FUN FACTS ABOUT CANNIBALISM!

NOOSE TWO

BONE MOBILE

That's a lot of bones in that truck, isn't it?

Thank you. I'll be maintaining an act at this time of day at this particular venue for the remainder of the week, should you like some additional humor-jokes.

CLOWN AT MIDNIGHT

MR. RIDDLE'S BACK YARD

SLICE OF HUMANITY

THIRTEENTH

FIFTH WHEEL

CRASH LANDING

Warning: Graphic.

Vladimir Komarov was a Soviet test pilot, aerospace engineer, and a cosmonaut (in the 1st group selected in 1960). He was extremely brilliant and knew what he was doing. Even though he was declared medically unfit for training or spaceflight twice while he was in the program, his perseverance and superior skills and his knowledge as an engineer allowed him to continue playing an active role. He is  known as the man who fell from space.

He flew in the Soyuz 1, which started to malfunction as soon as it started orbiting. Antennas didn’t open properly, power and navigation were compromised, and much more. Some say he was sent on a mission they knew he wouldn’t return from. This happened to many cosmonauts during that time.

When the capsule began its descent the parachutes failed to open. Komarov screamed in rage as he plunged to his death. The bottom picture is of his body after the crash.

SKULLDUGGERY

IT ALL BEGAN HERE

Just beautiful.

BEGOTTEN

STRANGE CHAMBERS

THE SCR3DM

WES SAYS

RABID

HAS ANYONE SEEN JOHN?

Oh.

SLENDER

CONFESSION

Warning: Graphic.

In 1923, Marianna Dolinska, a Polish native, walked into the police station and said that she hung her four kids (ranging from six months to seven years) so that they would no longer starve. Her husband had been murdered, which left her family without any support. The police checked in on her claim and found the bodies of her four kids on a tree. They arrested her and she died five years later in a psychiatric hospital.

JOVIAL

BIGFOOOOOOOOT!

EXPOSURE

CONCEPTION

 

Hohenwart Monastery, 1742, Sister Josephine Rosenthal became pregnant. The nunnery was entirely cut off from local villages and after an examination, it was declared that she was a virgin, and also – to all intents and purposes unable to be with child. Despite this, Josephine carried the child to six months. By this time her story had reached the ears of the Abbot and she was brought before the council of Benedict. She was then examined again, and it was declared that Josephine had undergone immaculate conception...

Read the rest // meet sculpture's creator.

SELF-SURGERY

In June 2011, emergency services dispatched an ambulance to the home of 65-year-old Barrie Hepburn. Barrie was a retired sports car enthusiast and a paraplegic. He’d been left wheelchair-bound in 2000 after being shot by a neighbor in an argument. Barrie had told the emergency operator that he was bleeding heavily, and they feared the worst, as he had fallen silent during the call. They certainly weren’t expecting what they found, which was the shock of their lives, and the grisly stuff urban legends are made from.Barrie, who had lost all feeling in his legs, had made an enthusiastic attempt to remove one of them with a hacksaw. He had recently become despondent because he was having so much trouble getting into and out of his beloved sports cars, and his overtures to his doctors about amputation had thus far been rebuffed. Barrie had apparently decided that if he began the surgery himself, doctors wouldn’t have any choice but to continue. When the paramedics arrived his right leg was almost totally detached, the plastic sack he’d used for a tourniquet covered in massive amounts of blood, and his bag was sitting beside him, neatly packed for the hospital.

POPE JOHN PAU--OH MY GOD

JULIA

In 2008, Dr. Richard E. Gallagher, a board-certified psychiatrist and associate professor of clinical psychiatry at New York Medical College, documented the case of a patient nicknamed "Julia" whom he deduced was indeed possessed by demons. It's rare that a scientist and psychiatrist would acknowledge the possibility of possession; typically doctors think that possession is either fraudulent or a result of mental illness.

