No Gein III: The Final Cut Part Ten

Chapter Ten: Buried Truth

November 2nd 2004, Amherst Wisconsin

“I’m warning you, if you don’t make an Gein movie your family is going to pay.”

The email address wasn’t valid anymore, and when looking at the pictures Geinlover69 sent of George’s dead sister, he remembered the police telling him they were merely police photos. They suggested someone probably hacked their system, as sites like rotten.com eat this stuff up. Also, as the police reminded him, George had received all kinds of emails threatening his life over movies.

George was wracked by pangs of guilt as he didn’t stop and see his sister the last time he was on the east coast. Thanksgiving was just a month after Hallow-con, a New York based horror convention that he’d attended. He figured he was just see Helen and her husband for the holiday. Now, Thanksgiving was only a few weeks away, and he didn’t know what he would do. There were some distant relatives on his dad’s side, but he was never close to them and they’d grown even further apart once his father died. George figured he would probably be content spending the day himself in this house in Amherst.

Then it suddenly struck him. Hallow-con, that weird guy that came all the way out from Plainfield. He was pressing him about deleted scenes from Psycho II before insisting George make a Gein movie.

It was then he remembered that Ed Gein fan website. Sure enough, as the angelfire site loaded. He had a whole section on horror con. As the jpeg files loaded showing pictures of the con he noticed a breaking news section. Clicking on that, an article loaded about the Bethlehem murders. George read the recap about how the killer murdered his brother-in-law Chuck outside the home and then proceeded to enter the house and kill Helen in the shower. It was thought that the police discovered the crime fairly early, as the neighbors reported seeing Chuck’s body propped up in the front doorway in a gruesome manner. What police assumed to be a robbery and double homicide was the most shocking crime the Lehigh Valley had seen since the Babysitter Murders of the 1980s.

As he finished the article, something crossed his mind. Whoever wrote this, how did they know Chuck was killed first?

November 12th, Plainfield Wisconsin

The bedroom of Franklin’s parents was perfectly intact. It was the way Ed told him he should leave it. The bodies of his dead parents lay peacefully in the bed below the painting of Jesus looking up at an angel. Since disposing of his parents he also got rid of his mom’s dresser, putting a small desk in his place from which he could work. After updating his website, his small mouse clicked on his ezboards message forum he hosted. It was then he noticed he had a private message.

He couldn’t believe it. It was a private message from George Kohler. A jpeg image loaded for the movie director standing in front of a big white house on a lonely road. The flat landscape behind the director looked as though it could have been right down the street from where Franklin lived. “Here I am at the family home in Amherst.” the message read. “I got some footage from Psycho II that’s never been seen before. Also, got my first screenplay here. Maybe you can come by and check it out and we can discuss my next movie.” Looking at the image again, Franklin noticed the item George held in his hand. It was Deranged, the first screenplay he ever wrote.This was too good to be true. Did he know? Was this a trap? Even if it was, how could he not go?

It was then he saw Ed again. Images of Ed would randomly appear to him sometimes. He looked so real, as real as the bodies of his dead parents that sat in the bed. “Did you see that Ed?” Franklin said excited. “He’s got footage of Psycho II. Maybe we’ll see Norman in action more?”

“Norman didn’t need action,” He heard Ed say. “he needed help.” The image of Ed Gein looked down at the desk. Franklin still had his notes regarding Leon who briefly worked at the Mendota Health Institute back in the 70’s. “I wish I could have gotten help.”

“Really?” Franklin answered aloud as he looked back towards his dead parents. “I thought you two would have been like brothers.”

“Brothers, you know what happened to my brother?”

Outside Franklin’s house the leaves had long left the branches of the tree that stood over his car. The fallen foliage crunched below his feet. After taking a few more steps towards his car he heard another sound, it sounded like a cross between a person yelling and a dog barking, and it was coming from below him. Looking down to the cold earth, the dead leaves had yellow faces that stared up at him with an evil look. In an instant he bolted to his car, the inhuman barking sound followed with each step as he frantically removed the keys from his pocket to unlock his car door. Plopping himself down on the car seat, he looked out the window to the tree lurking over him. Way up high on a rotting empty branch, a slack necked buzzard glared at him with blood red eyes. Then, looking back at his house, he saw Ed standing on the porch. “Are you coming or not.” Franklin shouted. Looking back up, the buzzard was gone, then looking to his right, there was Ed sitting in the passenger seat. It looked like Ed was trying to say something but Franklin interrupted with an enthusiastic, “Off to the film’s climax!”

Approaches the house, Franklin could see the light on in upper bedroom. He hoped George didn’t start it without him. Walking into the house, he didn’t see anyone, but his body shook in anticipation as he heard George’s voice upstairs. Stopping in his tracks he takes a deep breath. Something about the director’s voice sounds different, then he realizes, it’s the movie playing upstairs. George put himself in Psycho II as a film director who gets murdered by an obsessive fan. Life was about to imitate art as he gripped his machete handle tight and ascended up the steps.

Peering down the at the end of a the dark hallway a door sat open, light and sound emanated from within. Creeping down the corridor, he only heard one sound, but it was a sound he recognized, it was dialogue that he knew by heart. Franklin stood in the doorway as he looked into the room, it was empty, but there it was, Psycho II playing on a big screen TV. Approaching the big screen TV in holy reverence, he reached up towards the footage, his finger tips lovingly caressed the glass on the TV screen, the static electricity crackled on his skin. It was like touching a woman for the first time.

Looking behind him, he remained alone in the room. An empty wooden chair sat in front of a desk. A desk lamp was left on, its light shining down to what looked like an old stack of papers. Coming closer, he saw they were bound by heavy staples. Reading the red ink on the cover, he gasped in amazement as if he were an archaeologist discovering ancient stone tablets.

“Deranged.” The blood red letters read. This was George Kohler’s never produced screenplay that he wrote in film school. Evidently, it was inspired by his Aunt’s stories of encountering Gein, decades before the general public ever knew of the Plainfield Ghoul’s existence. Anxiously, he turned the page, but it was not the opening scene he found underneath. Instead, it was a wedding picture. Confused, he looked closer to realize it was a picture of Helen and her husband Chuck, Franklin’s last two victims. Turning the photo over, he’d found beneath that was a small pile of photos and other items. There pictures of George with his father on the red carpet at Maan’s Chinese theater, Christmas cards, but no screenplay. He slammed the pictures down on the desk in disgust as the Psycho music played behind him. Then suddenly, the music climaxed with an electronic zap. The room went dim, save the light of the desk lamp. Franklin turned around to see a small object hit the ground with a small crashing sound. He presumed this to be the remote control as he looked in the doorway. It was there that he saw him. He knew that George had cut weight, but the director’s frame still filled the door. His hair was cut short, and, from the shadows, a chainsaw blade protruded from the doorway. The figure remained still, but then its hand pulled the ripcord, and, just like in the movies, the chainsaw roared to life.

