Party At Sheckler's

by Alan Spencer

Minx gave a loud startle. "Damn it! We're so stupid. I knew this was a trap."

  Sheckler's voice called out from nearby. "Please. They're going to kill me if you don't come down here and talk. I'm begging you to save me."

  The group hurried to catch up with Skip. Downstairs, the basement had changed. Clear plastic sheets hung from the ceiling, hiding most of the room. Skip saw them and pointed at the speaker in the corner.

  "Sheckler's not here."

  "Then he's not in danger," Stan said. "He is behind this."

  "That still doesn't mean he's behind this," Dominic insisted. "They could have a knife to his throat. They're making him say these things."

  "Or it's him doing this to us," Minx insisted. "It has to be."

  Everybody gathered closer together when a man stepped out behind one of the hanging plastic sheets. He was dressed in a fedora hat and brown trench coat. The man had a rough stubble face that was obviously make up. A burning cigarette dangled from his mouth.

  "They got him, alright," the detective said. "Sheckler's up in the attic. The killer is holding him hostage. If we don't play along, they'll murder Sheckler. Thems the rules. Your buddy is in the attic. It's your job to save him. So go get him."

  "What are you getting at, you crazy asshole?" Skip stepped up to the man and jammed his finger in his chest. "You know the people behind the killing?"

  "Oh yeah. They really pulled out the stops tonight. I mean, wow."

  Dominic's confusion only increased. "Say something that makes sense. Why are we locked up in this house? Why is any of this happening?"

  "I got the shittiest job tonight. Look, I'm playing a damn detective. Bor-ing. I'm breaking character to complain, but so what? Screw it. I say tonight is special. Yeah. Real special."

  He noticed the detective's button up white shirt was starting to spot red. The spots grew into circles the size of dinner plates and still growing.

  "Skip, get away from him! Something's not right."

  The detective removed a carving knife from the inside of his jacket. Skip didn't have a chance. The roaring mad detective jammed the tip of the knife three times into Skip's left eye. The first stab popped Skip's eyes. The rest penetrated his brains.

  Skip dropped to the floor dead.

  Screams from Minx. Everybody else backed away. The detective threw off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal he was wearing a bra with a pair of small breasts. They were oozing blood.

  "Fooled you. The bitch I killed earlier was flat!"

  "Jesus," Putrid gasped.

  Stan bolted forward and stabbed the detective in the chest. The killer flailed his arms, clutched his chest, and tripped over Skip's body. The man's eyes widened. Terror of a stark realization made him cry.

  "A movie. Only...a...movie. Everything's okay. I'll be fine. Oh God, it hurts so much. I can't b-breathe. It's getting harder...to breathe. They promised...only a movie."

  Nobody said anything to the blubbering man.

  Suddenly the man's eyes rolled up into the back of his head.

  "They're all nut jobs," Stan said, as blood dripped from the edge of his knife. "That's the only explanation we need. It's us or them."

  Several of the plastic tarps were jerked down from the ceiling. That revealed a woman dressed as a witch in a green mask. She clutched a giant axe in her hands. Alongside her was Rip-O-Lantern, wielding a scythe.

  Stan unleashed a savage war cry. "Get upstairs! I'll take of them myself!"

  The scythe mercilessly hacked downwards. Stan's growls turned into blood laden gargling. The scythe dug into the crown of his skull and the point jutted out of his Adam's apple. Dominic hadn't seen an Adam's apple above the skin before. The sight was as ghastly as the amount of blood pouring down Stan's face and bubbling from his throat.

  Minx bolted up the stairs seeing Stan go down. Trudy was right behind her. Dominic pushed Putrid ahead. The man was older and having trouble keeping up with the night's physical rigors. Minx reached to open the door when it opened from the other side. A pair of hands grabbed her. Putrid shot forward, gaining new energy.

  "NO! Don't you touch her!"

  Dominic and Trudy reached to the top of the stairs when the pizza delivery guy and two of the nurses with flame throwers came at them. Jets of flames grazed Dominic's left side. He rolled to the floor and quickly put them out. That left Trudy vulnerable.

