Horror, Humor, and Heroes

by Jim Bernheimer

  #

  When Amazon Jane came bolting towards him from her trailer, he almost wished he was back there with El Lobo. Better still would be Jane stuck back there with the werewolf.

  “Hale! I’ve had it up to here with this hellhole. I don’t have to put up with this crap!”

  David resisted the urge to roll his eyes and tried to find his happy place. “Janey, honey, you’re the fan favorite. The online polls wanted you here two to one over the next hunter. They’re the ones who want you here. We all know who the real star is, don’t we? Think of how disappointed all your fans would be.”

  The red headed woman towered over him and scowled. “Screw the fans! They’re at home in air conditioning and I’m out here getting bit every thirty seconds and sweating my ass off! Do you understand me, little man?”

  David smiled at her in a not so pleasant manner. “Fine, we can do it this way. Let me explain it to you in terms you can understand, bitch. Your big action movie took in only half what it cost to make it. You came crawling back to Rogue Sentinel because your agent says it’s your only shot at getting off the ‘B’ list. Hell, who am I kidding? It’s your only shot of getting off the ‘D’ list! I’ve got too much time and money at stake here, so if you walk on this one, guess what? I’ll make sure you come out looking like shit!”

  The woman wasn’t used to people ‘giving her the business’ and bristled. “I’ll go to Stan.”

  “You’ve already been to Stan. Go ahead, let’s go together. We can even use my Satphone! Breach that contract of yours and I can guarantee that I’ll turn you into a ‘has been’ faster than you can say ‘Britney.’ Unless you want to end up on the topless mud wrestling channel like she did, why don’t you carry those oversized funbags of yours back into your trailer and think about how much of your fifteen minutes you have left!”

  Watching the color drain from her face was a rush that felt damn good! Amazon Jane stormed away to trash her trailer, again. He motioned for his insipid assistant producer.

  “Thea, send three of your best little ass kissers in there to calm the pampered princess and her agent down.”

  “You shouldn’t piss off the talent like that, David.”

  “Hey, when it’s your name in the Executive Producer spot, you can run the show the way you see fit and see how far your little two-faced act gets you. Until then keep being the ‘Ass Producer’, do your damn job, and stop dreaming about how you’re going to get me out of the way!”

  The rush felt even better that time.

  #

  Five hours later, David muttered that his bonus better be huge! Between Jane’s temper tantrums, Charlie’s complaints, and the demands from Gangsta Mike’s posse, David was tempted to see if The Gunslinger would be willing to off them all. Of course, that psychopath was just a delusion or two away from looking for the nearest clock tower.

  Holly, the audio tech and his current bed warmer, rubbed his shoulders as he grunted, “I went to NYU. I wanted to make documentaries. Where the hell did I go wrong?”

  She adjusted his wireless microphone and patted him playfully on his rump. “You sold out, just like the rest of us. Aren’t you just the least bit scared of El Lobo?”

  “I’m a bit nervous, but I’ve interviewed my fair share of serial killers, when I was with the networks.” Unbidden, he heard Ted’s voiceovers in his mind about the dangers of a lycanthrope.

  “Well don’t take any chances. I don’t like the idea of you going in there.”

  “I don’t plan to take any chances, Holly. He will be manacled to a ring on the cage floor and the guards have cattle prods if Mr. Juarez tries anything funny. Plus, I’ve got two assistants whose only job is keeping track of moonrise. I’ll be long gone before that ever happens. Anything we don’t get tonight, we can reshoot tomorrow before the main event.”

  “Be careful, David.”

  “I will. Now, how’s the audio on the mike?” She rewarded him with a “thumbs up” signal and he started towards the cage.

  El Lobo was finishing off his chicken dinner on a cafeteria tray. “I see that it is time for you to get inside my head and discover what it is like to be me.”

  David turned to his lead camera operator and drinking buddy, “What’s the word, Charlie?”

  “Everything is set up, boss. The bars are going to obscure the shot from most every angle, so I put a stationary camera on a tripod inside the cell and I’ll run it with a remote. Here’s a handcam. Are you sure you really want to go in there with that thing?”

  Carlos growled, “That thing can hear you. Before my supposed ‘rampage’ did you find any history of prior attacks? All I ever wanted to be was a humble fisherman like my father.”

  “Look at those chains, he can’t hurt me, Charlie. Okay, let’s give the audience something they won’t forget!”

  The guards had changed their minds and summoned their captain, David pulled him aside and some currency was exchanged. After that, the captain and the guards dropped their complaints, but the negotiations ate up valuable time.

  Finally, El Lobo was shackled and waited disinterestedly on his bench. David entered the cage and sat on a folding chair. It had been a while, since he had used a handheld for anything outside of the bedroom, but he’d manage.

  Carlos read his prepared statement, protesting his handling by his government and outlining the suspicious circumstances that surrounded the attack nearly three years ago. It was interesting, but pointless. The government censors were in complete control and their actor was set to deliver a much more vanilla version that focused on El Lobo’s personal shame.