“YEAH!” Franklin shook his arms in excitement. George entered and the two circled around the room. “The film’s climax! The director fights to avenge the death of his slutty sister!” Frankling laughed mockingly. George took two quick steps forward, for a moment it looked as though he were going to charge, but his feet quickly stepped back and the two continued their circular movement around the room.

Franklin’s hand shook with excitement as he and his opponent circled the arena that was the director’s office. George revved the chainsaw a few times lightly thrusting the blade toward him the way a heavyweight boxer might throw a few light jabs. Franklin himself parried the knife while licking his lips in excitement. In his mind he and his opponent would swing their weapons simultaneously, colliding these instruments of death in the center of the room. That would be the image on the poster for the movie that would be made about them someday. The two combatants standing atop of a pile of bodies, their blades colliding in a dance of death. Sparks would rain down over the film’s title, which would be… hell, maybe they’d call it, ‘Deranged.’

In the midst of this mortal combat, Franklin’s mind raced through thoughts of how this movie would be cast. Maybe Edward Norton would play him. Who would play George? Perhaps Jack Black?”

His mental casting couch was cut in half by the site of the chainsaw being tossed up in the air. “This wasn’t part of the script,” he thought to himself as he watched the power tool fly through the room before the blade bounced on the wooden floor and the motor came to a stop. He turned back to his opponent who had quickly pulled something from the belt at his waist. Franklin’s ears burst from a loud popping sound as a white light flashed in the room. Instantly, he felt an incredible pain, as if someone speared liquid metal through his gut, the force of which knocked him flat on his back. A puff of smoke floated in the room while the scent of gunpowder filled his nostrils. Franklin’s neck stretched up just in time to see his assailant place the revolver on his desk, but his mind was still dazed at what had just transpired. 

“That couldn’t have been in the script!” Franklin protested as his head rested back down on the hardwood floor, his eyes looked up at the ceiling above while the palm of his hand pressed on his wound. George was now back in his line of site. Looming over him, he planted a boot on Franklin’s chest, the chainsaw was again in his hands.

Now Franklin smiled as blood trickled from his mouth. His ears welcomed the sound of the motor being revived, the saw-blade now buzzed inches from his face. It was so much sweeter than the sound of a firearm. It was honorable, it was pure, it was classic. “Yeah!” Franklin cheered with what little breath remained in his lungs. “That’s more like it!”

Then, standing to his side, looking down on him, Franklin again saw the image of Ed. He knew this wasn’t visible to George, only Franklin could see Ed this past year, but there he was observing the proceedings. He looked back to George and said, “This is gonna be one hell of a movie!”

Suddenly the saw blade went still. The room was again silent save Franklin gargling the blood that rushed up his throat. “Movie?” George looked down confused. Did he still not get it? George was gonna direct a movie about all of this, and it was gonna be great. At least that’s what Franklin believed right up  until this moment, this moment when he heard former director say “No one is ever going to even know your name.”

“What? What, no! NO!” but Franklin’s cries were smothered by the chainsaw roaring back to life. Desperately looking to Ed, Franklin pleaded, “Help me! Help me!”

The vision of Ed just stood there, hat in his hands. Inside his head Franklin heard Ed’s voice. “You never listened to me.” it said. “I was trying to warn you.” 

“I just wanted my movie!” Frankling pleaded.

“I just wanted my mother.” The voice answered. Franklin saw the man put his hunter’s cap back on his head and turn his back to Franklin. Soon the image of Ed Gein quietly faded away into nothingness.

Meanwhile the roaring blade of the chainsaw inched closer to Franklin’s right shoulder blade. “No, No!” Franklin cried out as his left arm was severed from his body. George wouldn’t know this, but the shrieking of his victim was not out of pain. This crying was born out of fear; and it was not fear of the unknown, as H.P. Lovecraft described most fear as being. No, the fear Franklin screamed in was fear from the known, as he now realized exactly what George was intending. Franklin was indeed going to die right here in this small town in Wisconsin, another small town just like Plainfield, just like so many small town across this part of the nation. His body would be cut up right here on this wooden floor, and no one was ever going to know.

George was in a daze driving down the highway. He didn’t even bother to activate his Pandora and actually had the old-fashioned FM radio on. The dial was set to a random oldies station playing some song about going on a moonlight swim. Driving through the darkness, George thought how his Aunt Sally, his father’s sister, probably made this same drive almost half a century ago. In a way, her journey that fateful night started all this. He couldn’t help but wonder, what if Sally hadn’t gone down this road? Would she still be alive now? If so, she’d probably be some old hippy out in the streets protesting Bush’s war in Iraq. Had she still lived, his father might not have ever moved to Pennsylvania. Hell, he would have grown up in Amherst playing for the Falcons in the Tomorrow River School District. Looking out over the pure black empty space that enveloped his car, he mused how he once considered that a horrifying thought.

As the now infamous Plainfield approached, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of something else. What about Ed Gein? If Gein hadn’t ended up dying that night he encountered Sally, what would have happened? Would he have killed more unsuspecting people in this little town? Would Gein have died in obscurity, his horrible secrets buried with him, or would he have eventually gotten caught, still bringing infamy to this little town? Was his Aunt Sally a sacrifice made by the gods of fate to prevent more madness from occurring? George remembered his late mentor Robert Bloch, who had been dead for ten years now. Bloch lived not too far from here back in the 50’s. Who knows, maybe he would have written Psycho back then.

This thought sent George’s thought’s down a third path, one he couldn’t stop himself from mentally exploring. What would filmmakers of the 1960’s done with Bloch’s novel? Imagine Alfred Hitchcock directing it. The fan in him couldn’t help ponder the possibilities. How would Texas Chainsaw Massacre and the 80’s slasher scene have looked with the Ghoul of Plainfield lurking over American horror. In another world, he might have been lauded as a sort of grandfather of American gore.

And what would George himself had thought of this patron saint of splatter had he only known of him in the abstract? Remembering the morbid nihilistic attitudes held in his youth, George knew full well he would have idolized Gein just as his own obsessive fan had. George recalled his days dressing up as the Zodiac killer, and understood that a Gein costume wouldn’t have been far behind.

The empty shell of the burned building ahead brought him back to reality. Coming off the interstate at the town of Plainfield, George shook his head at the ruins of the Gein Ghoul House. Looking in his rear-view mirror, thinking of what was in his trunk, he spoke out loud. “Did you do that?” It just now occurred to him that it was probably this psycho that killed the owner and two others before burning this attraction to the ground a few months ago.

