Story 188: When Living in a Horror Movie, Don’t Turn Around

[This is from recently watching The Cabin in the Woods and Alien: Covenant, so it is rated a soft R]

            Newbie suddenly found herself running down a dark alley: she had no idea how she got there or even who she was running from.  Another figure stepped out of doorway in front of her and she crashed into it; she gasped in the shock, noticed that the figure was as young and attractive as herself, and was about to start running again when it stopped her with:

            “You didn’t scream or fall down.  Good.  You just might make it here.”

            “‘Here’?”  Her curiosity overrode her impulse to keep running forever.  “Where is ‘here’?  I was in the middle of teatime with Lord and Lady Bassett-Stokesworth when I was plopped down in this alley – running from an unknown danger – wearing these strange clothes – and speaking with a completely different accent!”

            “Yes, these crossovers happen occasionally, can’t be helped.  Shall we?”  He gestured to the other end of the alley where the main street and temporary safety awaited.  “I don’t think our menace will wait forever before catching us up – oh, there he is!”  He looked towards a figure standing at the end of the alley around where Newbie had arrived, but he turned her away from looking there.  “No, best you don’t see.  Off we go!”  They ran to the street and navigated through the crowds.

            “What’s going on?”  Newbie tried a different approach.  “Who was that?  Who are you?  Who am I?!”

            He spoke without looking at her, concentrating both on their route and on appearing valiant.  “You are the possible Lone Survivor – I may be, too, if I play my cards right – and that guy was our Shadowy Menace.  You can call me Hero.”

            “Is that actually your name?”

            He looked squirrelly.  “No, it’s really Danforth.  Not even Daniel – how could my parents do that to me?!”  She stared at him as they walked.  “All you need to know is that you have to survive, no matter what!”

            She almost crashed into a hot dog cart – still operating at approximately 11:30 at night – as she continued to stare at him and asked: “That’s very thoughtful of you, but why me in particular?”

            “Somebody has to.”

            “Oh.  Then what about all these people around us?”

            “That clueless rabble!  They don’t count!”

            “Then who does?”

          “I do!”  He stopped short, facing her to underscore his passion on the subject.  “All of my friends, my best friends in the whole world and I were randomly stalked by this guy, for no other reason than we know how to party and he doesn’t, and now they’re all gone and I’m the only one left!  And now also you.  Welcome!”

            “But I don’t want to be randomly stalked!  And why would he stalk me – if you’re the only one left from your crew, he wouldn’t know me from Eve!”

            “Yeah, well, he likes to save the girls for last, and from what I can tell he miscounted his kills and ran out.  So you got pulled in.  Sorry?”

            “Oooh, that’s not fair, I’m supposed to be falling in love with the Duke of Dorsetshirebury right now!”

            “You could fall in love with me, if you like.”

            “And what good would that do?!”  He hung his head in shame.  “That’s what I thought.”

            He looked up sharply over her head to see behind her.  “Oh no – he’s found us.”

            “Well of course he’s found us, we haven’t exactly been ninjas in our escape!”  She started to turn to look back and he grabbed her shoulders.

            “No!  Whatever you do, do not look at him!  Once you realize that he’s behind you and you turn to confirm it, you’re toast.”

            “Who is he, Medusa?”

            “No, he just needs you to acknowledge his presence before he kills you.  Deny him that and you’ll be able to get away.”

            “What about you?  You’ve stared at him about 50 times already and I’ve only just met you!”

            He now stared at her intently.  “It’s too late for me.  I’ll hold him off; save yourself!”

            She impatiently brushed off his hands that still were on her shoulders.  “Why don’t you just call the police and have them arrest this guy?  He’s probably possessing all sorts of weapons, so they’d have no problem believing you.”

            He looked at her sadly.  “That never works.”

            “How do you know – have you tried it?”

            “That never works!”  He wailed.  “Now run – he’s standing literally right behind you!”

            “Wait a minute – ” she started to turn.

            “Don’t look!”  He screamed.

            She turned back.  “Fine, I won’t look.  Buy why is no one else doing anything about this scary person supposedly standing right behind me all threatening?”