Dr. Gallagher personally observed items flying around the room, Julia levitating off the bed, speaking in tongues, and knowing things about people around her that she could not possibly have known. Here is an excerpt from Gallagher's statement:

“Periodically, in our presence, Julia would go into a trance state of a recurring nature. Mentally troubled individuals often ‘dissociate,' but Julia's trances were accompanied by an unusual phenomenon: Out of her mouth would come various threats, taunts and scatological language, phrases like ‘Leave her alone, you idiot,' ‘She's ours,' ‘Leave, you imbecile priest,' or just ‘Leave.' The tone of this voice differed markedly from Julia's own, and it varied, sometimes sounding guttural and vaguely masculine, at other points high pitched. Most of her comments during these ‘trances,' or at the subsequent exorcisms, displayed a marked contempt for anything religious or sacred.”

ALLIGATORS

A young woman in town married a man from another part of the country. He was a nice fellow, and they got along pretty well together. There was only one problem. Every night he’d go swimming in the river. Sometimes, he’d be gone all night long, and she would complain of her loneliness.

The couple had two young sons. As soon as the boys could walk, their father began to teach them how to swim, and when they got older, he would take them swimming in the river at night. They would often stay there all night long, and the woman would stay home, alone.

After a while, she began to act strangely—at least, that’s what the neighbors said. She told them that her husband was turning into an alligator and he was trying to turn the boys into alligators, too.

Everyone told her there was nothing wrong with a man taking his sons swimming. That was just a natural thing to do. And when it came to alligators? There just weren’t any in the area, and everybody knew that.

Early one morning, the woman came running into town from the direction of the river. She was soaking wet, her clothing dripping water. She said a big alligator and two little alligators had pulled her into the river and tried to get her to eat a raw fish. She claimed that they were her husband and her sons, and they apparently wanted her to live with them, but she managed to escape.

Her doctor decided she had lost her mind, and he had her put in the mental institution for a while. After that, nobody saw her husband or children again. They just vanished.

But every now and then, a fisherman would tell about seeing alligators in the river at night. Usually, it was one large alligator accompanied by two small ones. Most people said the fishermen were just making it up. After all, everyone knows there aren’t any alligators out here.

OUIJA

Three Americans who were reportedly playing with a Ouija board in a Mexican village have been rushed to hospital after showing the sort of disturbing signs and behavior more commonly associated with demonic possession.

Alexandra Huerta, 22, her brother Sergio, 23, and their 18-year-old cousin Fernando Cuevas were playing with a Ouija board in the village of San Juan Tlacotenco in south-west Mexico before all three became allegedly possessed by evil spirits who used the Ouija board as a gateway to enter the land of the living.

Minutes after the trio had started dabbling with the Ouija board, also known as a spirit board or talking board, Alexandra is reported to have fallen into a “trance-like” state.

The youngster is then said to have started growling maniacally like a dog and thrashed around uncontrollably like a wild animal. She is also reported to have started laughing uncontrollably and when asked why, replied, “We’re going to die.”

The Daily Mail reported that Sergio and Fernando were also said to have demonstrated visible signs of “possession” after using the Ouija board to make contact with the dead.

Alongside feelings of disorientation, blindness, and deafness, the two were also reported to have suffered from vivid hallucinations after using the Ouija board.

Alexandra’s parents explained that their child was forcibly restrained to prevent her from hurting herself and paramedics were called to the house where the Ouija board was used to take the three “possessed” friends to hospital.

According to Alexandra’s parents, paramedics were only called after a local Catholic priest had refused to preform an exorcism on the three friends because they were not regular churchgoers.

In place of holy water, crucifixes, and prayers, the paramedics used a combination of painkillers, anti-stress medication, and eye drops. The treatment apparently appeared to do the trick when it came to clearing up any symptoms caused by the Ouija board.

The director of public safety in the nearby town of Tepoztlan, Victor Demeza said:

“The medical rescue of these three young people was very complicated. They had involuntary movements and it was difficult to transfer them to the nearest hospital because they were so erratic.

“It appeared as if they were in a trance-like state, apparently after playing with the Ouija board. They spoke of feeling numbness, double vision, blindness, deafness, hallucinations, muscle spasm and difficulty swallowing.”

Mr. Demeza would not comment on whether the trio who dabbled with the Ouija board were really possessed or had simply convinced themselves that was the case in an outbreak of group hysteria.

