B-Movie War (5 page)

“Somebody
bought
you for me?” Lucky Lester said it while eying her up and down from her impressive cleavage to ankles trapped by the straps of her red stiletto shoes. “Must be a going away present.”

She locked the door behind her. “This won't take long, honey. Take your underwear off.”

Lucky was pushed to the ground. His back against the floor. The woman was a wildcat. She straddled him by the hips. She took him in without taking off her dress or her shoes.

“There you go. Oh yeah. There you go, honey. Keep it up. You're a real big man.
Ohhh
honey.”

Her nasally voice would've ruined the moment, but she felt so good, Lucky Lester couldn't stop pumping himself into her.

“Not too much longer, honey, and you'll get what you want. I'll give it to you real good, baby.”

Lucky's body was bent backwards. A hundred bones cracked. His arms and legs struck the back of his head. He was folded in half. The hand that clutched his dick pulled him forward, and what hid inside the hooker ate him right up.

Mr. Ratchet stepped over the widening pool of blood on the projection booth's floor. The hooker was gone, having moved on to another customer. Lucky Lester was no more. Mr. Ratchet held a stack of reels in his hands. Blood leaked from the metal canisters. Maggots and mealworms were stuck onto the outside, squirming in death juices. Mr. Ratchet set up the first reel and turned on the projector.

The Final Flesh
played on movie theatre's screen.

A declaration of war.

Chapter Seven

Afraid of what could be behind the exit door, Penny was forced to think fast. She hid behind a pile of old theatre seats. Who was coming into the building? Penny waited for the exit door to open. The door did open, and one-by-one, they shambled in. The rush of cold night air was ripened by a punch of dead flesh and expired organs on the same level as what the reels of film were soaking in those damnable plastic bins. Dressed for the grave, their faces mummified and decayed beyond the point of having features except curvatures of bone and petrified flesh, the word repeated in Penny's brain:
zombie
. In their arms were cardboard boxes. The half dozen zombies kept filing in and out of the back room piling up the boxes. This happened for ten long agonizing minutes. Penny could feel her body's muscles lock up from being crouched low for so long. Her lungs could pop, the way she wanted to scream and call out for help.

After leaving the back room again, the zombies didn't return. Penny stayed still for minutes. She decided to take the chance to see if the way was clear. As she got up, nobody was in sight. She couldn't go the back way again. She might run into the dead people, or whatever the hell they were. Moving forward, going deeper into the theatre, her eyes fell on the guts and blood in the rubber tubs. They could be slaughterhouse organs, she thought, but even if that were the case, the situation was still deranged. So wrong.

Forgoing anymore guesses or hypothesis about the unexplainable, Penny treaded down to the end of the backroom toward the hallway that lead to the main drag of theatres. Up from that stretch would be Jules's office. Possible safety. She would call the police and put this harrowing scene behind her.

Before she made it very far, the door from both the back exit and the main door leading into the theatre area opened. Penny hid behind a huge cardboard display for the movie
Casablanca
. More of the dead people shambled in through the back exit. They were clutching onto plastic tubs and setting them separate from the boxes they had just brought in earlier. From the other door, a group of three women entered. They were naked from head to toe, shapely and buxom, smooth-skinned and waxen in the overhead lights. The trio walked in confident and with mischievous grins. Their eyes were smoldering embers, though they changed hue, as if every breath they took stoked the fires in their sockets. Blood trailed from their lips. Penny could see sharp teeth poking out from their mouths.

The women sorted through the cardboard boxes. They removed reel canister after reel canister and stacked them up high. Without a word between the vampires and the zombies, they went to work on an unknown task. Ten dead people were working. Half of them started taking down the reels of film that hung from the ceiling and placed them on a table, while the other half were digging out the film strips that had been soaking in the offal and hanging them up to dry. The vampires were working with scissors to snip the new film reels brought in and then steeping them into the tubs of blood. Once the work was done, the zombies filed out of the building and the vampires swiftly exited the room.

Penny blew a sigh of relief. Many thoughts were cycling through her head, all of them ending in ghastly question marks. She was beginning to think running out the exit might not be such a bad idea. If she crossed those dead people's paths, she could bolt for the main road and call for help.

After running through her options for safety, Penny decided to escape through the theatre building instead. Other people were out there. She could scream, and someone would help her, and maybe, just maybe, it would all be over.

“H-help me, p-please. Don't leave me to d-die.”

The voice was coming from behind Penny. A woman's. She wore a pink sweater and black jeans. Her long blonde hair was disheveled. A red handprint was slathered on her cheek. Along her middle, it looked like a sharp talon had slashed her. The wound was deep enough to bleed, but not deep enough that it couldn't easily be fixed in an emergency room. The woman was crying.