Soon he came to a stop. While his property in Amherst wasn’t far from this place, this was the first time since that night ten years ago that George was on the former Gein property. Roger, a local he’d met in this spot was gone now, but he remembered standing here with his father while Roger told him the story of what happened to Aunt sally, and the night that Gein died. Opening the trunk, it already smelled as he reached past the trash bag and pulled out a shovel. Then, he pulled out the trash bag and slung it over his back as though he were the Santa Clause of violence. Setting the bag down on the wet grass, his shovel pierced the earth below. George began digging deep into the ground. He knew no one was around for miles, and did not fear being seen. It was ironic that no one ever came out to this spot where Gein actually lived. It wasn’t close to the interstate, it wasn’t close to anything. That asshole Leon knew what he was doing, building his sick attraction right off the interstate. George knew that, had circumstances been different, he’d have done the same thing.

Digging deeper into the earth, he couldn’t help but wonder if any other remains were still buried here. If there were, they were about to have some company. Pulling himself out of the hole he’d dug, George grabbed the trash-bag and unceremoniously tossed it into the hole. Covering the fresh grave with dirt he looked out over the empty field. Nothing remained of Gein’s house, nothing stood here for decades. Remembering that awful attraction up the road, he figured the world would have been better off never knowing the name Ed Gein. Shoveling the last pile of dirt, he knew that at least no one would know of this murderer that lay buried before him. As a matter of fact, George himself didn’t even know his name.

No Gein III: The Final Cut, Part Seven

Chapter Seven: The Shower

Customer: Bartender, what’s a Gein beer?

Bartender: It’s got lots of body, but no head.

Why did Ed Gein always have the heat on in his house?

So, his furniture wouldn’t get goosebumps.

November 2nd 2004

George hated to admit it, but that last one was pretty funny. While surfing the web looking at various horror sites, George stumbled upon an Angelfire page called the Ed Gein Appreciation Zine. While George wasn’t appreciative of the adoration expressed towards this deranged individual that terrorized his Aunt, he was impressed with the thoroughness of site’s information. He knew, had circumstances been different, he himself would have designed a site like this. What little information about Gein’s life, as well as his grave robbing and apparent murder of Mary Hogan were all covered in gruesome detail. Of course, much of the site’s information was “borrowed” from Kohler’s own book Deranged, which detailed the personal and disturbing story of how George came to learn the secret to his Aunt’s madness.  

However, there were a few original essays, such as one comparing Gein to Norman Bates, the character from Psycho, as well as Gein’s influence on George’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Reading the article about Chainsaw, George chuckled to himself as he remembered how people falsely assumed that his remake took inspiration from Jeffrey Dahmer.

Then there were these Geiners, morbid jokes about Ed that were all the rage now. While he couldn’t help but have some respect for the gallow’s humor, what was not amusing was a section of the website that directed it’s ire towards George himself. “George Kohler is a fucking pussbag.” read the page titled No Gein Movie? “He’s had the greatest story in the history of modern horror fall right into his lap and that fucking tool won’t act on it. The fat lazy fuck is sitting at home counting his millions while the greatest horror movie ever goes unmade.” George shook his head as he wiped the sweat still hanging off his brow. Just before he sat down at the computer, he was working out on his bowflex machine. Taking a sip of water, he continued reading. “Kohler owes it to us fans. Let him know we demand our Ed Gein movie.” Then one of George’s personal email addresses was listed below for the world to see.

“Ah shit, I guess I’ll have to close that account now.” George thought to himself. It was a shame too, because he used this particular email to talk to fans. Opening this email account, he scrolled through hundreds of messages, most of which had clever subject titles like Make that Gein Movie or Die or Gein Film or Bust. Messages like “advice for breaking into the film business,” or honest fan questions about his films were now few and far between. While this was certainly annoying, George was able to brush it off. He remembered himself firing off angry messages in Friday the 13^th forums, especially toward the director of Friday the 13^th Part Five, The New Horns. It was embarrassing now to think he had acted like these trolls once. Perhaps it was some form of Kharmic justice.

The wanderings of George’s mind were interrupted by the ringing of his flip phone.  “Is this my famous director brother?” the familiar voice said on the other end.

“Well, I think I’m still famous.” George answered his sister as he looked back at the monitor and its angry emails. “Though looking at some of the online chatter its maybe more infamous.”

His sister Helen laughed as she said, “Well I hope you’re not too famous to join us for Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely be in for that.” George assured her. “Sorry I couldn’t see you after Hallow-con, I had to fly back to LA and sort shit out for Psycho III. Also, big news,” his voice raised in excitement as he rapidly spoke, “something opened up at Paramount. Tomorrow, I got a meeting about maybe directing the next Friday the 13^th film, Freddy vs the Devil vs Ash!”

“Wow, that’s awesome!” Helen was well aware of her brothers life-long love of the Friday the 13^th franchise. The two of them spent many a night watching them on TV when they were kids. Their father even once took them on a camping trip in New Jersey to look for the legendary Jersey Devil. “You’ve been waiting for this for so long. I’m sure you’re gonna do great.”

“I hope so.” George said humbly.

“Well, you’ll have to let me know how it went over Turkey.”

“Sure thing. How’s the Chuckster?”

“He’s good. He’s just hanging out watching TV now.” Helen then looked to her husband, who she saw looking out the window. From outside she could hear their dog barking as the sun set behind the homes across the street. “What’s wrong hon?”

“I don’t’ know, the dog’s acting up.” George heard her brother in law Charles say. “Probably barking at the skateboarders again.”

The dog’s barking then stopped as Helen said, “Anyway, I’ll see you soon. I’m real proud of you.”

“Thanks Helen. You know I’m proud of you too.” Hanging up the phone, George closed the window of his email and started began to work.  

Opening a word document, he began jotting down ideas for Freddy vs the Devil vs Ash. The Necronomicon, was a good place to start. That mysterious and evil book which originally appeared in the prose of H.P. Lovecraft before being used in the Evil Dead series was a natural fit to tie the three franchises together. Maybe Ash Williams, the Deadite slaying hero of the Evil Dead series from the evil dead series would work at the Crystal Lake S-Mart, the fictional equivalent of Wall-Mart. George then typed out random ideas for how the Freddy, the Devil, and Ash would interact. Maybe Freddy could use the Necronomicon to bring back the Devil’s past victims as Dead-ites, the creatures of the Evil Dead series.

Even cooler, he thought to himself, would be if the surviving characters from Friday the 13^th and Nightmare on Elm Street would appear, such as Friday’s Tina Shepard and Nightmare’s Alice Johnson. This could be the horror equivalent of Crisis on Infinite Earths, the epic DC Comics story from 20 years prior which featured pretty much every DC comics character. George leaned back and stopped himself for a moment. He remembered his departed mentor Robert Bloch, advising him against over-stuffing his stories. “A good story is like a good recipe.” He recalled Bloch telling him. “Too much stuff can ruin it, just stick with what you need.” Still, he felt really intrigued about this idea of surviving characters from past films. Who knows, maybe this idea could be in the next sequel? Yet again, George knew to restrain himself. Knowing how Hollywood works, he was aware of the dangers of getting too far ahead of himself. He knew to take things one movie at a time.

