Story 408: Right Seat, Wrong Theater

 (In a large multiplex, Moviegoer 1 starts down the long hallway, popcorn and ticket stub in hand, toward Theater 2.  Outside Theater 3, Moviegoer 1 sees Moviegoer 2 standing in front of an upcoming blockbuster’s poster and reading the fine print, popcorn and ticket stub also in hand.  The latter sees the former approach and turns in recognition)

Moviegoer 2: Oh, hi there!

Moviegoer 1: Hi!  Oh my gosh, it’s been forever since I’ve seen you – how’ve you been?  (They air hug with the popcorn)

Moviegoer 2: Not bad.  This is actually the first time I’m going to the movies in about, umm, two years?

Moviegoer 1: Wow, really?

Moviegoer 2: Well, I never went much anyway, and then with, you know, everything.

Moviegoer 1: Yeah, everything.

Moviegoer 2: Speaking of which, how’re you doing with… everything?

Moviegoer 1: Oh fine, fine – you?

Moviegoer 2: Same: fine.  (They stare at the muted psychedelic carpet for a few moments) So!

Moviegoer 1: Yes?!

Moviegoer 2: Whatcha going to see?

Moviegoer 1: Oh, the new gore-fest slasher, just in time for Halloween: All I Want Is Blood.  (Holds out the ticket stub to show Moviegoer 2; as they lean in to look, they slowly and unconsciously starting half-circling each other and eventually wind up on opposite sides of where they started)

Moviegoer 2: Nice – I heard that got good reviews.

Moviegoer 1: I know, I can’t wait for the simulated carnage.  You?

Moviegoer 2: (Holds out the ticket stub to show Moviegoer 1) Life, Love, and All That Rigmarole.  It’s a total rom-com, but I heard it leans heavier on the com than on the rom so I figured I’d give it a shot on bargain night.

Moviegoer 1: (Points to the ticket stub) Hey, neat, we have the same seat!  Number.  (Holds out the ticket stub next to the other to show the seat numbers match)

Moviegoer 2: (Looks at both stubs) Well, whaddya know – fate has made… some kind of move, I don’t know.  Your showtime’s starting soon, it looks like.

Moviegoer 1: (Checks watch) Oh yeah, don’t want to miss the trailers, they’re the best part if the movie’s a dud.

Moviegoer 2: Know the feeling.  Whelp, enjoy the movie – maybe we’ll catch up some more on the way out, but if not, have a good night.

Moviegoer 1: (As both walk backward toward the neighboring theater doors) You, too!  Nice talkin’ to you!  (Turns around to walk into Theater 3)

Moviegoer 2: Same here!  (Turns around to walk into Theater 2, muttering) Why do I never remember people’s names?!

(In Theater 3, Moviegoer 1 plops down in the assigned seat and begins munching on the popcorn while watching the continuous commercials.  When the trailers start, Moviegoer 1 checks watch again and frowns at the time)

Moviegoer 1: Huh: more and more trailer time is being devoted to soda ads, I see.

(In Theater 2, Moviegoer 2 enters the darkened room where the trailers have just started, finds the assigned seat after excusing self down a row of seated moviegoers, flops down, begins munching on the popcorn, checks phone, and frowns at the time)

Moviegoer 2: Weird: guess more and more trailers are being shoved in before the showtime start now.  I’ve been out of the multiplex game too long.

(In Theater 3, Moviegoer 1 starts getting bored with the fluffy-goofy trailers and checks phone for updates)

Moviegoer 1: Hmm, this movie’s already got a sequel planned – wonder if that means anyone survives by the end of this one, heh-heh.

Moviegoer 3: (Seated next to Moviegoer 1) Huh?

Moviegoer 1: Just curious whether anyone in this movie’ll make it out alive.

Moviegoer 3: Oh, ha-ha-ha – I’m pretty sure my heart won’t!

Moviegoer 1: Amateur.  If you don’t have the stomach for this kind of thing, you should’ve stayed home!

Moviegoer 3: I know, you’re right, but I can’t help myself: I love these things, it’s almost a compulsion.

