration positing a very important question to the audience: “The question is not ‘Who is the murderer?’ but ‘Who is the werewolf?’” Every time there’s a high-profile homicide on the news, I’d like to see CNN or FOX News blare that across their screens. I picture a lot of Americans pensively tapping their lips and saying, “YEAH...who is the werewolf?”

Read the whole thing.

Jan 26, 2015

THE INTRUDER

The Intruder is a silhouette and similar in shape to a Siamese cat. When sitting, it is about 7.5 feet tall. It has two overly large, slanted eyes, which glow a bright fluorescent green, and have no pupils. It blinks these eyes occasionally. Other than the eyes, it has no other discernible facial or body features.

Whenever you enter your home after dark, The Intruder is always watching. It sits about 10 feet away from you in plain view. It remains immobile and does not even try to conceal its presence. While outside, it can only be seen by one person at a time. If it were to be within the sight range of two people then the first person who sees The Intruder would remain being able to see it while it would remain completely invisible to others.

It emits no noises of its own. The only time it can be heard is when it is stretching its claws on a tree or your house siding. If you approach it then it will run away very quickly and violently, kicking up dirt and rocks. The sounds of the wind from The Intruder’s movements and flying debris from under The Intruder’s feet can be heard. If you were to throw an object toward it or discharge a firearm at it you would get the same effect. Once you turn back to the door to insert your key you will find that The Intruder has noiselessly returned to its previous position where it continues to watch you.

Some say that The Intruder listens to your key hit the lock. They say that The Intruder can eventually ascertain the shape of your key simply by hearing the pins of your lock moving. It is unknown how many times The Intruder must hear you unlock your door before it can determine the exact shape of your key.

You see, The Intruder wants to kill you, that is, if this creature is even capable of wanting anything. Perhaps it is better to say that it intends to kill you. However, The Intruder can only kill you inside your house, and may not force its way in. Furthermore, it cannot enter an empty house. You must already be at home in order for it to enter. If you were to run outside of your house once The Intruder enters, The Intruder will pursue you, drag you back inside, and then kill you.

If you ever hear a key hitting your door in the dead of night then it may be The Intruder trying out its key that it has made. The Intruder only tries to use its keys when it is close to perfecting them, so if you do hear it trying to unlock your door then you can be certain that it will have a proper working key within a few nights. If you enter your house through another means, for example a garage or screen door, then you may suddenly find it them inoperable from the outside, through both remote or attempted physical operation of the door. If you attempt to leave your door unlocked in order to prevent The Intruder from hearing the shape of your key, then you may be disappointed to find that the door has been locked by the time you arrive at home.

If you hear a key hit your lock it is advised that you turn off all of your lights and attempt to push on the door to try and prevent The Intruder from entering, although it likely outweighs you. Once The Intruder enters your house all light sources above that of a candle become blinding to all inhabitants other that The Intruder. If you have time to light a candle then it is suggested, as this will still allow you to see the silhouette without becoming blinded. A very small advantage that you may have is that, once inside a home, all inhabitants are able to see The Intruder simultaneously.

The Intruder will kill every human inside of the house. It will only attack pets if the animal chooses to engage The Intruder. Most animals choose not to engage The Intruder. The only time that the Intruder will make any noise of its own is during a kill strike. The Intruder will make a quick hissing sound during this strike, and will not make this noise again until it claims its next victim. The Intruder has never been known to kill anyone without hissing during the kill strike. It will usually try to completely disable its prey to the point where it cannot move before it makes the kill strike. It is thought that The Intruder prefers to disable its prey before a kill strike because the act of hissing may be the only time that it is vulnerable to damage. This is purely speculation however.


Jan 24, 2015

SMILING

Back in school I had a good friend named Ryan, and well, he was my only friend. After school we always went to his house to hang out. His house sat almost in the middle of a big grazing field, which mostly worked in our advantage as it gave us a lot of room for playing outside. Since the house was in the middle of the field, you would have to follow a long driveway to get there. But that’s enough description so let’s cut down to the flesh of the story.

It was 8:00 in the evening and a huge fight broke out between my parents and me. I was frustrated and couldn’t stand it any longer so I called Ryan’s house, as I needed to break away from this mess. He picked up the phone and was surprised hearing from me at such a late hour (we were kids back then), but after hearing my story he said I could come over, although he said he was going to be away at football practice until 9:00, so I would have to wait for him.

I agreed.

A mistake.