“You see what they're doing to those reels?” the girl said as Penny helped her up off the ground. “They're steeping them in the blood of their victims as another way to bring the movies back to life. It's the way they're waging their war against us. They won't lose this time. The dead will kill the living. Everyone. Will. Die.”

Her laugh was dark and bloodcurdling. Suddenly the woman acted as if she didn't feel any pain. Only joy. “There will be no one left on earth. They will have their way this time because there's no one to stop them. The evil is much too strong. THEY WILL NOT FAIL! THEY WILL TAKE US TO HELL! THE DEAD SHALL HAVE THEIR WAY WITH THE LIVING!”

“Shut your mouth. They'll hear us!” Penny shook the woman and was a second away from slapping her when the door leading into the theatre shot open. The three naked women stormed in, but this time, wings sprouted from their backs made of black leather. Reptilian skin was born, the soft supple flesh morphing into rough scales. The woman who was screaming suddenly turned into one of the vampires.

Penny was squeezed by the neck. It felt like the slightest shift of the woman's hand could break Penny's neck. The vampires surrounded her. No escape.

“Decoys work every time,” one of the vampire women spoke in a demon's rasp. “What shall we do with you? Drink from your arteries? Lick you where it tastes good? Pike you from the anus to the mouth? No, no, no, that'd be a precious waste of blood. The blood of the living on my lips gives me shudders. It brings me such climaxes. I get too excited just thinking about the many ways to kill you.”

Penny squirmed on the inside as a forked tongue ran up her neck and tickled her ear lobe. The vampire-reptile woman whispered to her, “I'd cut you wide open and make love to you, but the cemetery tramps have other things to keep them busy at the moment. The final showing is underway.
The Final Flesh
. And as it turns out, there are two seats left. We can't have empty seats for the big show. It looks like you lucked out.”

Sniffing like a wild boar, the vampire smelled Penny's hair and skin. “Looks like your boyfriend hasn't touched you in a long time. I say after a woman hasn't had sex in a long time, it's like they become a virgin again. I'll return for you, my sweet smelling flower, after the show. Your blood shall run down my lips.” In a sharp declaration,
“Take her to the theatre.”

As Penny passed the tables stocked with bloody reels, she noticed the snippets covered in blood and hunks of flesh began to fuse together. The slightest sounds of screams, though projected at a whisper's strength, emanated from the tangles of reels that began to connect and become one big reel. Then Penny was out of the room, shoved onward. What she witnessed on the way to Theatre 4 chilled her to her very marrow and threatened to shatter her sanity.

Chapter Eight

Ushered toward the concession stands by the vampires, Penny could smell cooking meat mingling with the sickly sweet smell of death. She briefly caught the popcorn machine filled with crispy looking eyeballs; hundreds, maybe thousands of torn out eyes being stuffed into popcorn tubs. Bodies without eyes were heaped like cordwood in the lobby corner. A man in a lumberjack's outfit and the largest axe Penny had ever seen in her life would prop a corpse on a wooden mount and split them. He kept grumbling, “SPLIT YOU IN TWO!” There were other happenings that kept the theatre hopping, but she was shoved toward Theatre 4 before she could mentally register the festivities.

The marquee sign over the theatre read:
Lunatic Receptionist
.

The ticket taker was a pimply faced teenager with eyes that belonged to a praying mantis. His red elevator boy outfit was about to bust at the shoulders as if bug feelers were about to grow out of his back. The boy handed them a paper bag that said in large letters “BARF BAG. WARNING: CONTENTS VERY HOT.”

The vampire holding Penny squeezed her neck and hissed, “Take the bag. Be polite. You're getting a free show. You don't realize how lucky you are.”

“And what a show it is!” The kid said in a puberty squeak. “You're in store for a real treat. Movie marathon madness! The horror-o-thon started five minutes ago. The rule of thumb, if you feel the need to scream, one of the usher's will come by to cut out your vocal cords. If you fall asleep, no need to worry, one of the ushers will keep your eyes peeled. If you feel the need to throw up, please use the bags provided. Then one of the ushers will take it for you. Let's not waste perfectly good vomit. Okay, so take your barf bag and enjoy the show.”

She had no choice but to obey. When she accepted the bag, it was wet and heavy. Holding it with shaking hands, a big rat crawled up from the mess and jumped off the side.

Penny screamed, “
Gaa-wd
that's nasty!”

“Sorry, the bags are used. You'll have to dump it out before the show. Sorry about the inconvenience. But ma'am,” the ticket taker laughed, “please save your screams for the show.”

The vampires forced her into the theatre.

Penny was seated.