Moviegoer 1: Heh, you and me both.  (Eats half the bag of popcorn)

(In Theater 2, Moviegoer 2 cringes as another gore-fest slasher is previewed)

Moviegoer 2: I guess these are all here `cause Halloween’s coming up?

Moviegoer 4: (Seated next to Moviegoer 2) What’s Halloween got to do with it?

Moviegoer 2: …Nothing, apparently.  (The movie begins with no credits – the action starts with a group of nubile campers getting wiped out by a killer lifeguard disguised as a clown) Ugh!  I guess this is the tragic backstory for our heroes?

Moviegoer 4: (Slurps soda) There are no heroes in these things.

Moviegoer 2: Well, that’s certainly true to life.

(In Theater 3, the movie begins with no credits)

Moviegoer 1: FINALLY!

Other Moviegoers: Ssshhh!!!

(The action starts with the main couple’s meet-cute as cosplaying knights at a Renaissance Fair)

Moviegoer 1: (Whispers while finishing off the popcorn) Nerd alert!  They’re gonna be the first to go.

Moviegoer 3: (Already crying; whispers) Oh, I hope so!

(Thirty minutes into each film’s runtime)

(In Theater 2, another faux-teenager gets eviscerated)

Moviegoer 2: (Laughing hysterically) This is such a trip!  And the social commentary is ON POINT!

Moviegoer 4: (Gives Moviegoer 2 the side eye) What?

Moviegoer 2: I feel like we’re drowning in metaphors among all the blood – I’m just rooting for our so-called “Killer” and our so-called “Target” to stop fighting their feelings and just find a way to live happily ever after!  I know it’s inevitable, but there’re always a few complications thrown in that make you wonder, “Oh no, are they ever going to get together by the end?!”

Moviegoer 4: There’s something wrong with you.

(In Theater 3, Moviegoer 1 is leaning on one hand and stifling a yawn)

Moviegoer 3: (Leans over the armrest) I have a horrible feeling the older cousin’s not going to make it.

Moviegoer 1: I sure hope not!  What’s it gonna take for someone to get offed in this thing?!  (Moviegoer 3 backs off.  In the movie, Older Cousin is found to have passed away peacefully during the night) OK, it’s a start!

Moviegoer 3: There’s something wrong with you.

(At the climax of each film)

Moviegoer 2: Why are they not hooking up yet?!

Moviegoer 1: Why is no one getting slaughtered yet?!

(Both are shushed and thrown popcorn at by their fellow moviegoers)

(The end credits roll around the same time for each movie; Moviegoer 1’s and 2’s eyes widen as all is revealed)

(In Theater 3, Moviegoer 3 starts to leave with the crowd)

Moviegoer 3: (To Moviegoer 1) Well, that was the most emotionally satisfying thing I’ve seen in a long time.

Moviegoer 1: That makes one of us.

(In Theater 2, Moviegoer 4 starts to leave with the crowd)

Moviegoer 4: (To Moviegoer 2) You know, if serial killer hook-ups are your kink, you might want to stay away from old-school horror films like this.

Moviegoer 2: Half that sentence is absolutely true.

(The crowds pour out of Theaters 2 and 3, with Moviegoer 1 and 2 trailing at the back.  Outside the theaters they spot each other and stop, look up at the movie title sign above their respective theater, then back at each other.  They meet in the middle space between each theater)

Moviegoer 1: Soooooo: fate certainly made a move in making sure no one else had our seat, which would’ve tipped us off before the movie started.

Moviegoer 2: You know, it is an absolute travesty that so few films take the five minutes to show opening credits anymore and insist on going straight into the action instead!

Moviegoer 1: Exactly!  I mean, how else is the audience supposed to know they’re watching the right movie?!

Story 386: A New Account

(Background: I had written this for a short story contest and then realized I had misread one of the prompts and had to scramble to revise it before the deadline (which is probably why I didn’t advance to the next round) – I prefer this version over the one I submitted)

Cheryl would barely glance up every time a customer walked through the bank’s main entrance, but the one who just now came in gave her an unreasonable dread in the pit of her stomach.  There was nothing that stood out about this individual – face, hair, clothes, and shoes at first glance were all “normal” – but as he purposefully strode to sit in the waiting area there was an undefinable something that seemed a bit… off.