  "Trudy!"

  Dominic was about to charge the pizza boy when he saw Minx on the floor. She was being forced by a man and a woman to stick her head between a fake pair of legs. Two blades came down and chopped her head right off.

  Trudy had narrowly missed her throat getting slashed. Her left forearm was torn. Blood oozed free from a sizeable gash. Dominic pushed aside the pizza guy and helped her away from the psycho.

  Putrid urged them up the stairs to the second floor. "Stan and Minx. They killed them both!"

  The nurses, the pizza boy, and then witch woman and Rip-O-Lantern were coming in fast. Putrid worked ahead of Dominic and Trudy. One room's door was wide open. Candlelight flickered from within. The killers were piling into the mansion from the outside. One of the windows had been unblocked. Fifteen or more villains were standing on the stair's steps clustered together in a blockade.

  Putrid gave Dominic a resigned expression. "Looks like we have no choice but to go in that special room, huh?"

  "I'm done with this spooky shit," Trudy said, clutching her active wound. "I'm so fucking done."

  "Brace yourself," was all Dominic could say. "I'll go first."

  Spooky shit was an understatement. The moment they entered, the door was thrown shut from behind them. Candles were spread out along the floor. The room was a mad scientist's laboratory. This was a set from the film Fracula.

  Sheckler was tied up to the giant steel gurney where Frankenstein and Dracula's DNA are combined to create a super monster. A crusted line of blood had dried to the side of his head. The old director wore a weary expression. He was either weak, dying, or strung out too long to handle anymore abuse. The woman standing in the room with them was a complete stranger. Only her character was familiar.

  "Hey! That bitch tried to cut my dick off. Stay way from her!" Putrid drew closer to the door. "That lady is crazy."

  "She's from Holy Rippers," Dominic said with no zest. "When a preacher dies of a heart attack during a sermon, the preacher's wife thinks he was murdered. She's in shock. She doesn't understand the concept of natural causes. So she takes about killing those who are immoral."

  "Why are you saying all of that?" Trudy whispered to him angrily. "You shouldn't be talking to her at all."

  Putrid was too busy keeping his eyes on the woman to speak.

  "I got an idea," was all Dominic said to her at a whisper. "Mrs. Morgenstern. I believe you. Your husband was murdered. He didn't die of a heart attack. I'm here to help you. So are my friends. No evil will be tolerated."

  "Nice try," the woman laughed. "That might work on the rest of them, but it won't work on me. I'm not crazy. I just love what I do. Life is a drag. Horror feels right to me."

  Dominic was startled when Putrid picked up a glass breaker from a nearby shelf and threw it at the woman's head. When it shattered, the woman collapsed unconscious.

  The three rushed to Sheckler. They untied the man. He didn't appear to be relieved. Guilt weighed down his features.

  "Tell us what's happening," Dominic said. "Do you know who these people are?"

  "Unfortunately I do. We're all in grave danger."

  "Why?" Trudy pressed. "We've been through hell and back. We deserve an explanation."

  "Yes, we do," Putrid said. "What does this lady mean by what she said a second ago."

  Sheckler moistened his mouth. "You're a smart kiddo, Dominic. You tried to play by their rules. You called her by her character name. The thing is, she knows she's not a horror movie villain. The rest...they really believe they're the real thing.

  "Let me backtrack. The year's 1992. The horror ma
rket's really taken a turn for the worse. My budgets are shrinking. The interest on the home video market is waning. Profitability is a thing of the past. Reece Minton, my publicity man, had a crazy scheme to earn us some publicity. Call it a last ditch effort to stay in the horror business.

  "I tell Reece to do whatever you want. I give him a handful of cash and tell him to do his magic. He comes up with this idea to have a small screening for Stench. It's a movie about a fumigator who sprays houses with this chemical that turns people into crazy homicidal maniacs. I was late attending the showing. It was mid-way into the movie. I didn't miss much. The audience wasn't getting into the film. The cheap gags weren't doing much for the audience either. A guy in a fumigator outfit would spray audience members between the isles. Man, this stuff smelled terrible. People were paid to scream in fright. It's all old school and very tired.