Barf bags were attached to the backs of each seat. A straight razor was taped to the seats just below the barf bags with the words “JUST SWIPE ACROSS WRISTS OR NECK IN THE CASE OF EXTREME PANIC.” A sign above the emergency door read: “FINAL EXIT” with a cartoon picture of a boy who'd peed his pants. Strobe lights flashed behind the exit's curtain. Every time somebody escaped (and it only happened twice; people learned their lesson very fast), their screams erupted as the sound of saw blades scraping against concrete resounded. Ushers were dressed like hospital orderlies, though the orderlies could've passed for the most disturbed patients in an asylum with mean faces, nicotine colored skin and eyes that bragged of being able to perpetrate every death known to mankind. They held flashlights in one hand like the regular ushers did. In the other hand were various sharp implements, from potato peelers to crude shanks. Penny winced seeing one of their hands wrapped in barbed wire.

Before she was seated, Penny took in the entire theatre of real people who eyed the screen with their faces locked in horror. If they moved, if they spoke too loud, if they screamed, the ushers would sever their vocal cords. Penny sensed their panic and absorbed their desperation. Random patrons were dead in their seats, their throats slit, or some without faces as if they'd been run through a paper shredder.

The vampires ordered Penny to sit down in the front row, middle seat. The vampires returned to what they'd been doing earlier, leaving the theatre in a hurry. Penny wasn't strapped in or restrained, but she knew any attempt to escape would be thwarted by the evil ushers.

Penny eyed the screen, expecting horror and getting it.

It was already minutes into
Lunatic Receptionist
.

The ushers in Theatre 4 laughed uncontrollably at the scene where the secretary removed the manila folder from the file cabinet, opened it, and there was a decaying severed hand inside. Penny felt her body tense as the ushers' callous amusement rang out among the quiet theatre goers. The watchers were silent during the showing of
Lunatic Receptionist
.

When the woman on the screen finished screaming at the severed hand, she bumped into the mousy receptionist who had a steak knife in one hand. She was pale skinned, highlighting her red-framed, oversized glasses. The lunatic receptionist wedged the knife under the panicking woman's throat and hissed, “You put the files out of alphabetical order. How would you like it if I cut you up and put you in different caskets? I'd be like doing the same thing, wouldn't it? Or would that not bother you? It's a lack of respect for the fine details that really gets under my skin. You'd be fine and dandy with misspellings in your mother's obituary, wouldn't you? Or what about your little girl? What if I misspelled her name on the honor roll chart? How about I slit your throat and forget to call for an ambulance!”

The blade sank into the woman's throat. “Whoops! Sorry! File that under “F” for “Fuck You.”

Penny did her best to tune out the horrid scene.

Please don't cry
. Y
ou can't cry. They'll kill you if you make a single sound. Please
—
don't
—
cry.

There was nothing to be done, Penny thought. She could only sit and watch as
Lunatic Receptionist
played to its savage finale.

Penny had watched three films up to this point.
Terror at Blood Manor
was currently playing, a film about the maids of the mansion rising up against their rich bosses. She had seen severed heads bobbing about in a bubbling Jacuzzi tub and a pitchfork dropped from four stories high onto a preppy boy's head as he tried to flee the premises of the estate. The details of the plot were a blur. She was in-and-out of wakefulness. The next movie that played was
Dr. Hackemov
Kills Again
.

The hospital's intercom rang out:
Dr. Hackemov, you're needed in the recovery word
.

Dr. Heckemov: “I'll be right there, Nurse Green. Keep the patient comfortable. I'm ordering an autopsy for my patient.”

Nurse green's eyes bulged in terror. “What are you saying Dr. Hackemov? Why would you order an autopsy? The patient isn't dead!”

The movies won't stop
, Penny thought.
This will keep going until midnight. How many movies will that be? What happens when
The Final Flesh
plays?

The ushers remained in place like sentries. Were they real people? The zombies in the back room earlier and the vampire women couldn't be real, Penny thought. But they were right in front of her. What allowed them to exist? Why were they subjecting all of these unfortunate people to a forced marathon of bloody movies? The whole point of this torture was beyond her.

Don't fall asleep. Don't scream. Don't make a sound.

She kept telling herself these things as she had trouble staying awake. Her legs needed to move. Pins and needles nagged at her arms and legs.

“I think mouth-to-mouth is going to be necessary to revive our patient, Nurse Mitchell.”

Screaming, “But Dr. Hackemov, why on earth are we giving mouth-to-mouth to the corpses in the morgue?”

It was stifling hot in the theatre. The moment she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep, the usher at the front row immediately took notice.

“Nurse Randall, in order to save this patient, I'm going to require you to strip down to your undergarments. Don't think. If you want them to live, you must strip.”

The sound of ripping woke Penny.

Rrrrrrrrrip!

Rrrrrrrrrip!

Duct tape was stuck above and below her eyes, stretching the skin and fully exposing her eyes. The callous usher was a female in blue doctor's scrubs. Her black hair was extended as if she'd just been jolted by high volts of electricity. She had the face of a garishly made-up hooker who'd stayed out in the rain, mascara gumming up her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. She wore a belt of scalpels. Each scalpel owned different curvatures and capabilities. Duct tape also held down her arms to the chair's arm rests. Penny thrashed and couldn't free herself. She was forced to watch the film with wide open eyes.