It was night and it was dark. It didn’t mind the dark, but I never liked the road that led to his house. Its wavy pattern would sometimes make me sick, especially if I was traveling in a car. But now that was not the case, I was on my bike. The disturbing part of this story will not happen on this road, though. It will happen once I reached the house.

Parking my bike by the side of their empty garage, I walked up their front porch and reaching the door, rang the bell. The door opened almost as soon as my finger let go of the button, giving me a jump. There was no wait; it literally opened up almost instantaneously. Then I saw.

It was his mother. I always liked his mother; she was kind, sweet, and always offered her support whenever I felt down.

But I could tell something was wrong with her.

Her usually bright eyes seemed darker. Her hair was not neatly tied in a bun behind her head; it fell upon her shoulders. Before I had the chance to examine her further, something much more unsettling caught my eye. She was smiling.

She did not greet me, or start talking. Just kept smiling and stared right at me.

Feeling very uncomfortable, I asked if everything was all right. “Come inside and have some tea with me,” was her answer. Before I had the chance to answer she went back into the house. It was then that I noticed that she was wearing her bathroom robe. Having neither the disrespect to decline her offer, nor the guts to stay outside in the night, I entered the home and closed the door behind me.

Heading towards the kitchen I could hear her humming a strange tune. The moment I entered, she stopped humming and an overwhelming silence took over. Without waiting for a conversation to start, I took a seat at the kitchen table. She was standing in front of me, with her back turned in my direction. I tried not to look at her and started awkwardly looking around the room, until the tea was ready. I was thinking. Ryan’s mom would always seem warm and loving and eager to talk about anything concerning my school, family life, and anything else. Now she was just silent. Saying nothing. I spent the next five minutes in this deep thought.

And then it occurred to me.

She hadn’t moved at all during the whole time I was in the kitchen. With her back towards me, I could see that her hands were hanging down her shoulders. Her head was tilted to the left. Thinking something was wrong, I stood from the chair and approached her from behind. Making an awful lot of noise while doing so, she did not move a single bit. Carefully I approached her from the right side to look at her face to see if she was all right. The following sight still haunts me to this very day.

Her eyes were wide open and she was smiling.

Being as unsettled as I was, I decided it’d be best to go back home. “I think I better be off now, I have a lot of schoolwork for tomorrow,” I lied, and receiving no answer in return, I headed towards the front door and stepped outside onto the porch. I wasn’t scared, well maybe just a little bit, but mostly I was just weirded the fuck out.

As I was moved down the porch towards my bike, I caught a glimpse of two lights at the far end of the wavy road. It was a car. “Finally,” I thought. Ryan was around ten minutes late. However, as the car was nearing the house, I began wondering who was driving Ryan back from football practice. His dad was at a business trip, and wouldn’t be back for another two weeks. Ryan himself was too young to drive a car so who else? I was getting more and more anxious as the car was nearing the house. Who was driving Ryan back? The car pulled into the garage and stopped. Ryan was the first one to get out, giving me a “What’s up, man?”. But the person who came out of the car next was his mother. She noticed me and asked how everything was.


Source.

Jan 22, 2015

WENDIGO

A wealthy man wanted to go hunting in a part of northern Canada where few people had ever hunted. He traveled to a trading post and tried to find a guide to take him. But no one would do it. It was too dangerous, they said.

Finally, he found an Indian who needed money badly, and he agreed to take him. The Indian's name was De'Fago. They made camp in the snow near a large frozen lake. For three days they haunted, but they had nothing to show for it.

The third night a windstorm came up. They lay in their tent listening to the wind howling and the trees whipping back and forth. To see the storm better, the hunter opened the tent flap. What he saw startled him. There wasn't a breath of air stirring, and the trees were standing perfectly still. Yet he could hear the wind howling. And the more he listened, the more it sounded as if it were calling De'Fago's name. "Da-faaaaaaaaay-go!" it called. "Da-aaaaaaaaay-go!" "I must be losing my mind," the hunter thought.

But De'Fago had gotten out of his sleeping bag. He was huddled in a corner of the tent, his head buried in his arms. "What's this all about?" the hunter asked. "It's nothing," De'Fago said. But the wind continued to call to him. And De'Fago became more tense and restless. "Da-Faaaaaaaaay-go!" it called. "Da-faaaaaaaaay-go!" Suddenly, he jumped to his feet, and he began to run from the tent. But the hunter grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground. "You can't leave me out here," the hunter shouted. Then the wind called again, and De'Fago broke loose and ran into the darkness. The hunter could hear him screaming as he went. Again and again he cried, "Oh, my fiery feet, my burning feet of fire . . ." Then his voice faded away, and the wind died down.