  "Then all of the sudden everybody in the theatre goes ape shit. I mean berserk. Audience members are choking each other out. People are getting battered and bloodied in fist fights. Others are ripping out the seats in the theatre and beating people to death. Thirty of the seventy-five viewers were killed. Fifteen came out of it very confused and horrified with minor injuries. The rest...were committed to an insane asylum.

  "It wasn't until weeks later that the investigation turned up answers for the violence. The police couldn't figure it out initially. The story didn't make the news. Turns out one of the audience members was the daughter of governor. That daughter was high on cocaine at the time. Strings were pulled, and hush hush. Keep in mind this viewing was done in a small town in the armpit of Missouri. Reece did that so he could try and scare the bejesus out of people, and do it on the cheap. Most smalltime theatres can't turn away the cash offered by our company, even if it's small potatoes in other circles of the industry.

  "The police interrogated me I don't remember how many times. I had no information for them. And that's the truth. Reece was the one. He admitted he had done something without fully realizing the consequences. I agree with the poor bastard. He couldn't have known this would've happened.

  "Reece hired someone to put a trance on the audience. I don't know how the man put everybody in a trance. Reece said the guy simply blended in with the crowd. I don't know if it was black magic, voodoo, or some other psychosomatic bullshit. Whatever the guy did, it worked.

  "Those who went to the asylum thought they were the villains from my movies. Keep in mind, there was a rather extensive showing of trailers from my other movies. One of those trailers was from Holy Rippers. That woman unconscious on the ground was one of those who were put in a trance. Her name is Barbie Westbridge.

  "So Barbie's in an asylum for years going on and on about killing people for God. She's staying in character. Then Stench is showing on one of the TVs in the asylum. Barbie snaps out of it. She comes to as if she's back in that theatre before she was hypnotized. Seeing that movie again after so much time had passed snapped her out of it. Once she pieced together what'd been done, oh, she was very upset. She vowed to hunt me down and kill me.

  "Barbie snapped out of it about a year ago. Since then, she tried to reason with the staff to show the film to others who've been in the asylum who were still hypnotized. No go. Without any help, Barbie decides to plan an escape. After talking over the plan with her fellow victims, they decide to go through with it. Burn down the asylum and bring her friends with her.

  "Barbie contacts me. She pretends to be an old reviewer of my films named Carla Kent. It turns out Barbie murdered her, took Carla's invitation, and decided to crash the party with all of her friends in tow.

  "Barbie told me everything while I was strapped to the table. She wanted to do this so her friends could get revenge on everybody who allowed my movies to become popular. Then once the night was over, and me, and all my fans and friends were dead, and revenge was taken for me indirectly stealing almost two decades of her life, she would show the film Stench and snap them out of their trance."

  "You son of a bitch, you stole my life from me!" Barbie shrieked. She was up from the ground with both scissors positioned to stab. "I was eighteen years old. I was going to get married. I had a scholarship to Graceland College. I got this free ticket to a showing to your movie, and look what happened to me!"

  Everybody tried to calm her.

  There was no getting through to her.

  "You, Sheckler, you went on to do huge budget movies. Reece got to move on with his life. This was a crime that was swept under the carpet because that governor's daughter was a coke fiend. Everybody got to move on with their lives except for the victims."

  Sheckler reached out to her. "Please forgive me. Reece didn't tell me what he was doing for the showing. I had no knowledge."

  "You covered it up all the same. You moved on with your life. You left us to rot in that asylum. You did nothing to help. And now you're going to pay."

  "Why don't you show them the movie now and cure them?" Sheckler insisted. "I'll turn myself into the police. You didn't have to kill all of these innocent people."

  "Nobody's innocent in this mansion. Nobody!"

  Barbie charged Sheckler, screaming with her head thrown back. She was too fast for anybody to intervene. Both scissors were plunged into Sheckler's groin.

  "Now bleed to death, you purveyor of suffering!"

