I hope many of you are participating in the Name That Horror Movie contest this week. Readers can participate as well by commenting on the entries and voting for their favorites over at FFDO. Head on over to read some terrific contest entries and perhaps win some nice prizes. I did several sample stories over the last three weeks so I thought I’d do something a little different tonight, but along the same theme. Since I’m not entering the contest (wouldn’t be prudent) I tossed the 500 word limit out the door to try and jam in as many horror movie titles as I could and still come up with a valid story. I had great fun doing this and hope you enjoy the read. There are a total of 62 horror movie titles contained in the story below. How many can you find? And no, Harry Potter and Casper don’t count. I’d be hard pressed to call those horror. A full listing of all the titles in order of appearance can be found here. Be a sport, and see how many you can find before checking out the list. ~jon
Oops
I checked my watch for the third time. “Darkness falls, dear,” I called up to my wife, Michelle. “We need to leave soon.” I heard her let out a scream of frustration. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s this damned wig.” She sounded more than a little aggravated. “Why the hell did I decide to go as the bride of Frankenstein?”
We were going to Eli and Pamela Fisher’s Halloween party. I looked forward to it. They live out off of Route 7 in an old hostel about a half a mile past the Cottlesville Orphanage. I helped them with the rehab but had never seen the fait accompli. After I “helped” them with the electric work they quit asking me back. Seems they didn’t get the power back on until 28 days later. But no hard feelings. Eli just knows better than to ask me to help with anything electrical again.
Hearing footsteps on the stairs I turned to see the most stunning bride of Frankenstein ever descending toward me. “Hey, you look great,” I said with a smirk.
“Yeah, well you look like death warmed over yourself,” she answered. “Let’s go, before this damned head gear falls off.”
We made our way to the back door with care. Stooping, we made it though the doorway without incident. Once outside we were annoyed to find it raining. “Oh great, just what I needed,” my wife grumbled. “Like I don’t already have a bad hair day.”
“No one will know the difference,” I quipped. She glared mock daggers at me. The smile was wiped off my face when my Frankenstein forehead hit a low hanging branch on the way to the garage. Losing my balance I stumbled and nearly fell into our small pet sematary under the tree.
“Ooh, bad omen,” my wife laughed. She carefully ducked the branch.
If the low walnut limb was a problem it was nothing compared to the car. It was a nightmare. By the time we managed to get settled we both descended into near hysterical laughter. Eventually my wife wedged herself into the fully reclined passenger seat without losing her wig. I had to lower the driver’s seat as far as it would go and recline the back about half way to fit. My monster top still brushed the headliner while I could hardly see over the steering wheel.
The ride out to Eli’s took the better part of twenty minutes, the mist turning into a steady rain as we went. About half way there my wife wondered aloud if our costumes were entirely appropriate. “What do you mean,” I asked.
“Well, how old are the kids that are coming? I don’t want to scare them.”
“It’s a Halloween party for goodness sake. Eli’s nephew Zack will be there, probably as the Mummy or something.”
“More like Harry Potter,” she speculated. “Seems like kids today are more… gentle.”
I scoffed at the idea. Besides, too late now.
We turned off Route 7 at Wolf Creek, a narrow winding road with just a scattering of houses on it. The rain was coming down pretty hard, making the drive more difficult than expected. “They are the last house on the left,” I told my wife.
“Like I can see anything down here,” she laughed.
The swarm of taillights suddenly brought me up short – lots of cars parked along the road. I stopped with a jerk. “I think we’re here.”
Getting out of the car was even harder than getting in, but we managed. We dashed up the walk, cursing the rain and what it was doing to our lovely green makeup as we went. I pressed the lighted doorbell as my wife fussed with her wig once again. As the ring faded we could hear footsteps approaching the door. The host and hostess met us at the door with broad smiles on their faces.
“Oh look,” Eli joked with Pam. “And you said nobody comes all the way out here to Trick or Treat.”
Pamela quickly stood aside and urged us in out of the rain. I looked at her quizzically, trying to place her costume. “Who are you,” I asked, “the good witch of the North?”
“No, silly. I’m Crysta.” I must have looked clueless. “From Fern Gully?”
“Oh.”
“I’m Pips,” Eli headed me off. Dim memories of when the kids were little explained his flesh colored tee, elf ears, and wings.
As we made our way into the living room my wife took me by the arm. “Don’t look now,” she said, “but I think we should have called about the costumes.” I surveyed the room and saw nothing but brightness and light – fairies, elves, various Disney characters, some Pokémon, a few Harry Potter type witches. As far as I could see there was only one other guy there with a scary costume on. I wandered over to the Wolfman to see who he was. As I did so one little kid looked up at me, turned, and fled wailing for his mother’s arms.
“Hey Mitch,” the Wolfman greeted, evidently recognizing me under my getup.
I thought I recognized his voice. “Charlie?”
“Yep. I guess you didn’t get the memo either,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Evidently they didn’t want any scary monsters so the kids won’t have nightmares.”
“Oops.”
“Yeah. Carrie Jones is here with her two little brats. Boy did she looked pissed when I arrived. Glad I have someone to take some of the heat.”
I looked around the room and spotted Carrie near the kitchen door glaring my way. We all knew Carrie was over protective, if not downright psycho about her kids. “Glad I could help,” I said. While it wasn’t exactly a high tension situation I did feel a bit awkward.