            “They can’t!  They’re the powerless world that is unable to save us!  We have only ourselves!  So run, set up a convoluted death trap, and destroy him once and for all!”

            With that suggestion, Danforth “Hero” Deadbody pushed past Newbie and launched himself at Shadowy Menace.  Newbie flinched as she heard the screams, slashing metal, and squishing sounds behind her.  The surrounding crowds continued about their business, and she slowly began walking away from the crime scene.

            Farther down the street she began to run, taking it all the way out of town.  In the creepy countryside she found a foreboding abandoned barn, where she arranged sharp farming tools, a trap door, and bales of hay to lie in wait for the guest who she knew would arrive shortly.  She hid in the loft, holding a scythe and musing to herself.

            “Should my triumphant phrase when he gets his comeuppance be ‘Never mess with a farm girl!’?  I technically live on one, but the tenants are the ones who do the actual farming – ”

            Shadowy Menace’s noiseless entrance interrupted her internal debate; she burrowed herself some more into the hay as she heard the farming tools, trap door, and bales of hay all fail spectacularly in their attempts to dismember, fell, and/or crush their target.  She waited patiently as she heard him climb slowly up the ladder to the loft and stand silently behind where he sensed she was encased in hay.  He brought his axe down onto the pile in victory; the pile naturally was empty and Newbie lopped off Shadowy Menace’s head with the scythe.  It was doubly impressive since she was able to do it backwards.

            As he fell, she crowed to the barn wall: “Never mess with a farm-owning girl!  No, that’s not right either, my father is the one who owns the farm – ”

            “You made it!”  Hero-Dan appeared at the barn entrance – he was a bit messed up.

           “I made it?  What about you?”  Newbie said as she climbed down the ladder.  “How could you survive all that I heard him do to you?”

            “Well, it’s quite a story,” he started, his eyes darting furtively once behind her.

            “He’s standing right behind me again, isn’t he,” she said.

            Dan nodded, with sadistically crazy eyes.

            “Head and all?”

            He nodded again, biting his lip in glee.

           “Well, Danforth,” his jaw dropped open in shock, “thanks for all the tips, you were a big help.”

        She dispatched him with the scythe, then took care of the Shadowy Menace once again backwards, this time finishing off the latter more than completely and burning the remains.  Afterwards, she propped on foot onto the pile of ashes, placed the handle of the scythe onto the floor, placed her other hand on her waist, and declared:   “Face it, boys – I’ve always been a fast learner.  Yes, that was perfect!”  She laughed hysterically, then saw the mess all around her and realized that she still was stuck in the wrong genre.

            “Now what?”

Story 187: The Game Show No One Can Win

Host: Hi there, folks, and welcome to the show!  I’m your host… Now, here are our contestants…. OK!  Let’s start with you.

Contestant 1: Hi.

Host: Your question is: what is the first thing that Contestant 2 will say?

Contestant 1: Um… “Hi”?

Host: [Buzzer sound] Nope!  The answer is “What?”  You lose all the points.

Contestant 1: But I haven’t gotten any –

Host: Contestant 2!

Contestant 2: What?

Host: (To Contestant 1) See.  (Back to Contestant 2) Your question is: what is your favorite time of the day?

Contestant 2: What?

Host: No-no, we already did that one.

Contestant 2: Oh, I don’t know then, noon?

Host: [Buzzer sound] Wrong, your favorite time of the day is afternoon, so you only get half credit.

Contestant 2: OK….

Host: Contestant 3!

Contestant 4: She’ll be right back.

Host: Oh.  Contestant 4!

Contestant 4: Yes?

Host: Your question is: what number am I thinking of right now?

Contestant 4: But – that’s imposs – how can – there’s no way to – you have to write it down so we know it’s the same!

Host: Hm, all right, I’ll whisper it in Contestant 1’s ear.  (Whispers, then says out loud) You can go now.

Contestant 4: Can I at least have a range?

Host: Between 1 and 1,000,000.

Contestant 4: But that’s – there’s no –

Host: Clock’s ticking, Contestant 4.

Contestant 4: Oooh, 5,237!

Host: (Blinks, then turns to Contestant 1) Was that it?