At daybreak, the hunter followed De'Fago's tracks in the snow. They went through the woods, down toward the lake, then out into the ice. But soon he noticed something strange. The steps De'Fago had taken got longer and longer. They were so long no human being could have taken them. It was as if something had helped him to hurry away. The hunter followed the tracks out to the middle of the lake, but there they disappeared. At first he thought that De'Fago had fallen through the ice, but there wasn't any hole. Then he thought that something had pulled him off the ice into the sky. But that made no sense.

As he stood wondering what had happened, the wind picked up again. Soon it was howling as it had the night before. Then he head De'Fago's voice. It was coming from up above, and again he heard De'Fago screaming" . . . My fiery feet, my burning feet . . . " But there was nothing to be seen. Now the hunter wanted to leave that place as fast as he could. He went back to camp and packed. Then he left some food for De'Fago, and he started out.

Weeks later he reached civilization. The following year he went back to hunt in that area again. He went to the same trading post to look for a guide. The people there could not explain what had happened to De'Fago that night. But they had not seen him since then. "Maybe it was the Wendigo," one of them said, and he laughed. "It's supposed to come with the wind. It drags you along at great speed until your feet are burned away, and more of you then that. Then it carries you into the sky, and it drops you. It's just a crazy story, but that's what some of the Indians say."

A few days later the hunter was at the trading post again. An Indian came in and sat by the fire. He had a blanket wrapped around him, and he wore his hat so that you couldn't see his face. The hunter thought there was something familiar about him. He walked over and he asked, "Are you De'Fago?" The Indian didn't answer. "Do you know anything about him?" No answer. He began to wonder if something was wrong, if the man needed help. But he couldn't see his face. "Are you all right?" he asked. To get a look at him, he lifted the Indian's hat. Then he screamed. There was nothing under the hat but a pile of ashes.

Jan 20, 2015

MISSING

A very unsettling and odd vanishing happened to Christopher Thompkins from Ellerslie, Georgia. He was last seen by work mates standing on the shoulder of the road facing the woods at 1.30pm on 25th January 2002. He literally vanished within seconds leaving the survey crew very perplexed. They walked back to where they had seen him only to find his boot hanging on the barbed wire fence along with blue fabric from his pants. On the ground beneath were coins that had fallen from his pocket. The woods on the other side of the fence were inhospitable and swampy.

David Paulides, former lawman turned investigator, tells us that during his time working with traffic accidents he has seen shoes left behind by people who were literally “hit so fast that they were knocked right out of them”. He says that logistically it looks like Christopher was reefed out of his boots and dragged through the fence in such a position that all the coins fell out of his pocket.

When gravity drags coins to the ground it means that the opening for the coins was either facing the ground or the container holding the coins was removed at a great speed - very similar to the magician who removes the tablecloth without disturbing the cutlery. This means that Chris was either upside down or sideways.

Six months later the rancher who owned the land found the other missing boot 900 yards away next to the swamp. Christopher Tompkins is still missing.

Jan 18, 2015

DO NOT PANIC

 The following is from the US Government Peace Corps Manual for its volunteers who work in the Amazon Jungle. It tells what to do in case an anaconda attacks you.
  1. If you are attacked by an anaconda do not run. The snake is faster than you are. 
  2. Lie flat on the ground. Put your arms tight against your sides, your legs tight against one another. 
  3. Tuck your chin in. 
  4. The snake will come and begin to nudge and climb over your body. 
  5. Do not panic. 
  6. After the snake has examined you, it will begin to swallow you from the feet and always from the end. Permit the snake to swallow your feet and ankles. Do not panic. 
  7. The snake will now begin to suck your legs into its body. You must lie perfectly still. This will take a long time. 
  8. When the snake has reached your knees slowly and with as little movement as possible, reach down, take your knife and very gently slide it into the side of the snake's mouth between the edge of its mouth and your leg, then suddenly rip upwards, severing the snake's head. 
  9. Be sure you have your knife. 
  10. Be sure your knife is sharp.

Jan 16, 2015

SHITTY FLICKS: GARDEN OF THE DEAD

Shitty Flicks is an ongoing column that celebrates the most hilariously incompetent, amusingly pedestrian, and mind-bogglingly stupid movies ever made by people with a bit of money, some prior porn-directing experience, and no clue whatsoever. It is here you will find unrestrained joy in movies meant to terrify and thrill, but instead poke at your funny bone with their weird, mutant camp-girl penis.

