Action — Roll ’em
I doubt there will be a more amusing headline today than this. From newsmax.com: “Marxist BLM leader buys $1.4 million home in ritzy LA enclave.”
Nothing else tickled my fancy in the news on this rainy day, so here’s an excerpt from the piece I had the most fun writing, a horror screenplay, All Hallows. The plot is simple: five nuts escape from a sanitarium and wreak havoc on a small town. Throughout the narrative I pay homage to movies and TV shows that have entertained us, many having nothing to do with the genre:
Part 20: Lover’s lane. Wally, unconscious, is fastened to a tree with duct tape, his mouth covered. He is naked except for underwear and socks. One of the lenses of his eyeglasses is cracked. A man in a Frankenstein mask (Spec Richards) is squatting beside him, smoking a cigarette through a slit cut at the mouth. He has donned Wally’s uniform. Wally awakens. His eyes spread as he realizes his predicament. Richards blows smoke in his face.
Richards, imitating Boris Karloff: Smoke good.
He flicks an ash on Wally’s leg and snickers as Wally flinches.
Richards: Damn, not a soul in sight, Cleaver. All the boys in this town turn fruity? Wouldn’t surprise me. I always suspected you were one. I never saw you with a girl in school. That ring just a front?
Wally’s left hand clenches as if to protect the ring.
Richards: If no babes show up, I’m gonna make you the happiest man in the world. (Southern accent): Can you squeal like a pig?
Wally’s eyes fill with terror.
Richards: Or maybe I should just cut your throat, get back in that fancy car, and cruise. That’s gotta be as big a babe magnet as my old man’s useta be.
He sniffs the air.
Richards: Damn, boy — you crap your drawers?
Wally looks down at the feces-stained shoe. Just then, a car pulls into the area.
Richards: Well looky here. The Lord certainly works in mysterious ways.
He takes a final drag on the cigarette and extinguishes it on Wally’s thigh. Wally’s head jerks as he thrashes about, fighting the pain. Richards snickers gleefully. He waits, watches the male pour from a bottle into champagne glasses. He sticks his tongue through the slit and licks the lips of the mask.
Richards: Be right back. Wait for me, hear?
Inside the car, the couple, glasses raised, arms entwined, kisses. The young woman breaks away.
Laura: Oh, Rob.
Rob: Let’s do it, Laura.
Laura: Well, we are engaged now.
A flashlight taps at the window. The couple starts and pulls apart. They see the badge and gun.
Richards: Roll down the window, please.
Rob does so. Richards squats abruptly, shining the flashlight on the mask. The couple screams and falls back. All is quiet a moment. Suddenly the couple begins giggling.
Rob: Miller?
Richards: No.
He swings the flashlight into Rob’s face. Laura screams. In the woods, Wally struggles to free himself, in vain.
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