  When the werewolf finished his lengthy monologue, David tried to humanize the monster for the audience. It would have to be re-shot with the actor, but he could get the important stuff now and edit it in to the broadcast. The rest would be bonus feature material.

  “When did you first realize your life would never be the same? Did you lash out at other children or your parents? If your parents were still alive, what would you say to them?” For a few minutes it was raw and real. It reminded David of the kind of human interest material he’d always liked doing.

  He pressed on when the assistant gave the twenty minute warning, deciding it was worth it to get five more minutes of footage. At fifteen minutes, David wrapped it up. He was no fool.

  As he stood to leave, El Lobo spoke. “Do you wish to know one thing about me that I have never told anyone? Something I planned on taking to my grave?”

  “Go on…”

  The werewolf stood, jangling his shackle and stretching his legs. He smiled as David brought the camera around. “I’ve lived with this condition for fifteen years. I hoped to do what no one else could; control myself. Alas, it was not meant to be. The only thing I ever mastered was voluntarily transforming before the moon rises. Allow me to demonstrate.”

  His words trailed off into a growl as man became beast. Fangs grew from an elongated mouth and claws sprouted from the bound hands. Amazed by the speed of the transformation, David feebly threw up his arm as the werewolf lunged. The teeth dug into his arm and David screamed. The beast pulled at him as both guards repeatedly stabbed the werewolf with their prods. There was a moment of thrashing and it grudgingly released David’s maimed and broken arm. He crawled on his knees out of the cage and collapsed on the concrete. Someone slammed the door shut and silence hung in the air. Holly grabbed the first aid kit and ran to David’s side, desperately pouring peroxide and alcohol straight into the wound hoping to prevent infection.

  The captain regarded him with pity tinged with concern for his role in this. Somehow, David knew the man was already planning how to spin this to his superiors.

  “Mr. Hale, I regret this, but we need to place you in quarantine. There is a slim chance that the disease was not transmitted. A helicopter will take you to a hospital in the capital to make certain. This is most unfortunate. You have my deepest sympathy.”

  Stunned, David was led away by one of the soldiers past
his horrified production staff. Silly thoughts crossed his mind about how he could get this into the broadcast.

  The morning after, Carlos had a message for David. “Ask him how it feels when it’s his turn in front of the camera.”

  #

  Nearly a year later, a mangy, disheveled David Hale peered out the bars of his cage. The hangar hadn’t changed all that much, even if his place in it had.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  “Spare me, Thea. Looks like you got your wish. I’m out of the way for good this time. You know this is a sham.”

  “Does it really matter? I tried to get Holly to come back for this shoot, but she refused. I was trying for a ‘Beauty and the Beast’ angle.”

  “Pretty heartless,” he snapped.

  “Just doing what you would do, David, and you know it. I’ll have my idiot associate producer send someone over with lunch. In the meantime, take a look at the promo and see what you think?”

  David shrugged his shoulders and nodded. “Sure, but do me a favor; put me close to Jane tomorrow night. Maybe I’ve got one last ‘money shot’ left.”

  “Just when you thought it was safe to go back into the jungle again, ‘The Beast Must Die Two: El Lobo’s Final Revenge.’ Mark your calendars for September 20th, when Rogue Sentinel Productions starts the hunt all over again. The Gunslinger and Amazon Jane are going back into the maze, this time with Bo Brutalizer, and they plan on avenging Gangsta Mike’s death!

  El Lobo is dead, but he left behind an infected David Hale. Escaping from quarantine, the monster went feral, killing two US Congressmen and six others on a fact finding mission. He’ll stop at nothing to kill again, but we’ve got some payback in store! For $69.95 you can have an all access pass to this epic event, so order now!”

  My Son – The Monster

  by Jim Bernheimer

  The tale is one all are familiar with. There is some truth in it. The best lies are like that. However, for the most part, it is both fabrication and falsehood – created as a salve for my tortured conscience and to afford my son a modicum of dignity in his death.

  History says that Icarus was a good, dutiful, and somewhat careless son. That is the way I would prefer he be remembered.

  “Father,” he said, “I swear it was an accident. Cousin Perdix slipped and fell from the cliff.” I did not see the glee that a rival for my affection was gone.

  History and my own foolish desire to protect my child convicted me of this crime and we were exiled to Crete to serve the cruel King Minos.

  Was I blind to his heinous deeds, too caught up in my inventions and constructing the Labyrinth? Yes, my denial ran deep as the seas. I possessed an obsessive quality that set my work apart from all others, but it cost me his mother and so I refused to see his insanity. Only my status as the King’s Master Craftsman spared his life on several occasions.

  When Minos threatened to lock us in the tower, Icarus responded by wheedling the secret of the Labyrinth from me and bartering it for a chance to lay with Adriane in revenge. Mayhap this is why Theseus abandoned the woman. Again, I was left to claim responsibility for his deeds.

  Enraged, Minos followed through with his threat and imprisoned us in the tower. The maidens and the lads of Knossos could carry on with their lives in relative safety.