She thought back to the last time the bank had been robbed and all the training videos the employees had to sit through, but this customer did not quite line up with those scenarios so she felt unjustified in slamming the panic button – yet.

The customer was the only one seated in the waiting area and Cheryl was the only bank officer available, so she added her doubts to her all-day blistering headache as things to ignore, walked over to him, and smiled: “Hello!  My name is Cheryl – I can help you right over here.”  She held an arm out toward her desk.

The customer looked up at her and she immediately catalogued his sickly pale face, stringy hair, and a whiff of something that her unconscious brain screamed “SULFUR!”  But I wouldn’t know what sulfur smelled like unless it was pointed out to me, her conscious brain countered.  Her unconscious brain persisted in its decision as she led the customer to sit in the chair next to her desk as she sat in hers.

Wanting to speed this along, she immediately began working on the bank database instead of taking her usual 90 seconds to actually look the customer in the eye while she obtained some basic info: “So, what can we do for you today?”  Type-type-type-type-

“Well,” the customer said while dropping a heavy bag onto the desk, making Cheryl jump slightly in her seat.  “I’d like to make a deposit.”

“Oh?”  I’d bet all the coins I just heard jingling around in there that that bag didn’t exist until this moment.

“Yeah.  Actually, I guess what I really want is to open a savings account.  For all of this.”  The customer patted the bag, making the coins jingle some more.

“Oh.  OK.”  Cheryl settled into the familiar routine of creating a new account.  “If I may ask, is this from an inheritance?”

The customer chuckled in a way that Cheryl did not like at all: “You probably could call it that.”

Oh no, I’m smelling – SULFUR! – felony.  She stopped typing.  “Before we go any further, could I see some form of ID, please?  Driver’s license, passport photo, permanent resident card?”

“Oh, sure, um….” The customer patted a few pockets, then pulled out a paper driver’s license that had been taped up multiple times.

Cheryl stared at it for a few moments, then waited for her heart to start beating again before saying: “This expired….”

“Really?  Oh, shoot.”

“Almost 80 years ago.”

The customer looked thoughtful for a moment, then reached over to take back the license and stare at it.  “Has it been that long already?  Huh.  Time sure does fly no matter where you are in life, am-I-right?”

Mentally holding onto the evidence of fraud, Cheryl unobtrusively pressed the panic button while tamping down the internal panic as she realized no other employees or customers were within her line of sight.  “So – ” she had to clear her throat, “um, do you have any other forms of ID on you?”

“Nah, that was the last one I had.  Here, let me give you some of the backstory so you can help me figure out what’s the best type of account I can get for these beauties.”  The customer hugged the bag lovingly.

Cheryl tapped the button a few more times: “OK.”

“Sweet.  So, I came back from The War all messed up with what I saw over there – let me back up a bit: when I was over there, I was an ambulance driver and had to ferry soldiers and civilians who were shot up or blown up or ripped up or whatever up to the field hospital, and if I managed to get one in 50 of them there in time to be saved it was a miracle, know what I mean?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah.  Rest of `em went to Charon the Ferryman, and I got sick of it.  I mean, here I am, busting my behind driving people through literal hell trying to save them, and in the end that guy gets `em anyway AND the coin payment to boot.  For doing what, exactly?”

“…Ferrying them across the River Styx to the Underworld?”

The driver scoffed: “Big deal: a river with no currents, or even any other boats; easiest job ever.  Ferrying them across a river filled with mines, bullets whizzing past your head, bombs exploding all around you, and your passengers screaming in agony and begging you to help them, THEN he’d have a case.  So I came back from The War and figured, why not get a little of my own back?  I deserved it.”

Cheryl’s throat could not get any drier: “How so?”

“Well, when you’re in the middle of all that death – you never served in the military, right?  I’m not preaching to choir, as the saying goes?”

“No.”

“`K.  So when you’re in the middle of all that death and pain and terror, it changes you, and usually not for the better.  And I figured, if people’re gonna die no matter what anyone does, why shouldn’t I get a little something for, you know, helping them along?”

