OH, HELLO

OLD HAG

It's a simple enough thing. It's all a part of the body's sleep processes. Sleep Paralysis, right? No big deal, really. Your body produces a chemical that paralyzes your body during R.E.M sleep to prevent you from hurting yourself by thrashing about during your dreams. No big deal.

Okay, so you opened your eyes and you can't move your body. It's the chemicals. Oh, you can keep trying to wriggle those toes, but it's not happening. Forget it. Just relax. It'll go away. It's fine. It's normal.

Oh, now there's something pressing on your chest, real hard; it's making it hard to breath. It's heavy, so very heavy, whatever's on your chest. Chemicals. It's all chemicals. Stop trying to scream, it won't work. Your throat muscles are paralyzed too. You still can't breath.

You are staring at a blank ceiling, you can't stare anywhere else. Shadows flit across your vision, forming shapes you try not to think about. A clawed hand, a flash of jagged, shadowy teeth. All images from your subconscious. A face forming above yours, leering through black void eyes. You think you hear whispering. Angry hissing, like a snake that's been disturbed.

Suddenly, a sharp white light briefly flares in the room as a car pulls down the street, dispelling the shadows. The weight is gone. You can breath, your hands clench sheets.

You feel an eternity has passed by, but it was all the work of a moment. You wriggle, just to prove to yourself you can. You sit up, take a deep breath and then laugh a little at yourself. Sleep Paralysis. Stupid.

You turn to shake your wife awake, eager to share your experience. You feel paralyzed again, but it has nothing to do with Sleep Paralysis. You stare at the blood, the jagged wound in her throat, her wide, staring eyes, mouth opened in soundless scream.

You survived your Old Hag Syndrome.

She didn't.

METAMORPHOSIS

Nature's crazy.

SURPRISE DENOUEMENT

I consider myself a mature person. Not in the sense that I'm stuffy and bitter and don't approve of ass humor, but in the sense that I like to think I make sound and logical decisions. I exercise good common sense. I think reasonably, and attempt to keep all emotion out of my decisions about and reactions to certain developments that pop up in my life. That, to me, is the actual sign of maturity. 

So, having said that, I'm allowed to laugh at whatever I want, and in whatever situation I so choose.

The Phantom Carriage is a phenomenal film. Serious film buffs should definitely seek it out if they have not yet made themselves familiar. Considering its age, you can likely find a public domain version somewhere on Internet to stream for free, but I'd advise you to check out the Criterion version to experience the film alongside the experimental film score created by artist KTL, which really makes the film much more eerie and unnerving.

Because I'm lazy, here's a copy-and-pasted synopsis:

The last person to die on New Year's Eve before the clock strikes twelve is doomed to take the reins of Death's chariot and work tirelessly collecting fresh souls for the next year. So says the legend that drives The Phantom Carriage (Körkarlen), directed by the father of Swedish cinema, Victor Sjöström. The story, based on a novel by Nobel Prize winner Selma Lagerlöf, concerns an alcoholic, abusive ne'er-do-well (Sjöström himself) who is shown the error of his ways, and the pure-of-heart Salvation Army sister who believes in his redemption. This extraordinarily rich and innovative silent classic (which inspired Ingmar Bergman to make movies) is a Dickensian ghost story and a deeply moving morality tale, as well as a showcase for groundbreaking special effects.

Being that this is a Swedish film, the occasional intertitle card that pops up on screen is, quite obviously, in Swedish.

By now, you have to be wondering where all of this is going.

Well, here's my point:

At the end of the film, in which lead bastard David Holm has learned the error of his ways and breaks down crying in front of his wife, the film ends, on a powerfully emotional note. We're overjoyed to learn that he is a changed man. He's been reunited with his family. Everything is going to be okay again.

We cut to black. 

"The End" pops up on the screen, but obviously, it doesn't specifically say "The End," but instead, the Swedish translation of "The End."

Which is:

Thank you, and good night.

SPECIAL PRESENTATION

LEVITY

BORDER CROSSING

There was a couple from Texas who were planning a weekend trip across the Mexican border for a shopping spree. At the last minute their babysitter canceled, so they had to bring along their two-year-old son with them. They had been across the border for an hour when the boy got free and ran around the corner. The mother tried to find him, but he was missing. The mother found a police officer, who told her to go to the gate and wait. Not really understanding the instructions, she did as she was told. About 45 minutes later, a Mexican man approached the border, carrying the boy. The mother ran to him, grateful that he had been found. When the man realized it was the boy's mother, he dropped him and ran. The police were waiting for him. The boy was dead, and in the 45 minutes he was missing, he had been cut open, all of his organs removed, and stuffed with bags of cocaine. The man was going to carry him across the border, as if he were asleep.