Many religions and some occultists have long warned against the dangers of using a Ouija board, and have advised that casually trying to contact the dead is never a particularly good idea.

 Source.

IN NO WAY PENITENT

1/7/1947 - Newark, OH.

Mrs. Laura Bell Devlin, 72, who murdered her 75-year-old husband, Thomas, then dismembered his body with a hacksaw and scattered the parts in the backyard, today professed her dislike for jail. She protested vehemently when officials tried to fingerprint her, saying, "that ink will make my hands dirty," and again when she was placed before the camera. "No," she asserted. She kept repeating "Can I go home now?," unmoved and in no way penitent for the alleged crime.

FOR SCIENCE

Nicolae Minovici: the doctor who hanged himself for science. During the 1st decade of the 20th century Minovici was employed as  a professor of forensic science at the State School of Science in Bucharest. He took a comprehensive study of death by hanging himself inspired by his research. He wanted to find out 1st hand what it would feel like to die this way.

The 1st picture shows the auto-asphyxiation device he created for the 1st research method. He would lay down on a cot and tug on one end of the rope and the noose would tighten. He lasted only six seconds before consciousness began to slip away, forcing him to stop.

He brought his assistants to help him be lifted into the air while the noose would tighten around his neck. During his 1st try he didn’t last but a couple of seconds before he signaled frantically to be let down. After practicing he was able to endure up to 25 seconds of this.

 

The 2nd picture shows his final stage of research. Hanging himself from the ceiling by a constricting hangman’s knot.  A burning pain ripped through his neck when he began his experiment and was so intense he had to signal his assistants to stop it after 4 seconds. He was unable to swallow for an entire month.

THE EALING HORROR

In the borough of Ealing, West London a photographer, keen to set up his own studio, moves into a half-derelict house. He brings with him his staff, who although slightly unnerved by the setting, settle in comfortably. Until that is, the noises start.

It wasn’t the studio that had such a hideous history, but it was the studio that succumbed to the activity. The peculiar noises coming from unoccupied rooms, the shifting of furniture when no-one was around, members of staff beginning to sense a presence, an unseen hand which tapped them on the shoulder or tugged at their garments, and those spectral voices from within the walls soon made this an awkward place to reside.

The photographer had a strong interest in the paranormal, as had many of his staff, and so, one evening, as darkness drew in, they decided to hold a seance, at least in the hope of communicating with some unknown form. To their delight, in some instances, they did indeed contact a spirit, but the eerie presence spoke of unrest in the neighboring building, a place that had seen much evil within its walls.

A lady and her very young child had been butchered in the property, and a man, belonging to one of the forces, was accused, found guilty and hanged for his crime. It was during this detail that the photographer began to feel sore around his neck, and felt that the spirit in contact with them was indeed the alleged murderer, and this was confirmed when the spectre pleaded its innocence.

Whether such an apparition was cast from the property we’ll never know, only persistent rumour or further experiences could shed some light on as to whether the property is still in turmoil.

Source.

DEPRESSED YET?

SWINGERS...

... get it?

:D

RUDE AWAKENING

The last thing I saw was my alarm clock flashing 12:07 before she pushed her long rotting nails through my chest, her other hand muffling my screams. 

I sat bolt upright, relieved it was only a dream, but as I saw my alarm clock read 12:06, I heard my closet door creak open.

Story source.

Image source.

FACELESS PHANTOM

Even the police stationed outside the house in Langmead Street couldn’t find an answer. They couldn’t explain the strange buzzing noises heard by 26-year-old Cecil Greenfield. They couldn’t find a suspect to arrest for the weird banging noises which kept the family awake every night. The family of eight were tormented by an unseen assailant who dragged furniture about the West Norwood residence. And then, at 2:15 am on a warm July night in 1951, Dennis and his wife Gladys got the shock of their life when they entered their home and were confronted by a tall, grey figure without a face.

Inspector Sidney Candler was extremely skeptical of the fiasco until he heard the thumping noises coming from the attic, and was unnerved as a picture flew from the wall and smashed on the floor. Cutlery seemed to rattle in the drawers.

The house attracted many locals, some simply intrigued by the local haunted house, others more skeptical who howled abuse at the residents, shouting “Get your heads examined!” Even the relatives of the family were embarrassed by the situation and refused to aid the troubled family.