Charlie and I wandered toward the dinning room, through the connecting archway. I lurched back when the curse of Frankenstein, my damned head, caught on the low arch. This elicited a high nasal laugh that sent a shudder down my spine. Sure enough, there was Andy Westbrook standing guard at the buffet, his jaws working overtime.
“Good one Mitch,” he snorted before stuffing in yet more food.
“They invited Andy?” I asked Charlie under my breath.
“No, he’s the uninvited guest. Eli made the mistake of talking about the party around the office coffee pot. Well, you know Andy…”
“Yeah.” I wandered over to the table. They had laid out a veritable feast with a meat and cheese platter, a lively relish tray, strawberries next to a chocolate fondue pot, assorted fruits, vegetables with dip, and a dessert platter artfully arranged with brownies, ginger snaps, chocolate chip cookies, and Pam’s famous lemon squares. It was too soon for desserts so I scanned the table for my favorite. I was bummed. Only the ruins of the dill dip rye bread ball remained, Andy stuffing the last decent sized piece into his mouth as I watched.
“Didn’t you get the word Mitch?” he asked over a full mouth. “No monsters.”
I resisted flipping him off. “Well at least I have a costume,” I said. Andy was in his street clothes.
He swept his hands down his body and smiled. “I do too. I’m the crew boss from Fern Gully.”
I grabbed a small plate of cheeses and walked away. The thing that got me about Andy is he really didn’t seem to realize how much he annoyed people. Oh well, there was a lot more party to be had.
I found my wife talking to Rosemary Gillian and wandered over. Rosemary had been out of the office for about two months now on maternity leave and it was great to see her. As I joined them my wife mentioned that Carrie had dubbed Charlie and us “the frighteners” to the kids and warned them to stay away from us. Rosemary got a good laugh out of that. “I think she worries over much about the frailty of children. In fact, did you notice her oldest one can’t seem to stay away from Charlie.” She was right. There was Damien following Charlie around like a lost puppy. Rosemary’s attitude lifted any sense if guilt that lingered. I realized Carrie could cause me no misery tonight, that most of the parents, as well as the kids, didn’t seem to have any problem with us at all. From that point on I started enjoying myself tremendously.
The kids started running out of steam around ten o’clock, and it was looking like the party might start to break up when the rain started coming down in torrents. Bright flashes of lightening were followed by deep rumbles of thunder. By the sound of the howling wind outside you’d think we were headed for the storm of the century. The lights flickered, then went out. Children began to wail.
“I’ll go check the panel,” Eli called out.
“Whatever you do, don’t let Mitchel near it,” Pamela called back, garnering a round of laughter.
After some tense moments Eli returned. “No luck. The line must be down.”
Pam calmly went around placing lit candles in strategic places well out the reach of the children. Soon the place was awash in a soothing flickering light. Only the smallest children remained huddled near their parents legs while the others began playing a game they called Haunted House, a simple variant of Hide and Seek.
After a while I noticed that most of the kids were drifting into the study by ones and twos. It wasn’t long before nearly all of them had disappeared. Having been a father of young kids myself, I became a little concerned about the silence of the lambs in the other room and crept over to check on them. The room was very quiet, awash in the soft yellow flicker of candlelight and my wife’s low murmuring voice. There she was, seated on the rose red couch surrounded by a multitude of rapt little kids. She was telling them a ghost story about a haunted house. It was not very scary, on par with Casper, but the kids were completely engrossed. When she finished she let the kids tell her their own ghost stories, which varied wildly from buggers to Gandalf. She listened carefully, reacting appropriately to each tale, making each kid feel they had spun a terrific yarn. Karen and Hanna, Joe Toles twin girls, gleefully told a story about a cemetery man, finishing each others sentences, then immediately launched into another, a tale of two sisters who sounded an awful lot like themselves. It was cute.
I felt a presence behind me. I turned and my stomach dropped. There was Carrie, watching from just outside the doorway. But she did not seem angry. She stood gently swaying with Rosemary’s baby in her arms. I could swear there was a slight smile on her lips. When she saw me looking she smiled a little wider.
Carrie intercepted us later as we were leaving. Much to our surprise she wasn’t mad. Instead she thanked Michelle profusely. “My sister and I always told ghost stories during thunderstorms,” she said, a wistful look on her face. “God I miss her. Thank you. You brought back some great memories.”
Seems she’s not such a monster after all.
~
© 2011 by J. M. Strother, all rights reserved.
I really don’t want to be here – thirty-six years old and waiting for my blind date to arrive. Three guys have already hit on me. I suppose it’s to be expected at The Nest, the newest hot spot in midtown. The tall blond guy just can’t seem to understand, “No.” He’s got rugged good looks, one of those types that thinks he’s God’s gift to women.
The house was locked up tight, as always – blinds and curtains drawn. My bet was the AC was off again. Anything to save a penny for Pop, the miserly bastard. Still, he is my dad and they keep harping about checking in on the elderly during this heat wave. He’d be expecting me. Since Pop fired the neighbor kid to save ten bucks a week I had to come over every other week to mow the lawn.
The house emptied slowly. Like Grandma, it shrank into itself as the ravages of time took its toll. The furnishings had been sold in successive yard sales. What didn’t sell was donated to charity. Most of the sentimental keepsakes were distributed to my aunts and uncles with little or no acrimony. The sibs always got along very well. When they were done they let us grandchildren take turns picking over what was left. Of the five cousins I drew the shortest straw and would have to go last. Great.
My Friday Flash this week is 