“You know I’m proud of you too.”

Helen felt glad to hear that from her brother as she hung up the phone. “I’m going to take a shower.” she said to her husband as she felt the cool November breeze blowing into their house. “Chuck?” she said as she looked out the open door. She didn’t hear the dog barking anymore, but she didn’t see her husband either. She figured he probably went to talk to the neighbors and closed the door behind her making sure it was unlocked.

In the safe comfort of her shower, she thought about how the relationship between her and her brother had grown stronger over the last few years. They were close as young kids, spending afternoons playing outside and watching monster movies at night. Once they moved east, their teenage years found them drifting apart, especially when he developed that massive ego. Strangely enough, fame seemed to have made George humble. Well, there were other reasons too. Especially since their father died, that was so hard on both of them, not to mention how bizarre and macabre that whole situation was. “Be careful in the shower.” Helen hated remembered the dying words of her father, rambling and nonsensical in his final moments. While lost in thought, the steam from the shower formed a fog around Helen as her mind wandered to that place where she was still bitter; resentful that her father had been taken from then so soon, just a few years after they’d all grown closer as a family. At the very least, she was appreciative of George, who often took the time out of his busy schedule to check on how she and Chuck were doing.

What she didn’t know was that Chuck wasn’t doing well, not anymore. His body now rested in the bushes and wouldn’t be found until the next day. As she’d drifted in that mental fog, she didn’t hear the light footprints enter her bathroom. She did hear the shower curtain pull back, and she heard herself scream as the knife plunged into her body. She had no idea who Franklin was, but as her brother’s stalker repeatedly plunged his steel into her, she knew his face would be the last thing she ever saw.

George’s head was swimming with the possibilities of another sequel to these franchises. Taking a break from his brainstorming, he closed the window on his word document to find his Firefox web browser still open. It was then he noticed something on that Gein fansite hadn’t noticed before. Clicking on ‘Gein Today,’ he uncovered some more recent and gruesome news. According to this page, Gein apparently now had a copy-cat. In Plainfield Wisconsin, where Ed resided and is buried, someone dug up several graves, apparently the same graves Gein himself violated half a century prior. A jepeg file of the local newspaper clippings seemingly confirmed this crime to be true. Adding a gruesome showman ship to the foul acts, a color photo, separate from the newspaper clipping showed some of the remains were laid out on the cemetery grass in such a way that they spelled out a word, one word. Ed. Even worse than that, the bodies of two youths, a young couple that just graduated high school, were found murdered in the cemetery. The webmaster of this morbid site seemed to take particular delight in describing the tragic death of what seemed like a bright and beautiful young girl.

“Enough of that.” George thought to himself, clicking on the X closing that awful window. He didn’t feel much better as he again checked his email to find even more messages from demented fans demanding a Gein movie. His mouse clicked on the small boxes as he prepared to delete them, but one message caught his eye. ‘Your pretty sister.’ the subject read. “What the fuck? Not cool messing with family.” he thought to himself as he clicked on the message. Text at the top indicated this was a follow up to an earlier message. “I’m warning you.” The older message read. “If a Gein movie is not in development by Horror-con, your family will pay.” George hadn’t recalled seeing this message before. He probably deleted it on sight just as he had most of these crazy messages. But the new email below sent a chill through his spine as it read. “You’d been warned.” Below the text were a series of icons indicating this email contained several images that would soon be visible.

George grew cold as the Jpeg files loaded on his monitor. He recognized that house, that home that he’d plan to visit in just a few weeks, the dining room where he planned to cut the Thanksgiving Turkey, the TV they would watch football on. George quickly grabbed his phone and speed dialed Helen. The phone kept ringing as image after image of Helen’s home loaded on the screen. Scrolling down the email, the trail of jpeg files led up Helen’s steps, down the hallway, and finally, through the bathroom door. George almost vomited at the site of the red streaks staining the shower curtains. Finally, the last agonizing image loaded. There, laying in the tub, naked and violated, was George’s sister Helen.

No Gein III: The Final Cut, Part Six

Chapter Six: Don’t Go In The House

Psycho: Movies, Murder, Madness and the Disappearance of George Kohler

Kohler’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre opens with a decayed corpse sitting atop a tombstone. After this shocking image, we get the film’s scant plot involving Sally and her brother checking on their grandfather’s grave after hearing news of several local cemeteries being desecrated. Along the way, they run into a family of cannibalistic murders, least of which is the newly named Leatherface; who replaces Saw-Man from the original 1974 film as the Chainsaw wielding maniac who dons several masks of human skin.

Along with its massive success, much controversy surrounded the 2003 remake. Victim’s rights groups suggested Kohler had taken inspiration from Milwaukee murderer Jeffrey Dahmer, whose apartment was found to have various skeletons and other human remains. The home of the maniacal family in Kohler’s Chainsaw film seemed to have taken cues from Dahmer, with its chairs covered in bones, human skin lampshades and bed posts made of skulls. However, was there possibly an earlier influence on this film that was unknown at the time?

Before his time in Hollywood, George was in correspondence with author Robert Bloch regarding an unproduced screenplay George wrote called Deranged. Bloch was a relatively successful novelist and television writer, but never attained true breakout success until his later years when he published the 1993 novel Psycho. Bloch personally arranged for the then unknown George Kohler to be the director on Psycho’s film adaptation, which closely follows the novel.

Norman Bates, an eccentric hotel owner devoted to his live-in mother, is the lead character in both the film and novel. Following several murders comes one of the great surprise endings in film, as it is revealed that Norman’s mother is actually long dead. Her body is preserved by her son and kept in her old bedroom. Even more shocking, Norman dresses as his dead mother, and, apparently suffering from dissociative personality disorder, “becomes” his mother, murdering anyone perceived to be a threat to her son. Psycho turned out to be more shocking to audiences than Silence of the Lambs which was released just a few years prior.

Published just before the author’s death, Bloch was very tight lipped about what inspired him to write such a tale. Upon closer inspection, the name Norman is close to the word normal. Norman of course is not normal, but desperately attempts to don the appearance of normalcy. This seemingly normal man lives in a secluded area with his fanatical mother while hiding a terrible secret. Parallels to Edward Gein are obvious.  

“What are you reading?” Stella’s father momentarily took his eyes off the road to ask.

Holding up the book cover she answered, “It’s about George Kohler.”

“Oh, wasn’t he that movie director?” he asked.

“Yeah.” she answered as her eyes diverted back to the pages.

“Didn’t his mom or somebody run into that Psycho down in Plainfield years ago?” He asked as his eyes focused back on the road.

“It was his Aunt.” she answered while continuing to read.

Thinking back to the local story that made global headlines he recalled. “Yeah, I remember that in the news a few years ago when they found all those bodies. Crazy stuff.” Then, glancing at her book, he added. “What ever happened to that director guy? Didn’t he vanish or something?”