Father Alfred Cole of St. Matthew’s Church was called in to exorcise the building. It was the last resort for the family who’d been plagued by the noises all day, and every night. A group from the Church of the Nazarene held a vigil throughout the night, deep in prayer in hope of cleansing the house of its evil. And yet the activity refused to subside. If anything it increased.

The radio turned on by itself. Peculiar lights whizzed across the living room. A mattress lifted up and appeared to bend, and poor Dennis was accosted by an invisible intruder who tore his shirt.

The family had reached the brink. They fled. They were not followed by the spectres within.

A couple with four children moved into the property, fully aware of its reputation. They were never troubled by the phantoms, and the house on Langmead Street returned to normal.

 

Source.

SAMURAI FACE

Heikegani ‘Samurai Face’ crabs are native to Japan and have a shell that bears a pattern resembling a human face.

PARABLE OF THE MADMAN

The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes. "Whither is God?" he cried; "I will tell you. We have killed him---you and I. All of us are his murderers. But how did we do this? How could we drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving? Away from all suns? Are we not plunging continually? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there still any up or down? Are we not straying, as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is not night continually closing in on us? Do we not need to light lanterns in the morning? Do we hear nothing as yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we smell nothing as yet of the divine decomposition? Gods, too, decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him.

HEAD HILL

Hyperbole, hell!

WHY I DIDN'T SHOWER FOR 21 YEARS

I have nightmares where I’m trapped in a shower. The drain is plugged, and the water won’t stop pouring down on me. Water rises to my ankles, to my waist, and then over my head. The shower curtain turns to glass, and my screams turn to gargles. A dark figure presses its face against the glass on the other side, and it watches me. I plead, but it won’t let me out. I swallow water and flail helplessly in my glass coffin.

I wake up gagging.

I know where the nightmare came from - I never have to dig deep. The incident is never far from my subconscious. Finding it is easy.

Getting over it is not.

It was the summer of my 12th birthday when the Hudsons moved in across the street. Three people, one of them a really old woman. She was tiny, frail; skeletal almost. Thin white hair; faded, blue flowery dress - her head hung from her neck and it wobbled as the man pushed her up a makeshift wheelchair ramp into the house. At the time I couldn't figure out if she was alive or dead.

A few minutes later she appeared in an upstairs window, sitting in her wheelchair. She was directly facing my bedroom, and I cautiously peered out from behind my curtains. Her head was upright now, and she stared at me. Just stared, without moving her head an inch.

I closed my drapes.

For days she sat at the window. She watched the cars putter down our suburban road and gazed at the neighborhood kids scurrying through their yards. I never saw anyone else in the room; never saw her move from that wheelchair. At night I’d nervously peek through the crack in my drapes. Her silhouette was still in that window, lights off, staring out into the darkness at my bedroom. I couldn’t tell, but I knew she was watching me.

The stories about her cropped up pretty quick amongst my friends in the neighborhood. That she was a witch. That she was just a doll. That she was actually dead. But I knew she wasn’t dead. Sure, I never saw her move from that window, not once. And I never saw her head turn. But I felt her eyes move as they studied me. I could feel her watching me. All alone in my bedroom, in the middle of the night with my drapes firmly shut, I’d wake up and shudder. Her eyes were on me, I just knew it.

I began sleeping on the floor. The lower I was, the better. Maybe she couldn’t see me if I was on the floor.

I told my parents that the old woman across the street was creeping me out. I pleaded with them to talk to the Hudsons and ask them to move her to a room without a window. They laughed and told me to let her live out her twilight years in peace. She was just watching the street, they said, and that probably made her feel happy and feel younger.

“Are you just going to stick me in a windowless room when I’m an old lady?” my mom laughed. “Remind me to move in with your sister when I’m in a wheelchair!”

A week later there was some commotion at the Hudsons'. I watched from my bedroom window as the man ran out of the house and opened up the double-doors of his van. He jogged inside, and he reappeared minutes later pushing the old woman in her wheelchair down the ramp. She looked frailer than before. She couldn’t have weighed more than 70 pounds. Her head was flung to the side, resting on her right shoulder. Her body jostled in the wheelchair.