The usher demanded, “Stay still and watch the feature presentation.”

A young man in his twenties darted towards the exit of the theatre. He had charged down the stairs from the fifth row. He made it onto the last step before the female usher pointed her flashlight at him. The light was electric blue and sawed through his middle, separating his torso from his legs with a gushing of sparks and the wild flecks of spurting red.

“
Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
”

The man collapsed into two pieces, each half flung about three feet apart. His guts were kicking up steam, singed by the strange flashlight's beam. One usher picked the dead man up by the top half, the other by the bottom, and another held the guts in place so they wouldn't slither free. Dead, and in two pieces, they put the patron back into his seat.

Minutes later, Penny heard the dead man speak. He wasn't angry or scared. Instead, he was happy. Pumped up. The credits to the current movie were rolling. The dead man chanted,
“Tit Trance! Tit Trance! Tit Trance! Show us Tit Trance!”

Scattered about the theatre, death choked voices demanded the same.

“
Tit Trance! Tit Trance! Tit Trance!
SHOW US TITS!”

It made Penny wonder how many people were still alive in the theatre and how many had been killed. And how many had come back to life to demand more horror movies!

The theatre throbbed with their ruckus. It killed her ears.

“TIT TRANCE! TIT TRANCE! TIT TRANCE! TIT TRANCE! SHOW US TITS!”

The end credits for
Dr. Hackemov
came to a conclusion. Cutting right to the next movie, the screen focused on a woman in a blue shirt. The shot panned to her bust. Creepy synthesizer music blared,
Brooooooooong!
Then a guy saying, “Take off your top, sexy.” The woman lifted up her shirt to bare her double D breasts. Then bloody letter font splattered onto the screen, spelling TIT TRANCE.

“YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! TIT TRAAAAAAAAAANCE!”

The theatre was active with whistles, shouts and cheering. It was like a professional football game, and the home team was kicking ass.

So many dreadful horrors to experience before midnight, Penny knew, before
The Final Flesh
. Time didn't seem to move like it should. It should've been midnight hours ago.

Every once in a while, a set of nurses dressed in black fishnets and a bodice top that was all white with red crosses over each breast would arrive to drip saline solution into her eyes.

“We can't have your peepers drying out. The show is far from over. Your uncle would hate it if you missed a single minute of the marathon.”

“What do you know about my uncle? What have you done with him? I want to see him. Let me see him! Damn you, come back here. COME BACK AND TALK TO ME!”

“
She's got tits to make you dream. Keep those eyes peeled, because she's about to show you heaven.”

The woman standing on top of the sports car in cut-off jeans and a sports jersey lifted up her top. Two glints of light like a mirror reflecting the sun whited out the theatre's screen.

Then the shot panned to the watcher digging out his eyes with his own fingers. “Oh God, the agony! The p-aaaaaaaaain! Run, Jeff! Don't look at her tits!”

The male usher closest to Penny had a woman's severed head in one hand with long brown hair. The usher kept brushing the head's hair and whistling to himself. The usher's eyes widened for no reason. Penny realized the brush was made of sharp needles. The brush severed scalp and chunks of hair with each cutting stroke. It wasn't until the head was bald and had a pink mudslide of gore spilling down its face that the usher shrieked in delight and tossed the head across the theatre.

The movies kept rolling.

A new movie now.

“Freddy's in the fryer. I know that mole on his ass from anywhere! Quick, let's get out of the
Grease Trap
before it's too late. This fast food joints giving me the creeps. Look!”

Carol, the screaming head chef, was thrown head first into the pool-sized vat of boiling hot grease. Her screams escalated. Greasy Gus, the skinny man whose clothes were dripping with an oily mess, stood above Carol as her body turned crispy. Gus used a wooden oar to stir the corpse back to the surface. “Shame I didn't get to beer batter the bitch first. Damn shame.”

The film
Grease Trap
kept rolling. Penny found herself clinging onto her sanity. She had wet herself in the seat not out of fear but out of necessity. After holding it for hours, her body made the decision for her. Humiliated, exhausted, questioning how much longer she would survive this terror show, it wouldn't be too much longer before
The Final Flesh
premiered.

Chainsaw Ballerinas
played next.

Not
The Final Flesh
.

“
My God, Deputy, those bitches sliced and diced every member of this town. I've burned them. I've shot them. I tried to smoke 'em out with tear gas. Nothing works. I'll be knee high to a grasshopper, how do we stop these ballerinas?”

The seasoned sheriff and the fresh-faced deputy stood behind a patrol car that faced the Cartwright Dance Hall building. Piano music could be heard through the auditorium's front entrance. The sound was soon drowned out by the revving up of dozens of chainsaws.