Cheryl gulped: “‘Helping them along?’”

“Right.  So, instead of letting Charon get all the reward, I figured I’d cut him off at the pass, so to speak.”  The driver started to open the bag.  “Get `em while they’re fresh, and instead of them having to wait around for whenever his nibs and ferry decide to show up, I give `em an express ride to the afterlife and keep the coins myself.  It’s worked out beautifully, and somehow adds zero mileage to my car – I only get a few out of the thousands who die every day, but it’s enough that guy’s sooooo miffed at the drop in business.  Too bad you got competition after millennia of monopoly, pal!”  The driver laughed hysterically while burying his hands in the bag of coins, too many to count.

All Cheryl could do was stare at the bursting bag while her head pounded; the driver suddenly yanked his hands out of the bag and checked his wristwatch.

“Ooh, look at me rambling on here – sorry, it’s been so long since I could really talk to anybody about all this, you know?”  Cheryl looked back up at his waxen face.  “Anyway, we’ve only got a little time left so I was hoping I could get your advice before we go.”

“‘Go?’”

“Well yeah, that brain aneurysm’s gonna get you in about five minutes, and I gotta get you first or else you’ll go straight to Charon and then where’ll my cut be?”

The bank’s walls constricted around Cheryl’s unbearably painful head and she could no longer feel her extremities.  The driver leaned closer to her.

“So I gotta ask you – ”

The scent of sulfur nearly overwhelmed all of Cheryl’s senses; from a distance through her tunnel vision, she heard:

“You recommend money market or high-yield?”

Story 261: Chillingly Commonplace Horror Theatre Presents: Terror at a Microscopic Level!

Warning: The following story is not for the faint of stomach!

            Narrator: She thought Evil could not harm her….

            [Shots of haunted woods and disturbed crypts]

            Narrator: She thought she was safe from all nightmares….

            [Shots of bloody fangs and decaying mansions, backed by the sound of a howling werewolf]

            Narrator: SHE – WAS – willfully uninformed.

            [On a creepily sunny day, Oblivia is jogging in the park when she trips over a random rock, falls, and cuts her hand]

           Oblivia: Ow!  Oh well.  (Sucks the wound and jogs right past the conveniently placed running-water bathroom)

          Shadowy Figure: (Peeking around a tree to watch her progress) Heh-heh, what a perfect victim.

            Narrator: She never imagined that danger lurks around every corner….

            [In an office, Oblivia is on the telephone while juggling papers]

           Oblivia: No, I said it was Thursday; why would I have said it was Wednesday when it was Thursday?  (Wipes runny nose with her hand, sniffling loudly) No, I don’t have a cold, and that wouldn’t make me think one day of the week and say another!  (Sniffles louder and wipes her nose again) That doesn’t change the fact that it was still Wednesday!  I mean Thursday, argh!

            Co-Worker: (Holding out a tissue and a bottle of hand sanitizer to her) Please take these, I’m begging you.

            Oblivia: Oh I’m good, thanks.  (Wipes nose yet again and returns to the call) Maybe you need a sick day for your confusion!

            Shadowy Figure: (Leaning out from behind a tall office plant) This is too good.

            Narrator: Nowhere is safe, not even her own home….

            [In her apartment, Oblivia’s friend is reading a magazine in the kitchen.  From the bathroom, the sound of a toilet flush is heard; Oblivia immediately exits and heads to the kitchen to make a sandwich]

            Friend: (Staring at her) Uhhhhh… did you wash your hands?

            Oblivia: What for?  (Assembles the sandwich)

            Friend “What for?”  You were just in the bathroom!

            Oblivia: What’s your point?  (Licks butter off fingers)

         Friend: Ugh!  Ah!  Ugh!  Ugh!  Ugh!  (Flings away the magazine and runs out of the apartment, screaming all the way out of the building)

            Oblivia: Weirdo.  (Eats sandwich)

            [Horror music plays as Shadowy Figure emerges from the darkened hallway]

            Shadowy Figure: Hello there.