  Like a wild animal tossed in a cage for the first time, Icarus raged, and his madness became tangible. Still, my own guilt refused to recognize the monster masquerading as my son.

  I blamed Minos for his condition and decided that if we could but flee Crete, he would return to normal. After all, I was Daedalus and I could fix anything.

  “My son, we shall escape. It will be difficult. The King’s men patrol the land and search the vessels going to sea, so I have come up with an idea.”

  It was the first hint of sanity I’d seen in days, “How father? How are we to escape?”

  “We will take to the air and soar upon the winds. I will make us wings. Not even Minos can control the air!”

  “Thank you. I promise I won’t cause trouble again.”

  Those words were his mantra. “Causing trouble” was another euphemism for the depraved acts he performed – things I dared not admit Icarus was capable of. It begged the question, who was the better liar – the son or the father?

  He gathered the feathers while I worked the wax. We did this in full view of our jailors, allowing them to think we were decorating our gilded cage. Those weeks were a golden time in our relationship as we worked towards a common goal.

  Our leisurely walk to the top of the tower turned into a sprint when Icarus yelled taunts to our guards. Hurrying, we donned our wings and leapt from the tower. Flying free into the air, we both figuratively and literally stretched our wings. I was so consumed by my own path I lost track of Icarus. When I turned, I saw the reason Icarus alerted the soldiers.

  Icarus swooped above them hurling insults. I watched in horror as he delivered kicks with his thick legs and the men plummeted to their deaths. The laughter of my son was like the shrill cries of the harpies to my ears.

  I winged back to him as the last of the men perished. “Why, Icarus? Those men were not cruel in their treatment of us.”

  He flapped in triumph and scowled. “They deserved it father! They always deserve it!”

  Icarus wanted revenge, but I convinced him that the Minoan archers and spearman would not be dazzled by our wings for long. Eventually, he agreed to fly across the sea to freedom.

  My body was light with my wondrous invention, but my heart was heavy. I still hoped that reason could prevail over madness. Speeding across the ocean I called out, “My son, now that we may go anywhere we wish, where would you like to start anew?”

  “Start anew? Yes, we could start anew. These wings are your greatest invention ever, father! We can be in Sparta in the evening and Athens by dawn. We shall be untouchable! No one can ever imprison me again.”

  Despite the warm day, a chill invaded my soul. I finally recognized Icarus for the monster he was. Winged, he would be a bird of prey on all below. For too long, I had protected him from the cruel world. Alas, it was the world which required protection from him.

  “But first Icarus, Minos must pay, shouldn’t he?”

  My son’s flew close and thought for the first time that I understood him. “Oh yes father, Minos should suffer a hundred times over.”

  “What should we do?” I encouraged him assessing the depths of his insanity. I had to be certain.

  Minutes passed and I listened to his plans in lurid, savage detail. My heart beat cold and I cursed myself for sheltering this beast. Some monsters, like the Minotaur, could be easily spotted. Others hid behind innocent smiles, denials, and pleas for forgiveness.

  When he finished I said, “That is a good plan, my son. First, we must test the limits of our wings. Fly as high as you can so we may know that the spears and arrows cannot reach us.”

  Eagerly, he soared upwards and the feathers began to fall off spiraling downwards, each one represented an innocent victim of his cruelty and my blindness. Do I regret flying my son to his doom? Every day, but I also regret that I did not do it sooner.

  The Red Badge of Doom

  by Jim Bernheimer

  Bitten!

  When did it happen? I can’t remember. If it’s going to kill me, I’d really like to know where I went wrong.

  Curled up on a smelly cot, my wounded hand clutches a dingy piece of bed sheet with a large red “B” crudely painted on it. The other end is tied around my neck. Hawthorne had his “Scarlet Letter” and Crane gave us the “Red Badge of Courage.” We call this, the “Red Badge of Doom.” I get to wear it like some kind of damn superhero cape!

  That zombie bite means I have a one in five chance of living through the next three days. If that wasn’t enough, I get to be on the frontlines until I beat this, or it beats me. They’ll squeeze as much out of me as they can.

  At least fighters get full rations, or what passes fo
r full rations now. That beef surprise this morning smelled suspiciously like dog food. Maybe I’ll develop a shiny “coat” too.

  I’m gonna make it! I don’t want to die! Even if I don’t have anything to live for, I’m not ready to just give up. This is my mantra and what keeps me going. As long as I can say it in my mind, I’m not dead – I’ve still got a chance.

  People stare as they walk by. Everyone will be watching me; ready to cave my skull in at the first sign that I’m turning into one of them. They shake their heads in pity. A few don’t look at me – they’re shamelessly eyeing my cot and my meager possessions.

  There’s been a story or two about someone with a badge getting killed “early” just so someone else could take their stuff sooner. Quite a few of us like killing just a little too much. I’ll have to be wary. If someone tries anything, it won’t be for the next day or two. They’ll let me take their patrols and do their fighting first.