But her eyes never left me. Watched me the whole time.

The man picked her up and placed her in the car. He folded the wheelchair and stuffed it in the trunk. He quickly hopped into the driver’s seat, the younger woman pounced into the passenger seat, and the man put his foot to the pedal.

The old woman’s limp head still faced me. It bobbed up and down as the van reversed down the driveway. I studied her face. It was expressionless, emotionless. Her tongue slightly hung from the right side of her mouth. But her eyes were on mine, and they stayed on me.

The van accelerated down the street, and it was gone.

My parents heard the news that afternoon from other neighbors: the old woman’s condition was getting worse, and the Hudsons had taken her to some sort of a home. She wouldn’t be coming back. I went straight to my bedroom, and I looked across the street. I smiled. Her window was finally empty.

The Hudsons didn’t come back the next day. No van. That night I looked out towards the old woman’s window. There was no one there; no wheelchair. But the bedroom light was on. I remember telling my dad I thought it was strange, and he just shrugged and said, “Must be on some sort of timer or something.”

I woke up in the middle of the night and nervously peered out my bedroom window. That bedroom light was still on. It suddenly flicked off, and I ducked below my window frame. I slowly rose and looked out, expecting to see the silhouette of that tiny, skeletal being. I watched for ten minutes, pinching and straining my eyes. The lights quickly flickered on and then off again.

I slept on the floor again, clutching my pillow close.

I had a late baseball practice the next evening. When I got home, my house was empty. My parents were at my little sister’s softball game. I headed to the shower to rinse off.

About three minutes into my shower, I felt cold. The hot steam was escaping the bathroom somehow, which didn’t make sense because I had shut the door. I wiped the shampoo from my eyes, turned my head, and I heard a strange noise that would haunt me in nightmares for years: the metal rings of the shower curtain being dragged across the shower rod. Someone was slowly opening the curtain.

The shampoo stung my eyes, and through the stinging I saw a dark figure behind the curtain. Long, pale, bony fingers gripped the curtain as it slowly opened. I instinctively backed up in the shower, and the curtain opened completely.

There stood the old woman. I must have only looked at her for one, maybe two seconds, but at that moment, time stood still. All these years later I can still draw you a vivid picture of the horrifying image in front of me. Disheveled white hair, crazy in her eyes, bones jutting out from under her stretched skin, stark naked. Blotchy skin, warts all over her body, skinny breasts hanging to her waist. Hair where I didn’t know people could grow hair.

She smiled grotesquely, and I felt the shower tile against my back and the hot water pound my face. In her other hand, the old woman held a letter opener.

“August,” she mumbled. “August, August, August.”

I leaped past her, knocking her tiny body to the floor. I ran downstairs, naked and sopping wet. In my panic I somehow remembered I was nude, and I yanked a pair of shorts out of the hamper in the laundry room, sending the hamper crashing to the floor. I high-tailed it on foot down the street, eventually winding up at my friend’s house.

When the police arrived they found the old woman, crumpled to a heap in the bathroom. The shower was still running. The policemen were all really nice to me, admiring me for my bravery. I told them what she said to me - “August” - and asked if they knew what she could have meant.

“It will be August in a few days,” one of them shrugged. “And you can never fully understand old and crazy, son.”

The Hudsons only came to our street once more to retrieve their stuff. The “For Sale” sign was up in days. My mom told me they couldn’t face the neighbors for what happened. Apparently they had taken the old woman - the man’s mother - to a special home downstate. Somehow, someway, the woman managed to escape the home and caught a bus back to our town. It never quite made sense to me - she was so old, so frail, so helpless. She could barely move those weeks she lived in that house. How had she managed to travel hundreds of miles on her own?

Anyway, you can imagine what this did to me. I didn’t shower for 21 years. I took baths, which I suppose aren’t that different - it’s still a tub, and it involves hot, soapy water. But a shower, with its closed curtain, water peppering the tub floor and steam climbing the walls - you get lost inside your own head in the shower. Thoughts consume you, and it feels so utterly safe. For a few minutes, you are alone from the world. It’s your own private, misty kingdom.

