Friday aftermath, interlude

…Friday the 13th is nothing to fear. Nothing bad happens on this particular day that could happen on any other day.

…However, Friday the 13th is undoubtedly a harbinger of terrible things to come. It is not the day itself one must be concerned about. Rather it’s the weekend of Friday the 13th, plus a couple days after, where lies the real danger.

–from Author G. T. Quilting-Wheeler, in an interview Friday, June 13, 2008.

The author’s synopsis was mocked and ignored until an unexplained, accidental death occurred two days later which claimed the life of an 18-year-old young man.

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It’s scary, interlude

…When I’m busy researching how to write horror. Today it’s research on ghosts. I’m studying in my bathroom, on a rainy, quiet afternoon, and then my dog starts howling. Like he’s in pain. I’m getting hairs on the back of my neck standing up…

I get out of the bathroom and into the den just to find he’s trying to tell me our house guest is back to continue repairs….

–from an interview with renowned horror film director Teddy “Marsh Bob” Fobberman, on the topic of house guests his family would receive back when he was just starting out as a director. Recorded June 1998, Scared Coatwire Productions, inc.

White Cats, interlude

..When I was young, my grandfather never liked cats. He didn’t mind me having a dog though. But I was more fond of cats. I asked him one day why he felt the way he did.

“…Because dogs keep the mad scientists away,” he said.

..It took a few minutes to get him to explain what he said…

“..When I was young, I thought I could go into the state park at night. I didn’t fear the dark, didn’t know the danger that stalks…

“You’ll never see the white fur which seems to glow in the dark, or the eyes that reflect your flashlight,” he said, “You will hear neither the purring that comes down from his perch, nor smell the ammonia stench of his white lab coat flowing.. You won’t feel the prick of the blow dart or be aware of where you land…

“You won’t recall the taste of dead leaves upon hitting the ground, or see Dr.Winter, the large green eyes, watching and making his plans…

“So don’t find yourself in his laboratory. Be careful when you venture at night. Always be watching the trees. For you don’t know when Dr. Winter is watching. Be careful when you hear the breeze…

“He’s always looking for new test subjects, he watches, waits for the unwary…

“So get a dog, get a dog, grandson, and keep Dr. Winter at bay.”

–from “The White Cat of the Labyrinthine Woods” by Tyger G. Caterwauling, Summer Sunny Squashmare Publishers, Topeka, Kansas 1985.

Mind the Scary Stuff, interlude

…Attempts to write horror oft elude me. According to research Stephen King in his book, “On Writing” says to know horror you must read horror. For any genre it’s a relevant statement.

But what does one do when they have the same reaction to scary stories as with spicy food, yet still desire to write it? If not horror, at least suspense.

The advice collected is to make it mysterious. Make it believable. The monster isn’t revealed until the very last, if at all.

This is my problem: with each description of something “scary,” I make some heroic figure step behind, grab its attention and say,

“Excuse me, are you supposed to be scary?”

—from Sounds of Sleepers on a Rainy Night and Other Stories: 101 Case Studies of Aspiring Writers. Horror Edition. Ca. June 1998, books on Audio Cassette and CD. Neo-Pumpkin Mandrake Publishers Inc.

Caramels, interlude

Caaraamels, Caaaaraaameels. Carrrrameeels!

from a scene in the new horror film, “54 Caramels” debue film director and culinary chef Waltz Fry-Marshmallow, ca January, 1998.

Jack ‘o lanterns, interlude

Good evening. Our car broke down a few yards back. May we come in to use your phone?

–from “Count the Pumpkin Skins,” the 1980s horror film about a vampire who gets turned into a living jackolantern, who then preys on unsuspecting teenagers.

Creeper Corner Films. Air date: October 1981

It hungers, interlude

black swampflat

“Maybe I can contain it,” June said to herself, “The police will never believe me.”

The portal generator wasn’t through transporting and its small size meant it wasn’t built for something so massive. The creature in June’s utility room slowly crept toward her. It would never be satisfied with a single meal and viewed June as fair game.

June remembered she kept a gun in her hall closet. How long did she have? The thing wasn’t giving chase so far. June found the box and opened it. The gun was missing.

The portal generator kept processing. The creature’s body flowed through like black honey with various luminescent colors here and there. Perhaps it was a mistake to go this way? The creature was stuck where it was until all of it was through the portal. It turned around and examined the machine. Oh, fairly simple; you just press here to speed it up.

June searched in her room for the gun. It was on her night stand but unloaded. She just liked the security while alone in the house. Now with loaded gun in hand, she ran to the utility room.

The creature was about through the portal. The portal generator was now moving faster. Just a little more.

June saw the creature concentrating on the portal generator.

BLAM BLAM

Two shots were fired and hit the creature in the head and chest. They passed harmlessly through it and into the wall. The creature ignored her, it was so fixed on getting fully out. What if she destroyed the portal generator? Whartleburg would not be able to come home.

BLAM BLAM

The portal generator blew apart and immediately stopped its work. The remainder of the creature would stay on the other side forever. It was like a faucet was turned off. June had the creature’s full attention.  That faceless head slowly turned toward her.

The lights in the hallway flickered and went out. Then the lights in the utility room started to flicker. In the renewed darkness could be seen two points of faint white light from deep within the creature’s face.

June stared at the creature and immediately regretted having destroyed the one thing it that might have saved her life. She could still see the remains of the portal generator spew sparks.

June saw the thing move this way and that to evade any sparks. Sparks. She had an idea and ran for the pantry in the kitchen.

Excerpt from “Enzectozoid Chronicles: The Legacy of Whartleburg the Whalloper” from the curiously long book of short stories, I am lettuce, who are you?

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