WARNING: I tend to give away major plot points and twist endings in my reviews because, whatever. Shut up.

Throughout the beginning of zombie movie history, there have been several ways that a living person could be turned into a zombie: first and foremost, being bitten by one (but then that begets the ‘chicken-or-the-egg debate,' so let’s move on); space dust; voodoo; God’s wrath; both British- and Sumatran-bred monkeys; unearthed recordings containing occult incantations, decreasing square footage in Hell; love; 2-4-5 Trioxin, and my personal favorite: undisclosed reasons.

But if you're Garden of the Dead...huffing formaldehyde smoke. It saved the best for...I guess the middle.

In undead mythology, zombies can walk, run, eat, bludgeon, scream, moan, verbally demand brains, push shopping carts, cry, masturbate (it’s true), hitchhike, and worship a werewolf Hitler. Pretty much anything a human being has done, a zombie has done, only more retarded and gooey.

But Garden ghouls? They beat men to death with landscaping tools.

Because, that age-old question: why not?

In this Garden of the Dead, several prisoners are performing manual labor in a chicken-wire protected desert prison: Camp Hoover. A group of men load a barrel of formaldehyde onto a truck. Why such a chemical would be on hand at a prison remains unknown.

Meanwhile, a fancy glove-wearing man in a suit wanders around the camp with two guards. He is the warden and he wields a big stick. He bitches to his two cohorts about how his request to transfer elsewhere was denied, citing, basically, his ignorance. He's easily identified by the movie as "the dick" and will continue to act "the dick" until his life is separated from his skeleton.

The prisoners take a break from their laborious tasks to have some chow. They eat handfuls of bread and drink coffee from tin cups as they sit and bemoan their present status and ponder where in their lives they had made their wrong choice. They also huff smoke from some unlabeled tanks at the backside of the camp. If all I had to go on was their plain, emotionless, flat expressions as the smoke whiffed into their airways, I would have to describe the reaction to this experience as sublime.

Joe Smokeman hid his face in shame when the girls at the
dance shrieked, "Ew, Joe Smokeman smells like smoke!"

Braddock, the main smoke-huffer, offers his smoke tube to other prisoners, who also love getting smoke blown in their faces. We still don’t know what this smoke is, but once the smoke tube is dipped into a vat of formaldehyde, the fumes mix into what will be the catalyst for all the zombie-ism.

“Mmm, ohhh, yeah, take it,” moans one of the men, as he offers a blow of smoke into another prisoner’s face.

Turns out these crafty, smoke-sucking men have been dumping the formaldehyde into these vats and filling the empty barrels with dirt that they accumulate from digging their generic escape tunnel. The reason for formaldehyde being at the prison still remains a mystery, but at least we know now why there is an open tub of it just chilling in the hot sun: to get all the prisoners mad high as they pursue their escape.

Our hero, Johnson, makes small talk with his small-town waitress/lover, Carol, through the extremely pathetic, yet, apparently functional chicken-wire barrier between prison and freedom. The two hug (sort of) and cry, and as Carol tries to deliver her lines, Johnson holds her close and layers her face with too many kisses, forcing her to fight her lines out. The sometimes-Paul Newman, sometimes-Robert Redford, sometimes-Steve McQueen-looking Johnson watches her walk off before he is forced back to his prison duties.

That night, the prisoners gather together for a friendly game of poker to continue their tradition of smoking, muttering, and trading steely glances. Braddock, head smoke-sucker, tries to convince Johnson to use the escape tunnel, and when Johnson refuses to go along with the plan, Braddock shivs him in the gut. One of the other prisoners, Wears A Hat, stands up to Braddock, accusing him of purposely feeding all of his followers that formaldehyde vapor to make them dumber, follow orders, and not ask questions.

I’d still kinda like to know why fucking formaldehyde is at a prison.

Braddock attacks MacGee, one of the guards, and makes short work of him, clocking him in the face and dragging his body off-screen.

Not wanting to be caught huffing smoke by the guards,
Braddock employs his "mannequin defense" technique.

As the prisoners make their tunnel escape, one of the men (Carmen Filpi, character actor and future Amusing Old Man in The Wedding Singer) opts to just hang out and suck on the smoke hose instead. After a few blowjobs, he then wises up and follows his denim brethren out into the woods as extremely pepped-up, Lalo-Schiffrin-probably-called-his-lawyers type music incessantly plays.