But that’s what makes the shower dangerous - you’re enclosed, vulnerable, naked.

You’re exposed.

I talked to people about it - my parents, a shrink - but mainly I tried to push the incident deep down into places where I couldn’t find it. I didn’t talk about it with anyone since I was a kid - life carried on. Besides the baths, I was pretty normal.

A few months ago, something inside me clicked. I felt the urge to re-examine the incident; it was almost like a voice in my head was telling me to do it. My head wanted closure.

I spent hours online one night, trying to track down any information on the Hudsons and the old woman. I finally found what I was looking for - an obituary for the old woman. She had died four years ago. Somehow that walking skeleton hadn’t checked out for another 15 years. The obituary photo was a black-and-white picture from when she was a young woman - it was a photo of her and her deceased husband on their wedding day.

His name was August.

And he looked exactly like me.

I closed the browser and stared at my computer desktop for ten minutes. It finally made more sense: why she called me August. Why she was obsessed with watching me. Maybe she used to write letters to her husband, and that’s why she was clutching the letter opener that night.

For a small moment, I felt a little better. Things always feel better when they make more sense.

“Honey, is everything okay?” It was my wife.

“I think so,” I said.

I took the first shower I had taken in years that night. I didn’t even jump when the curtain rungs dragged across the shower rod and my wife entered. But as she embraced me under the hot water, one question wouldn’t leave my head:

How come the young woman in that wedding photo looks exactly like my wife?

Story source.

HOLY SHIT!

SHITTY FLICKS: ZOMBIE NATION

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.

Ulli Lommel is the guy at the party with a length of toilet paper stuck to his shoe, and he's trekking it around behind him like a limp tail, in between trips to the fish tank and the bean dip. Other party goers laugh, getting a kick out of it, and for the rest of the night, no one can take him seriously. Yet, despite this, he keeps getting invited to parties.

This is a perfect allegory for Ulli Lommel’s career. He has never, ever, ever made a good film. Not ever. And this isn’t one of those, “well that’s just your opinion, man” situations. If there was a big book called Opinions That Are Actually Facts, there would be an entire chapter called “Ulli Lommel’s Films Are Literally Shit.”

"Okay, this time, YOU ring the gong,
and I'LL scream MORTAL KOMBAT."

However, there is no denying that the guy is still filling Redbox machines and Netflix servers with his nonsense. He says "action!" and his cameras record stuff and suddenly there are studios out there who want to distribute it. I've seen enough Ulli Lommel films to know that if he can do it, anyone can.

Why not get started with this handy, no-effort recipe?

Ingredients

• 10-15 "actors" picked randomly from a variety of high school and community college drama programs (preferably ones dismissed for utter lack of talent)
• 1 part German wooden lead to stumble through English dialogue
• 1 abandoned warehouse to store all sets (police station with exposed sewage pipes clearly indicating it is shot in boiler room; apartment that looks like Ikea show room; furniture store whose door remains open all times of day despite lack of presence of staff or security team)
• 1/4 gallon of white paint (will not be enough to paint walls within camera range in said warehouse)
• 1 part crew man's accidental and blatant reflection in mirror
• 1 part stolen musical piece from The Exorcist (to be repeatedly used)
• Multiple parts flashback of fat bald man getting spanked
• 1 part clone of Parker Posey (for the mom role)
• 1 part asinine idea that, hey, since people liked Fight Club, let's have a scene where two men fistfight and fall into strategically placed cardboard boxes while surrounding friends and family shout encouragement, only never to mention the scene again

The boys were taken aback by Ulli's raucous laughter
after asking which color the latest script rewrite was in.