Contestant 1: No, you picked zero.

Contestant 4: That’s not in the range!

Host: Still, you didn’t guess it, so you lose all the points.  Let’s see, right now the Contestants have nothing, and I have a high score of 3,000 –

Contestant 4: You’re the Host – you don’t get points, you’re not even playing!

Host: Then how come I’m winning?  Ah, Contestant 3, you’re back: it’s your turn.

Contestant 3: It is?  Do I have to?

Host: You must.  Your question is: what do I think is Contestant 4’s deepest darkest secret?

Contestant 3: What kind of question is that?  I’d say I’d have to be a double mind reader if it wasn’t really just guessing your opinion.

Host: You have to answer or else!

Contestant 3: I don’t know… perjury?

Contestant 4: How did you know?!?!

Contestant 3: Cool.

Host: [Buzzer sound] Incorrect!  I was thinking the secret was not telling the truth after saying you would.

Contestant 3: That’s the same thing!

Host: Oh.  Then you get half credit.  OK, game’s over, final score is: I win, Yay!  (Confetti is thrown everywhere)

Contestant 1: What just happened?

Contestant 2: I think we all lost.

Contestant 3: Finally – can I go now?

Contestant 4: After you help our Host clean up this mess in the living room.

Contestant 3: Ugh, that’s it, I’m never playing with a 6 year old again.

Story 186: Interrogation by Massage

The Prisoner was brought by two guards, each holding one of his arms, before the Interrogator in a subterranean, dank, hewn-out-of-rock cell.

“So,” the Interrogator opened with, artfully dropping a quill onto his desk and leaning back in his chair for utmost effect, “you still refuse to speak, eh?”

The Prisoner clamped his mouth shut.

“You can answer that one without losing face,” the Interrogator said.

“Yes, I refuse!” the Prisoner burst out; the Interrogator rocked back in his seat a bit.  “You’ll never get anything out of me, never!  The rack, the thumbscrew, the garrote – I laugh at their pitiful attempts!”

“Well, the garrote would pretty much prevent you from speaking, so that’s a poor example.”  The Interrogator stood and gestured the guards to follow him with the Prisoner to another room.

“All right, then I will not be swayed by the breaking wheel, the iron chair, the iron maiden, the – ”

“Good gracious, man, what kind of sick mind do you have?!”  The Interrogator paused before opening the door.  “Ripping apart the human body has got to be the most disgusting thing imaginable; how could you even think that’s the kind of operation we run here?”  The Prisoner stuttered as the Interrogator shook his head in disbelief and unlocked the door to The Torture Chamber (as the sign above the molding read).

The Prisoner braced himself as the guards dragged him into the room.  He stared at what awaited him: a comfy bed with fluffy blankets and a cushioned face cradle; candles artfully arranged to provide minimal yet adequate lighting; and a harpist seated in a corner, gently plucking a soothing tune.

“I… don’t understand….” the Prisoner said.

“Perfect,” the Interrogator replied, checking off “Step 1: Create Confusion” on his list.  “You may disrobe now.”

“What?!”

“Oh right – everyone out!” the Interrogator yelled, taking the guards and harpist with him back to the other room.  He added as he closed the door: “Lie on your back under the blankets with your head towards the cradle, and just give a shout when you’re all ready!”

The Prisoner experienced a few moments of crisis, prayed for strength and understanding of what exactly was going on, then did as instructed.  Clad in only his underwear, he had never felt so vulnerable in his life.  “Um, I-I’m ready?”

“Good!”  The group re-entered, this time accompanied by an extremely short woman.  “This is Lenore – she will be assisting me today.”

“He-hello,” the Prisoner said as the harpist resumed.

Lenore nodded and began rubbing oil onto her hands.  “Is the bed nice and warm?
            The Prisoner, alternating between the sweats and the chills, only just then realized the pleasant warmth that radiated through his back.  “Why, yes it is, thank you.”

“That’s great,” the Interrogator said, checking off “Step 2: Make Uncomfortable.”  “Turn it up, Lenore!”