  Sheckler let out a wild cry of horror. A giant red spot was spreading between his legs. Before he passed out from shock, Barbie drove the scissors into his eyeball. The sharp point jutted out the back of his head with a gray dollop of brains.

  Putrid pushed her away from Sheckler. When Barbie landed, she let out a startled gasp. The other pair of scissors had stabbed her in the chest. Her malevolent snarl changed into one of comical rage.

  "There's no way you're leaving this mansion alive. You shall die like the rest of Sheckler's people. Horribly."

  Dominic stood there with the two other survivors in silence. Sheckler was dead. His final story was the most terrible of them all. Barbie's eyes remained wide staring globes of death.

  Putrid covered her up with a tarp. "I can't stand to look at her anymore. It's too much."

  "She's right," Trudy said. "We're not getting out of here alive. We can't leave this room. The rest of them are right outside the door."

  "I never should've come to this party," Putrid said. "I should've thrown Sheckler's party invitation into the trash."

  "This isn't his fault," Dominic said. "He didn't know what Reece did until it was too late."

  "If he didn't keep it quiet," Trudy said, "and accepted responsibility for what occurred, everybody in this mansion would be alive."

  "This had nothing to do with us," Putrid said. "We can argue who should've done what back in the day. The fact remains, we're innocent, and we're going to die."

  Dominic refused to give up. This was their lives. The others at the party didn't stand a chance. They had more facts and a real shot to walk out of here without being placed in a body bag.

  "No, we're not dying tonight."

  Trudy and Putrid acted like they hadn't heard him.

  "What? You guys planning your funeral already? Well, I'm not. Think about it. Barbie gave us the answer. She was watching Stench when she snapped out of it. That's the answer."

  "You got a copy laying around?" Trudy challenged. "No, you don't. Besides, how do you know that'll work? Barbie could've snapped out it and Stench just happened to be on the TV, or she's straight up lying about it."

  "I'm willing to give it a try. They think they're movie villains. We'll play along. We give them a distraction, then we'll play Stench on one of the TVs, and maybe they'll come out of it. We can all walk out of here alive. We can make things right. Lives were ruined during that showing. This tragedy ends now. What do you say?"

  Putrid was thinking.

  Trudy was shaking her head in disdain.

  "We already tried running away, and that failed. Fighting back only gets more people killed. We have to play by their rul
es and use that against them. It's the only way. Helps not coming, or when they do, it'll be too late."

  "You know for a fact Stench is in Sheckler's vault?" Trudy asked.

  "Yes. It's VHS copy."

  Putrid held up his hand. "One thing. Say it does work, and we get a copy, and it plays, and our crazies become normal again. How do we get from this room to downstairs without being 86'd?"

  There wasn't an immediate answer.

  Dominic thought real hard.

  "Of course. Yes."

  "What?" Putrid and Trudy demanded.

  "We'll have ourselves a special screening. I have an idea. Hear me out. It's crazy, but I think it'll work. I hope."

  The hard part was setting up the scene.

  The next challenge was the waiting.

  Dominic stared and stared at the door. He sensed the hypnotized murderers waiting nearby. When would they come in after them?

  Putrid decided he couldn't stand there waiting anymore and threw open the door. Everybody had to take their place. Dominic sprawled himself out dead beside Trudy. They both used Sheckler's blood to simulate slashed necks. Putrid used the blood to make his face look like a clown. The end effect was crude, and pretty horrific.

  "Everybody dead in here, hahahahahahaha!" Putrid danced around like a clown. "I told them to stop clowning around before someone bleeds to death. They hated my jokes, but they sure loved their wounds. Now they're real goners!"

  Dominic had his eyes closed. He couldn't see how the man's performance was going over. This plan was either sheer genius or completely fucked.

  The move villains hovered at the door. Nothing was said. The silence grew deeper. He imagined the gradual building of quiet inside of a freshly buried grave.

  Make this work, Putrid.

  Please God work.

  "I can't help slaughtering the competition. I don't clown around, kiddies. I made someone chuckle themselves to death once. That feeling is the greatest sensation. If I can't make them laugh by my jokes, well, I guess I'll have to slash their throats instead!