“Yeah, this book talks about it. No one knows what happened. It says he had some crazy fans. Some of them wanted him to make a movie about that Plainfield guy but he didn’t want to. One theory is that a fan killed him.”

“I remember hearing that.” her father recalled. “One story I heard was he checked himself into the Mendota institution up in Madison. Who knows though; can’t believe everything you see on the internet right?”

Approaching their hometown of Amherst, he smiled as the sun hung ahead of them. He was so proud of his daughter. They’d both been through so much loss and hurt, but now he was a year sober, and she was off to college and seemed to have met someone special. He got to meet Stella’s boyfriend today when he picked her up from college. He seemed a little eccentric, but so was his daughter. Either way, Stella seemed really happy, happier than he’d seen her in a long time.

“So, Jonathan huh?” he said. “You really like this guy?”

“Yeah.” Stella said, blushing. She then turned away from her book and looked out the window, the flat plains of Wisconsin lay stretched out to the horizon.

“Well that’s great.” Her father said. “Listen, you know I love you, and, and I know,” he was stammering his words now, “I know you’re not a little kid anymore.” It grew more and more uncomfortable for him the closer he got to the subject. “Just use protection, OK?

“Dad!”

“Okay, okay!” As uncomfortable as that exchanged was, he had to laugh a little as it’d been a long time since he’d seen his daughter show so much emotion as she just had in that moment. “Okay, I’m just saying.”

Finally coming into their hometown, he saw a large white house on the side of the road. It looked empty now, but he was grateful for its presence and the opportunity it provided to change the subject. “That there’s a Kohler property.” He said pointing to the house. “From what I remember, George bought it for his dad.” He saw her glance at the building and its empty driveway as he continued. “Who knows, maybe he’s hiding out there.”

Her dad couldn’t stay long once they got home as he had to go in for the night shift at his new job. Once she dropped her things off in her old room, she went into what was her sister’s room. Before leaving for college, her father converted Juliana’s old room into a studio for Stella. He also kept a small desk there which he occasionally worked out of, so they both shared this space that once belonged to Juliana. In a way, it helped them both heal. Using this room helped them to move on. They both agreed to keep one thing of Julianna’s, her trophy case remained intact, still glowing in the light of the room.

Stella sat at the chair in her desk. Looking at the spot where Juliana’s bed used to be, she remembered and reflected. Her short time in university was the best time of her life, probably better than all of her life before that really. Now looking at the window at the lonely landscape outside, she thought about how she was now back in this place where she didn’t have any friends. At least spring break was only a week. She supposed she could call Meghan, that girl she knew from high school, but she was probably busy. Stella made no real plans for this week. It’s not like she could afford go to Palm Beach or wherever other college kids on TV go for Spring Break. Tomorrow she would give Jonathan a call, but tonight she intended to just stay home and read. However, as the book cover faced up, looking back at her, and she could only think of one thing.

The sun was so far behind her now. As it dipped into the horizon Stella rode her bike down the gravel road towards the large white house ahead of her. Placing her bike in the nearby tree line, she crept toward the house and the looming darkness around it. No lights were visible inside and as she ascended the creaky porch steps she had no idea what she would tell do should she find anyone. “Hi George, I’m Stella, I’m a big fan of your movies and I just wanted to see if you were hiding here.” What could she say? “Hello.” was all she could think of as she wrapped on the door. No curtains hung from any of the windows of the house. Placing the edge of her hands around her forehead she pressed her face towards the large pane of glass on the front porch. Looking inside, most of the furniture was gone. There was an old dusty couch and a few cardboard boxes, but otherwise it looked empty. She jumped and quickly turned around as a breeze blew accompanied by a loud banging noise, it sounded like wood banging on wood. There was nothing behind her, and she realized the sound was coming from around the back of the house.

Walking around the perimeter of the home, Stella noticed a security camera posted to the wall. It remained still, and, looking closer, she realized its light was off. It was long dead. Coming to the back of the house, she found the source of the noise. The back door was open, occasionally slamming shut with the wind. “Hello.” she spoke again as she poked her dead inside. There was still no answer. She pulled a flashlight out her backpack, bringing a little light  into the house while the sun faded away. Inside the kitchen, the refrigerator sat silently. No light emerged from within as its door opened revealing empty contents inside. Walking up the steps to the second floor she found each of the bedrooms to be empty, except one.

This must have been George Kohler’s home. Horror posters remained on the wall, including Friday the 13^th Part VIII, the Devil Takes Manhattan, and the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Next to Saw-Man and his chainsaw the text of the poster read, “Who will survive and what will be left of them?” This room was like a shrine to horror movies. Various props and memorabilia sat about. Stella noticed a prop knife along with a wig and dressed that looked like it was from Psycho. A prop chainsaw hung on the wall. There was also a desk with a stack of papers. Rummaging through the desk drawer, she’d found an old, typed screenplay called Deranged, written by George Kohler dated 1989. Flipping through the script, inside the first few pages were photographs. A few of them looked like they were George when he was young. Most of them were of a woman, whom Stella realized was his sister. “Such a shame,” Stella thought to herself. All the other rooms were bare, no clothes, no other personal items, but this room remained intact. Why would all this stuff have been left here?

Looking down, Stella realized that wasn’t the strangest thing about this room. A series of cuts were visible on the floor. Kneeling down, her fingertips traced the grooves in the wood. There were four short cuts, and they weren’t random. In fact, as the frame of her upper body faced downwards, Stella realized the top two marks lined up with her shoulders. Standing up she continued looking down and realized the bottom two marks would have lined up with her hips had she been laying there. These marks weren’t deep and weren’t clean cuts that would have been made with a knife or an axe. It looked like someone took a power tool to the floor. It looked like the marks of a chainsaw.

That wooden door downstairs was still banging, sending echoes through the house, but now there was another sound, the sound of footsteps. Someone else was in the house. Now it was several footsteps she heard, followed by the sound of giggling. “Time to get fucked up.” an adolescent male voice said followed by the crackling sound of an aluminum can opening.

“I’m already high man.” the voice of another boy followed.

Stella quietly crept to the bathroom as the commotion continued downstairs. Luckily the door was able to be locked. At least she wouldn’t get in trouble for trespassing, she thought to herself, as whoever these kids were, they were trespassing themselves.

“I heard that movie director haunts this place.” She heard the first voice say.

“Bullshit.” She heard the other voice reply.

“No man, he was in a cult and summoned up some demonic shit here. They say the devil took his soul.”

Stella almost laughed as she heard the juvenile speculation. It sounded like there was only two of them, but there was still only one of her. She could remain hidden in this bathroom if worse came to worse, but she was long passed tired of hiding. Besides, rummaging through her backpack, she found an old makeup kit. Looking in the cracked mirror, she had an idea.