•  1/4 teaspoon of black make-up (apply generously; this will encompass ANY/ALL zombie make-up)
• Several parts weird, mood-breaking techno
• 2 cameras; one digital that shoots in good quality, one amateur home video camera that is glaring opposite the previous
• 3 parts lighting equipment to be blatantly captured in shot in every police station scene
• 1 part terribly out of place, unnoticed, non-utilized gong, placed in very fake police station
• 0 parts script supervisor
• 1 part audacity to use Marathon Man homage (in nonsensical way)
• 1 part random businessman that waits out in middle of woods to make business deals via cell phone, only to become fodder for zombie girls (who then steal car)
• 1 part mechanic who takes out penis behind door as zombie girls approach
• 1 part fake bloody penis
• 1 part hope that you won't realize Ulli didn't bother to write out the hero who disappears halfway through the movie due to real-life hospital visit
• 6 parts zombie girls to wear said black make-up under eyes up with no other make-up effects to be seen (except for continuity-be-damned close ups in mirrors)
• Multiple parts suspension of disbelief (cop takes offending woman to warehouse, partner waits outside, cop comes back out sans woman but with giant body-sized duffel bag, partner is not suspicious)
• 1 part completely ludicrous ending
• 0 parts logic

Directions

1. Take all said ingredients and throw haphazardly against wall.
2. Hope it sticks.
3. Look in awe at how movies literally about nothing can be made and sold for mass consumption.
4. Ingest generous portion, swallow with grimace as Ulli Lommel rips money from your pockets and laughs maniacally.

HEY, KNOW WHAT'S A REAL MOVIE?

PESTA

Pesta is the personification of Black Death in Norwegian folklore. She would be dressed up in all black when she visited farms, either holding a broom or a rake. If she was holding a broom then everyone on the farm would die. If she was holding a rake, then some would survive to tell her tale.

PROJECT SCISSORS: “NIGHTCRY”

PRESS RELEASE: FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE 

PROJECT SCISSORS: “NIGHTCRY” 

28TH January 2015

Tokyo, Japan:

NightCry, the eagerly anticipated “horror adventure game” initially announced as Project Scissors, is coming to Kickstarter!

Inspired by overwhelming feedback from fans the world over, the NightCry team have unanimously decided to create a PC version of the ultimate horror game and are asking worldwide fans for their support in making it happen via the Project Scissors: NightCry Kickstarter campaign.

This highly anticipated game is currently under development at Nude Maker Inc., directed by Hifumi Kono (Director of “Clock Tower”, “Infinite Space”, and “Steel Battalion”) and co-created by Takashi Shimizu (Director of “Ju-On”, and “The Grudge”), NightCry was initially announced at the 2014 Tokyo Game Show as being for mobile platforms and the PlayStation® Vita.

In the game, players are invited aboard a cruise ship, where an evil presence has begun stalking and killing both guests and crew alike, resulting in the ship being lost at sea. As the player, you are unarmed and unprepared to fight back against the horrible evil that stalks you. All you can do is run and hide while searching for clues that might lead to your survival...

As a live action companion piece designed to dramatically expand upon the unique world and startling vision of NightCry, project co-creator Takashi Shimizu has created a short film that reveals another side of this dark universe and it’s environs.

You can view this short film and learn more about the Project Scissors: NightCry Kickstarter campaign from the following links:

Shimizu’s NightCry Short Film: http://youtu.be/QL77DK68Q_U


Kickstarter Link: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/playism/project-scissors-nightcry 

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ProjectScissors

In addition to working with Takashi Shimizu, Hifumi Kono has engaged a wealth of incredible luminaries from the Japanese entertainment industry, including Kiyoshi Arai (Concept Art, Final Fantasy XII, XIV), Masahiro Ito (Creature Designer, Silent Hill series), and Nobuko Toda (Composer, Metal Gear Solid series, Halo 4 & 5). And additionally, famed CG animation director Shinji Aramaki (Appleseed series, Halo Legends) will be serving as creative advisor.

Also, for the first time since the game’s initial announcement, we’re happy to reveal that Michiru Yamane (Composer, Castlevania: Symphony of the Night) has joined the team to collaborate on the soundtrack.

Even though Yamane and Toda have a shared history at Konami Digital Entertainment - NightCry is their very first collaboration together.

With the invaluable help of Kickstarter backers the NightCry team hope to create a definitive version of the game for PC, with additional platforms being considered, if the crowd funding campaign exceeds all expectations.

Official website: http://www.night-cry.com


Official EN Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/Night_Scissors

Contact: Joseph Chou – (81) 90 3915 4351

Email: joseph@sola-digital.com

BLOODY VALENTINE