The runt smoke-liker falls behind the men, clearly high, and stumbles through the woods. A fall causes his rifle to go off, attracting attention from the prison staff.

The staff discovers Johnson, bleeding but alive, in the barracks. Patrol cars set out to find the smoke-suckers as the prisoners continue their escape, making it to the awaiting truck a few miles down the road. The prisoner who fired off the shot gun is executed by the prisoners after he pleads for his life.

Patrol cars quickly catch up and execute the escaping prisoners, their gunfire making pitiful snap noises as their guns shoot impossible sparks.

Back at the camp, the warden chains up the remaining prisoners who didn’t have anything to do with the escape and gives them a rousing “fuck you”-type speech. He then forces the men to dig graves for those killed during the break.

A guard, Wilson, mysteriously vanishes from view from the digging prisoners and his sudden disappearance distracts the men from the hands that reach from their graves of the recently buried. One of the diggers, Wears A Hat, is grasped by a dead hand as his digging partner flees in fear. Another body rises from the grave, and another, until a dirty horde of dead men is formed.

“We will destroy the living,” insists one of the zombie prisoners to no one in particular, as the rest of them make generic undead noises.

Meanwhile, Carol is visited by the prison doctor, who has opted to inform Carol of Johnson’s shivving. He then leaves, feeling good about himself.

Carol’s landlords, the Flemmings, are then killed by the murderous horde of zombies, who, for reasons unknown, decided that she should be a target of their wrath.

Carol escapes from the stupid zombies by—holy shit!!—successfully starting a functioning vehicle and driving it away from them. She drives to Camp Hoover and the concerned guards bring her inside. The warden comes out to investigate all these goings-on, and one of the guards, Jablonski, having seen Braddock’s ghoul face out in the distance, tries to convince him that the previously-dead prisoners are making their way back to the camp. The warden refuses to believe it, even after one of the guards is killed by the zombs.

Now that the recently-resurrected zombs are back in the camp, they don’t waste any time. Revenge must be had, and had it will be. What is the first order of business?

Death and dismemberment?

A meal of warm flesh?

Perhaps a smoke suck?

It’s that last one, because this thing is ridiculous.

Like true addicts, a mere puff of smoke is no longer enough. They need more, MORE! They take handfuls of the formaldehyde—some fill up entire cans—and they pour it over their badly made-up faces as they laugh and laugh and give each other zombiegasms.

The zombs, now juiced, rush the guards, knocking them out cold. They open the hood to each car and render them useless. One by one, guards are chopped, pick-axed, and beaten, but not before delivering a few blows of their own. One zomb takes a shot to the gut, and he writhes, spews smoke from his wound, and dies. Another dies when a guard shines a spotlight directly on him, which makes so little sense that it’s not even worth mocking.

The dead zombie gardeners were aghast to find out
their jobs had been filled by dead zombie Mexicans
willing to work more hours for less brains.

Another of the zombs, Donovan, a Ted Levine-looking fucker, breaks into one of the barracks in an attempt to kill the other prisoners. The warden blows a hole in him with a shotgun, which apparently really hurts his feelings, seeing as how he responds by yelling, throwing his weapon at the ground in a tantrum, and hurtling himself out the window.

The warden attempts to free all the prisoners, but his life is cut tragically short by a ghoul in overalls. Jablonski, his number two, shoots the ghoul, but alas, it is too late: Mr. Fancy Gloves has bought the farm.

And then it's time for even MORE smoke juice! The number of zombies now being only five, there is even more smoke juice to go around, and as the men slap their saturated hands into their faces, boy, do they not mind they're losing their own battle.

Meanwhile, Carol and Johnson hug and whine apologies to each other...that is until a zomb smashes one of the windows and tries to crawl in. Thanks to Jablonski’s huge spotlight, he is able to make short work of him.

“The light decomposes them instantly!” he exclaims.

And then a zomb literally prances onscreen, flips his pick-axe into another guard’s body, and is jogging off-screen before you can ask, "Is there something better on?"

The spotlight, keeping the zombs at bay, flickers several times before going off for good. And just when you think it’s curtains for Carol, the zombs only stare with puppy dog eyes beset in a sea of shitty Halloween make up. Carol and the guard, though engulfed in unprotected darkness, are able to make it back inside the barracks where the survivors are huddled.

“They didn’t attack you!” yells Jablonski to Carol.