Lenore added another stick of firewood to the controlled blaze under the bed; the Prisoner now had only the sweats.  “Now,” she said as she stood behind his head with her hands raised, “speak up when the pressure gets to be too much.”  She began working on his face.

The Prisoner braced himself, refusing to make a sound as Lenore knuckled his scalp, crushed his temples, pulled his hair, and smushed his cheeks.  Surprisingly, he felt a great opening inside of him: a deep insight into the mysteries of the universe that he had never before experienced or even considered.

“You have a lot of knots in your muscles,” Lenore observed as she drilled her piston-like fingers into his shoulders and upper back.

“Hmmmm…” the Prisoner replied.  “Yes, well, as you can guess, I’ve been under quite a bit of stress lately.”

“Uh-huh.  Judging by your lopsided arms and body ridden with scars, I assume you’re a soldier – do you warm up before battle?”

“Well, they do come on rather suddenly – ”

“Lenore,” the Interrogator drawled, “could you step this up a bit?”  His checklist was starting to fall behind.

“All in good time,” she said moving to wash off the Prisoner’s nasty feet before she began assaulting them.

“Yes, but this doesn’t seem to be – wait a minute, are you doing the Regular?”
“Of course.”  The Prisoner giggled as she worked on his soles.

“I’d said ‘Deep Tissue,’ Lenore!”

“That’s not recommended if he hasn’t had one before – ”  The Interrogator bugged his eyes and pursed his lips at her.  “As you wish.”

The fleeting flashes of pain transitioned to unceasing stabs of torment: it took all the Prisoner’s willpower not to cry out in agony and reveal everything, especially since he had been feeling so good not a minute earlier.

“Now,” the Interrogator leaned towards the Prisoner’s face as Lenore pulled one of his arms almost out of its socket.  “Tell me where your king is hiding his cowardly self.”

The Prisoner found it hard to speak, since Lenore had pushed his head to the side and into the bed while unravelling his biceps.  “The only word – I can say – is ‘Nev – er!’”

Right on schedule: the Interrogator unobtrusively checked off “Step 3: Lead With the Inflammatory Question.”  “Very well, then: YOU LEAVE ME WITH NO CHOICE.  Lenore!”  She froze in mid-gouge.  “Proceed to the back.”

She resumed her activity: “He’s not ready yet; I haven’t even finished this arm.”

“The back, I say!”  Enough of this fooling around, he thought.

Lenore shrugged, then flipped the Prisoner onto his stomach in one move.  “Put your face in the cradle, please,” she said; he unthinkingly did so.  “Need me to adjust it?”

“Actually, can you make the opening wider?”

“No, sorry; it can only go up or down.”

“All right, never mind, then.”

The Interrogator smiled.  “Lenore: attack!”

The Prisoner braced himself but almost lost it as fingers, wrists, and elbows turned in varying-sized knives that destroyed his back.  He was ready to reveal not only the king’s whereabouts but those of his childhood imaginary friends if that would have made the petite demon stop, once and for all.  A small whimper escaped, upon which the Interrogator pounced.

“Aha!”  He placed himself under the face cradle so he could stare into the Prisoner’s eyes at an awkward angle.  “You can end this all now with just a few words!”

“But you paid for an hour.”

“Silence, Lenore!”

The Prisoner growled against the pain, then defiantly proclaimed: “I – will – never – betray – my – oooh….”  His eyes suddenly glazed over.

The Interrogator shot up from the floor to see Lenore digging her elbow into the Prisoner’s lower back.  “What did you do?!”

“I think I relieved his sciatica,” she said.

“That’s it!”  The Interrogator slammed his now-useless checklist onto the ground; the harp music twanged to a stop.  “This torture session is over!  Take him to his cell to change, then throw him back to his army, he’s absolutely useless!”

The guards lifted the Prisoner off the bed and each held an arm and a leg as they carried him, with a dreamy look on his face, out the door.

Lenore stared at the Interrogator.  “Ahem.”

“What?!  Oh yes, here you go.”  He handed her a bag of coins; she took it and gave him a card.

“There’s a discount for referrals, and four sessions get you one free.”

The Interrogator glared at her, then said, “Book me for tomorrow.”