          Oblivia: (Mouth full of sandwich) How’d you get in here?  Front door’s that way.  (Horror music cuts off as she points behind her shoulder)

            Shadowy Figure: What?  No, let me start over: (Horror music resumes) I’ve been with you for ages now, following your every move, and it’s about time I introduced myself.  (Hovers menacingly over her)

            Oblivia: I should say so – stalking someone without at least letting them know about it is just plain rude.

           Shadowy Figure: Well, get used to me being here: since I’m your new best friend, you can call me “Sep.”

            Oblivia: “Sept?”  As in “seven?”

            Shadowy Figure: No, “Sep”-puh, it’s – forget it, I’m Sepsis.

            Oblivia: What the blazes does that even mean?

           Shadowy Figure: I am the culmination of basically all the infections, the end result of their mass accumulation inside you.  (Pokes her shoulder, making her drop some potato chips onto the floor)

          Oblivia: Whatever dude, I’m having lunch right now so you can go accumulate inside someone else until I’m done.  (Picks up the chips and eats them)

            Shadowy Figure: Now that’s just – see what you did right there?

            Oblivia: (Mouth full of chips) What, eat?

           Shadowy Figure: Eat food that had fallen on the filthy floor!  Not to mention all those times you didn’t disinfect the scores of cuts, scrapes, and other breaches of your primary defense system!  And don’t get me started on the non-handwashing!

            Oblivia: Again with the handwashing: you people obsess over that way too much and should mind your own business.  (Brushes crumbs onto the floor and licks fingers)

            Shadowy Figure: You fool, don’t you realize that with your every action YOU INVITED US IN??!!

            Oblivia: Who’s “us?”

         (Shadowy Figure points to the living room where a whole host of Shadowy Figures are lounging around)

            Shadowy Figures: Whaaaa s’up!

            Oblivia: Now how did you guys get in here?  Never mind, just get out now; I want to take a nap.

            Shadowy Figure: Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.  (Horror music plays louder)

            Oblivia: Well you’re not, so I’m going to nap as much as I darn well please; all y’all can lock the door on your way out, m’kay?  (Coughs a lot into her hand, then opens the door for them to leave)

            Shadowy Figure: (Points to her hand) You see!  It’s stuff like that that’s brought on your own DOOM!

            Oblivia: I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t feel particularly doomed.  (Begins shivering)

            Shadowy Figure: (Pulls two other Shadowy Figures out from the crowd) You’ve got influenza –

            Influenza: Hi!  (Is pushed aside)

            Shadowy Figure: – and pneumonia –

            Pneumonia: Yo.  (Is pushed aside)

          Shadowy Figure:  – along with all of them – (Waves at the rest, who wave back) – which weakened you completely, so now, you have ME.  (Lightning flashes and thunder crashes, but there is no rain)

            Oblivia: (Starting to teeter) You, being Sepsis?

           Sepsis: The one and only.  End of the line for you, MWAHAHAHA!  Unless you call 9-1-1 right now.

            Shadowy Figures: Booooo, hissssss!!

            Oblivia: (Pulls phone out of her pocket as she sinks to the floor) But… I never even heard of you…

            Shadowy Figure: Never even – ?!  I kill at least 270,000 people a year!

            Oblivia: Really?

            Shadowy Figure: Yeah.  It’s very serious and sad.  (They stare at the floor for a moment) Still want to be next?

            Oblivia: Ahhhh!!!  (Dials 9-1-1)

            [Cut to Oblivia being wheeled out of a hospital]

            Nurse: You have your discharge instructions?

            Oblivia: Oh yes, and lots of these.  (Holds up a bag of hand sanitizers)

            Nurse: Good.  Be well!

           [Oblivia is driven home by a relative and returns to her apartment bedroom.  As she lies down, ominous music begins to play; she opens her eyes to see Shadowy Figure standing there at the foot of the bed]

            Oblivia: Now what?

           Shadowy Figure: I know you defeated me eventually and all that, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m always here if you find yourself slipping up on the hygiene bit again and – (Is cut off by Oblivia throwing a pillow at it)

           Narrator: Be sure to tune in next time for Chillingly Commonplace Horror Theatre Presents: Jaywalking With Danger.  Until then, pleasant dreams.