“What was that?” One of the voices said as the soundtrack from the Psycho movie played on Stella’s Walkman. Its volume was turned up all the way so the sound from the headphones filled the empty house.

“Sounds like its upstairs.” the other voice said as their footsteps approached the stairwell. Their own flashlights shined up to the second floor and screams followed, for what these boys saw seemed inhuman. Borrowing from the special edition of the Exorcist, released just a few years prior, Stella did a spider-walk down the steps. Her hands served as feet as her chest faced the ceiling leaving her head hanging upside down. Makeup formed red and black shapes around her face as her mouth hung agape releasing a terrible screeching sound. The boys almost fell over screaming before frantically running out the door, dropping their beer cans behind them and abandoning their six packs.

Adrenaline still rushed through Stella as she rode her bike home. The night breeze blew softly on her still made-up face. Anyone who might happen to drive by and see her might have been scared to death, but fortunately no one else was around. For once, the solitude of Kodak country was a comfort to her as she rode home in the night. She laughed to herself as she thought back to those boys running out of the house in terror. Still, this humorous thought couldn’t smother that creeping feeling she had. As her own house lay ahead, the warm lights still glowing inside, one horrible thought rattled in her mind. Did she just see the place where George Kohler was murdered?

No Gein III: The Final Cut, Part Four

Chapter Four: That First Kiss

Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Spring 2007

It was her second semester living at the Milwaukee Institute of Art and Design and she was loving it. The weather was warm again as she sat at a park bench in Catalano Square across the street from her campus. It was there that she heard a voice ask, “That’s Mushroomhead right?” The girl looked up to see another student pointing at her shirt.

Her head nodded and a little smile escaped her lips as she looked up. She had seen this guy around campus but didn’t know his name. Aside from his shoulder length reddish hair, he looked a bit like Jim Carrey from Ace Ventura.

“Cool, I saw them at The Rave last year. Ever go there?” This time she nodded her head no, as the man immediately went to his next question. “So, do you like horror movies?”

“Why?” she asked nervously.

“Just asking.” He then extended his hand as if closing a formal business deal, saying, “I’m Jonathan.”

“Not Larry?” she replied, leaving his hand hanging in the air. Over a Spiderman shirt Jonathan wore a brown collared top with a ‘Patticoni Printing’ label stitched on its right breast and the name “Larry” embroidered above it.

Jonathan looked down at his shirt with a mischievous smirk. “Oh, I just wear these for fun.” He then asked, “So, I heard you’re a horror fan?”

“Yeah, sometimes.” she answered as she wondered why this guy was talking to her.

Jonathan then mimicked the voice of the Ghost Face Killer from the Scream series, asking, “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

The girl leaned back on the bench, startled by the wicked gleam in his eye while his right hand mimicked holding a telephone, but, seeing her reaction, his expression immediately changed. “Oh, sorry, just kidding,” he said, holding his hand up, palm facing towards her. “Don’t mace me.”

Still leaning back cautiously, she did manage to relax a little as he asked her “Have you seen the new Freddy, Devil, Ash movie yet?”

“No, not yet.” She answered as she perked up. She was interested in this sequel to Freddy vs the Devil, the crossover film between Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday the 13^th. This entry added another franchise to the mix with Ash, the lead character of the Evil Dead series.

“Well,” it sounded like Jonathan’s wall of confidence shook for just for a moment as he spat it out. “I’m off work Friday but I have to work Saturday so I was wondering if you’d like to see a movie with me Friday?” His words ran out of his mouth like a runaway train going down the tracks. It was as though had his words not escaped at that exact moment they would have been trapped, forever stalled at the train station of his dreams.

“Yes.” She felt her eyes widen as her own single word emerged, expressing shock that her vocal cords even formed the sound of that word before her brain even considered it.

“Groovy!” Jonathan said, now mimicking Ash from the Evil Dead. “Hey,” Jonathan’s voice was once again confident and energetic as he suggested, “wouldn’t it be fun if we were in costume? I’m gonna go as Ash.”

“Ok.” She never dreamed of dressing up for a movie before, but it sounded fun.

“You live in the Two50Two building right?” Stella nodded, indicating that was correct. A few exceptions aside, all full time Freshman and Sophomore students were required to live in the Two50Two building.

“Great, I’ll meet you in front of Two50Two, let’s say at five fifty-five?” Jonathan beamed with pride at the corny word pun he just made.

Stella rolled her eyes but said “OK.”

“Awesome.” He grinned at her in triumph. Then, his eyes darted about before he said. “Oh, I suppose you should know who you’re going with.” Extending his hand as if closing a formal business deal, he, “I’m Jonathan.”

“Not Larry?” she replied, leaving his hand hanging in the air. Over a Spiderman shirt Jonathan wore a brown collared top with a ‘Patticoni Printing’ label stitched on its right breast and the name “Larry” embroidered above it.

Jonathan looked down at his shirt with a mischievous smirk. “Oh, I just wear these for fun. My name really is Jonathan.” Reaching for his wallet he said, “I can show you my id if you want!”

“That’s OK.” the girl said, laughing. He couldn’t tell if he was joking or if he was actually serious, but it was cute either way.

Then, pointing at her, he said, “And you’re Stella, right.”

“Right.” she blushed, it hadn’t occurred to her to share her name.

“Ok great. So, see you Friday?”

“Sure.”

“Alright, smell ya later!” Jonathan said as he strutted away.

That Friday Stella’s doormats helped her get her cos-play ready. Jonathan was going as Ash. The Jersey Devil of the Friday the 13^th series was a full body suit, which seemed too daunting at this short notice. Hence, Stella would go as Freddy. Amber, one of her dorm mates, lent Stella her black and red sweater that resembled that of the horror villain’s. Stella pulled it over her and saw it fit well while Raina, another dorm mate, helped her with her makeup. After a coat of face paint, Stella appeared to have been horribly burned, just like the character she was cos playing. Tucking her long blonde hair under a black hat, it felt uncanny as she looked in the mirror and saw Freddy Krueger staring back at her.

“There’s just one thing missing!” her other dorm mate Michelle excitedly said. As Michelle approached it appeared she was delicately holding something in her hands. Stella’s disfigured appearing face cracked a smile that glowed through her make up as Michelle presented her a brown leather glove with plastic extensions protruding from the fingers mimicking Freddy’s claws. “I got this last Halloween, but you can have it.”

“Aww, thanks Michelle.” Stella said as she pulled the glove over her slender hand.

The girls collectively looked at Stella’s reflection in the full body mirror and were in amazed at the transformation. Looking over her slender figure, Amber said. “That is one fine Freddy!”

Waiting outside the dorms her outlook darkened as the sun began to dip, its last rays reaching out over the Milwaukee River. She got a few stares from people passing by. Some were startled, others expressed concern as they glanced her seemingly charred face. Stella wondered if anyone even got who she was supposed to be. Stella looked at her watch, it was five fifty-four. As a cool April breeze blew by and the stares continued from passerby’s, she wondered if all of this was such a good idea.