“They won’t attack her,” exclaims Johnson, explaining how all the men used to talk about how beautiful she was.

Why Jablonski, a pushing-sixty, over-weight man, was also left alone by the zombs, remains a mystery.

Carol, acting as human bait, walks outside to capture the attention of the zombs. As they stare longingly, the remaining guards rush out of the barracks and blow zomb bits all over the ground. Carol then weeps, because she’s the female lead, and she has to. She walks back inside and into the arms of Johnson, who has proven to be literally the most useless character ever in a film who was supposed to be functioning as both the main sympathetic character and the main love interest.

Merry Christmas!

Jan 14, 2015

SURPRISE

I work for a property-securing company. We send contractors to vacant homes to change the locks and do winterizations. The other day, one of my contractors was doing an initial secure and routine inspection on a home. He’d been in the house for about an hour and headed to the basement for the required photo. It was very dark down there but he trusted his camera flash to get a decent picture.

He stayed on the stairs and took a photo before entering the basement to check for trip hazards or giant spiders. When he looked at his camera, this is what he saw.


He left after that.

Jan 11, 2015

TORTURE

An aged human skeleton encased in an iron cage was found at Hempstead, L.I. It is believed to be an early pirate torture device. The criminal would be bound in the metal cage and hung from a scaffold until they died of starvation.

Jan 10, 2015

THE THINGS

I am being Blair. I escape out the back as the world comes in through the front.

I am being Copper. I am rising from the dead.

I am being Childs. I am guarding the main entrance.

The names don't matter. They are placeholders, nothing more; all biomass is interchangeable. What matters is that these are all that is left of me. The world has burned everything else.

I see myself through the window, loping through the storm, wearing Blair.  MacReady has told me to burn Blair if he comes back alone, but MacReady still thinks I am one of him. I am not: I am being Blair, and I am at the door. I am being Childs, and I let myself in. I take brief communion, tendrils writhing forth from my faces, intertwining: I am BlairChilds, exchanging news of the world.

The world has found me out. It has discovered my burrow beneath the tool shed, the half-finished lifeboat cannibalized from the viscera of dead helicopters. The world is busy destroying my means of escape. Then it will come back for me.

There is only one option left. I disintegrate. Being Blair, I go to share the plan with Copper and to feed on the rotting biomass once called Clarke; so many changes in so short a time have dangerously depleted my reserves. Being Childs, I have already consumed what was left of Fuchs and am replenished for the next phase.  I sling the flamethrower onto my back and head outside, into the long Antarctic night.

I will go into the storm, and never come back.
 

Read the rest.

Jan 7, 2015

REQUEST

Normally you sleep soundly, but the thunderstorm raging outside is stirring you from your sleep. You begin to doze, then another crash jolts you awake. The cycle lasts most of the night. So you lay there, eyes open and outward, looking at your room stretching out before you in oblong shadows. Your eyes move from nameless object, to object, until you reach your mirror, sitting adjacent to you across the room.

Suddenly a flash of lightning, and the mirror flickers in illumination. For a scant second the mirror reveals to you dozens of faces, silhouettes within its frame, mouths open and eyes blackened. They stare out at you, their black pupils fixed upon your face.

Then it is done. Are you sure of what you have seen? Unsettled, you don't sleep for the rest of the evening. The next morning you remove the mirror from your wall and toss it in the trash. It didn't matter if the vision you had seen was of truth or falsehood, you wanted to be rid of that mirror. In fact, you scrap every mirror in your house.

Weeks pass and the event of that night falls into passive memory. You are spending the day at a friend's house and it's time to use the bathroom. While you are in there the faucet starts to run without you prompting it. Taken aback by this, you do not yet act, trying to reason with your paranoia in your mind. The water starts to steam and a skin of moisture covers the mirror up above. You're watching intently as words form: "Please return the mirrors. We miss watching you sleep at night."

Jan 5, 2015

FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE

After stabbing a woman to death in 1945, serial killer William Heirens carved this message onto the wall: 


“For heavens sake catch me before I kill more. I cannot control myself.” 

This earned him the nickname The Lipstick Killer. He was the longest serving US prison inmate (65 years) and was imprisoned until his death in 2012. He confessed to three murders.

Jan 2, 2015

FROM HELL

 
From hell. 

Mr Lusk. 

Sor, I send you half the kidne I took from one women prasarved it for you tother piece I fried and ate it was very nise I may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a whil longer. 

Signed                                           
                   Catch me when you can 
Mishter Lusk