“Hail to the king baby!” Just in the nick of time, Stella heard Jonathan’s booming voice. He confidently walked toward her dressed in a long sleeved buttoned-down blue top. As he drew closer, she noticed the “Shop smart, shop S-Mart,” patch stitched into the shirt. Naturally, the name ‘Ash’ was embroidered above it. Like her, he also bore a costumed glove resembling a metal gauntlet.

“Wow, you look amazing!” He said as he saw her scarred face and her own gloved hand.

“Thanks.” she said, looking over herself, almost forgetting her costume. Then, noticing Jonathan was carrying a small backpack, she asked, “What’s that for.”

“Oh, that’s something for later.” He answered as he raised his costumed fist up where she met him with a light fist bump. She smiled as their costumed hands connected. Just for a moment, it felt electric. In the movies Freddy wasn’t slim, and actor Bruce Campbell didn’t have long reddish hair, but here, on this night, these two were perfect just as they were.

They made small talk on the bus to the theater. Jonathan did most of the talking actually, prattling on about his classes and such. Getting off the bus near the Avalon Atmospheric Theater, Stella felt a pit in her stomach as a small crowd gathered at the entrance. Some patrons were even dressed up like they were. “Just a minute.” Jonathan said as Stella faced the theater. Jonathan stopped to open his backpack from which he pulled out a toy shotgun, the handle of which appeared to have been removed. He rolled up the blue sleeve of his gloved hand and, via a contraption on his prop gun attached the barrel to his limb, making it appear not that his hand was holding the gun, but that his hand was the gun. “My boom stick!” Jonathan proudly proclaimed.

Stella covered her made up face with her own gloved hand, nearly poking herself with the plastic extensions as she giggled. “Oh my god, you’re nuts.”

Approaching the crowd in front of the theater, Stella pulled the brim of her hat down in an attempt to hide her face as the sound of clicking cameras surrounded them. She stood close to Jonathan, moving slightly behind him as he gallantly posed for pictures spouting Bruce Campbell quotes. She couldn’t believe this guy. In a way, he looked ridiculous, but he relished every moment.

After Jonathan bought tickets for the two of them, they entered the lobby to find a few others in costume. Stella was surprised to see a few people actually made full body costumes to dress up as Friday the 13^th’s Jersey Devil. Random other monsters were there too, including the werewolf from Halloween Six, Pinhead, and a few other Freddy’s. One cos-player got her attention, it was a character who had quite an impact on her life. There before her, in a fairly accurate costume, was Saw-Man. She instantly zoned out while watching the lead villain from Texas Chainsaw Massacre , not hearing anything around her.

“I said, are you supposed to be Freddy Krueger?” A condescending voice snapped her back to the theater, where in front of her stood a bald obese man with his own chocolate stained unbuttoned S-mart shirt staring at her. Through his thick glasses his eyes looked her over disapprovingly. “Freddy Krueger is supposed to be jacked!” Stella looked down, her eyes avoiding the fanboy and focused on her own slim figure.

Jonathan came to her side and interjected. “Hey, what movie was that where Ash had a giant beer gut?” he quipped, pointing to the man’s belly. Stella let out a small chuckle but still avoided eye contact.

“Whatever.” the man said, walking away dismissively.

“Don’t let that asshole bother you.” Stella heard another male voice say. “You look great!”

“Thanks.” Stella said as her gaze moved upward away from the floor where she saw another large but more fit man with short peroxide blonde hair.

“But I have to tell you something.” the man said. “The Devil wants his rematch.”

The best of the Devil cos-players lumbered towards her. His claws extended outwards, and his fang filled jaw hissed at Stella who stood motionless. She wasn’t scared, she was amazed. The level of detail in this costume was awe inspiring. She couldn’t even dream of being talented enough to make something like this. “Do you mind if I get a picture with you?” The Devil cos-player asked.

“That’d be awesome.” Jonathan answered for her as he took his own camera out of his backpack. The two horror villains faced off in the theater lobby. Stella held up her pretend bladed glove, but her face was blank, her makeup simply hung expressionless on her face.

After a snap of the camera Jonathan interjected. “Come on Stella show some ferocity. You’re the stuff of nightmares!” he said standing next to her mimicking her own pose as he coached. “Here, like this.” Jonathan hissed and glared at the devil with a fierce stare.

Stella’s lips parted, her teeth slightly protruded foreword as she posed for another picture.

“That’s better, now put some snarl into it!” Jonathan said stepping away.

Stella’s lips slid further apart, her eyes widened and her arms tensed as her gloved hand remained pointed to her fictional opponent. Out of the corner of her eye she could see she’d drawn some attention. Other people stopped and were taking pictures of her. Among the picture takers she could see that obnoxious fanboy walking away. It was then that, somewhere within her, an intensity emerged. Feelings long smothered, shamed and shunned, rose from her within her guts, up through her lungs and out of her vocal cords. From her lips sprung horrifying hiss that scared the Devil himself.

“Beautiful baby beautiful.” Jonathan clapped in approval. Stella’s gloved hand shook as it returned to her side as she wondered if those around her were as startled as she was of what had just come out of her.

“Thanks a million.” The older man said. The lobby lights flashed indicating the real show was about to begin. Turning to Jonathan the older man asked the three co-splayers, “Mind if I get a quick one with the three of you?”

Stella’s hands were still shaking, but she managed a deep relaxing breath as she felt Jonathan place his arm around her. The Devil stood happily to her side, as there would be no posing for this photo. The three cos-players smiled as if the characters they portrayed were all best friends.

As the theater grew dark the first trailer began. The lullaby “Hush Little Baby Don’t Say a Word” was softy sung by an older woman as the audience witnessed scenes of a desolate landscape. “What is this?” Jonathan asked. Once that whirring sound effect hit, Stella, as well as others in the audience, knew instantly. “Every Legend,” the chalk white text read on the screen followed by shots of R. Lee Ermey of ‘Full Metal Jacket’ fame playing the patriarch of a family of maniacs. ‘has a beginning.’ The text concluded, as a group of young people are dispatched while cries of terror came from both the silver screen and the in theater audience.

“It’s Chainsaw.” Stella answered before the logo emblazoned the screen. Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning was a prequel to the 2003 remake of the cult 70’s hit. This franchise was all too familiar to Stella, as it accidentally played a crucial role in the young girl’s life.

Once the feature presentation began, the crowd cheered wildly at the title screen. Stella had never experienced theater goers cheering for a movie before. Looking around at the enthusiastic fans, she saw that older man sitting with his Devil costumed friend. The cos-player clapped his clawed hands, but the other man sat still in his seat. In fact, as the light glowed on his face, it looked like he had shed a tear. “He must really be a big fan.” she thought to herself as the movie began.

After the show Stella sat in a comfortable chair. Her hands wrapped around the ceramic mug as she felt the heat from the java in her hands. A few bookshelves and paintings covered the walls. Stella hadn’t been to the Emporium before, but Jonathan seemed familiar with the place. The staff knew him when he walked in, and thought nothing of his shotgun arm prop, never mind his date walking in looking like a burn victim.

“That was so cool when Freddy used the Necronomicon to bring back the past Friday the 13^th victims as Deadites.” Stella agreed with her date as she sipped her steaming drink. Jonathan then asked, “Did you like it?”

“Yeah, it was awesome.”

“Think they’ll do another one?” Jonathan asked before sipping his own drink.

“I don’t know. It’d be cool if they did.”

“Yeah, lots of crossover films coming out.” Jonathan began to prattle on again. “Last year was Aliens vs Predator. Tonight was Freddy, the Devil and Ash, next year is Helloween.” Smirking he then asked, “Hey what are you doing next year? Would you want to go see that one with me?”

Stella grinned at Jonathan as she detected zero sarcasm in his question. “Well, I don’t know, let me check my calendar.” she motioned with her hands, mimicking opening an imaginary date book. “Helloween,” she asked, “don’t you mean Halloween?”

“No, Helloween. That will be a crossover between Hellraiser and Halloween.” Jonathan explained. “The cool thing about this is they’re bringing back Michael Meyers from the first two Halloweens.” Jonathan’s eyes then diverted upwards, he always looked like his mind was going a mile a minute. “I wonder if they’ll bring any other characters from the rest of the series.” He thought out loud. After Halloween II, series creator John Carpenter turned the franchise into an anthology, with each subsequent entry standing on its own. “The Wraith from part four would be interesting to see, so would the Werewolf from part six. I don’t know if Halloween H20 would fit though.” He then mimicked the impossibly deep voice of Sylvester Stallone, the washed up 80’s actor who starred in the 1998 Halloween entry in a desperate attempt to resurrect his career. “We’ll tear your soul apart!” Stella laughed again as Jonathan recited the famous line from the first Hellraiser in an 80’s action hero voice. Finally turning his attention back to his date, he asked “Are you a fan of the series?”

“Not so into Hellraiser.” Stella said, then, without thinking, she went on to say, “My sister and I went to see H20.”

“Oh, you have a sister.” Jonathan asked, “What is she doing?”

His face then grew puzzled by the awkward silence. It finally ended with, “My sister, um, uh, she died.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Jonathan sounded genuinely upset to hear this. He looked almost panicked, as if he’d unwittingly lit a fire in the woods. Almost at a whisper he asked, “What happened?”

“It was a drunk driving accident.” Stella revealed. “She got in a car with her drunk boyfriend, so…” finishing her story with a simple shrug of her shoulders.

“That’s terrible.”

In that moment he looked like he needed more comforting than she did as she reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “Thanks.” she said. It felt good holding his hand, his skin was warm and comforting.

Pulling her hand back she heard Jonathan say, “Well don’t worry, I don’t drink and drive, in fact I don’t even drink!”

“Oh, so we’re not going to the frat party after this?” Now, for the first time the whole evening, Jonathan was at a loss for words.

“I’m just kidding,” Stella laughed like she hadn’t laughed in a long time, “I don’t drink either!”

Jonathan himself laughed a sigh of relief as he held up his cup of mocha boasting, “Alright then, well, to not drinking!”

“To not drinking!” She toasted him back.

After they both took another sip of their beverages Jonathan looked around at the surrounding bookshelves and suggested “Well, since we’re not getting black out drunk tonight, want to look at some books?”

As they browsed, Stella saw both old and new books resting on the wooden bookcases. “Ever go to North Carolina?” It seemed like such a random question, but that didn’t surprise Stella at this point. She looked to see Jonathan in the travel section looking at a title that read ‘Islands at the Edge of Time.’ Jonathan explained, “I went their with my cousins one summer. This guy wrote a book about the islands on the outer banks that way. Cool stuff.”

Stella turned back to the shelf in front of her to find an old beat-up paperback. Movie Monsters by Alan Ormsby had the image of Frankenstein and the Wolfman on its blue cover. It was a book for kids, but as she thumbed through it with her left hand, she was curious to find a few pages covering monster makeup.

“Oh, I heard about this book.” Jonathan sounded really excited and as Stella turned to find him in front of the New Release shelf. The book he held bore an image of Saw-man, and the title, emblazoned in big white letters read ‘Psycho: A Tale of, Madness, Murder, and the Disappearance of George Kohler.’

Holding the hardback up, Jonathan said, “This guy directed that other Chainsaw movie.”

Noticing the subtitle, ‘the Disappearance of George Kohler, she wondered, “Oh, what happened to him?”

“Who knows.” Jonathan said as he placed the book back on the shelf. “I guess that’s what the book’s about.”

Stella immediately snatched the book back off the shelf. Removing her prop glove and placing it in her coat pocket, her fingers quickly perused the pages. She didn’t notice Jonathan wander over to the thriller section. She didn’t see him point to a few hardcovers, and only half heard him as he asked, “Ever read Robert Bloch?” Stella was too focused on the tome in front of her to answer, but Jonathan added regardless. “He was one of my favorites. Did you know he went to high school right here in Milwaukee?”

Stella hadn’t even heard the question as she closed the book and stared at its cover price. “Tell you what,” she now heard Johnathan say, “I’ll buy that for you, and you tell me where George is.”

“Really?” She looked up to his eyes as she asked.

“Sure, save’s me the trouble of reading it myself. “ He then gave that odd chuckle she’d already got used to hearing. “Besides,” Jonathan boasted as he pulled a small business card from his wallet. “I get the membership discount.” He then made a clicking sound with his mouth and winked at her.

Stella burst into laughter at Jonathan’s mannerisms. “You’re adorable.” she said as she placed the book into his hands.

On the bus back to campus, Stella clung to the Emporium bag in her hand, anxious to read her newly owned book. Looking out the window she noticed a few familiar superhero logos, along with some she was not as familiar with.

“Ever read comics?” Stella wondered how many girls Jonathan asked that question too. She also wondered how many of them said ‘yes’. “No, not really.” She answered as she remembered her friend Megan. ‘She would have liked a store like that’, she thought to herself as she added. “I knew a girl in high school that liked them. I liked the X-men movies, those were cool.”

“Awesome, well if you ever want to check out some comics. I’ll take you there sometime.”

“Um, ok.” she said, looking back down at her bag.

 Soon their stop came. The pair got off the bus and Jonathan walked her to the Two50Two building and said, “Well, I got an all day shift tomorrow so I’m gonna drop you off here, OK?”

Stella shook her head ‘yes’ thinking to herself how she wished this night would never end. Jonathan then told her, “I had a really good time tonight.”

Earlier in the evening, when Stella stood at this same spot, she was unsure how this evening would be. She wasn’t sure if going out in this costume to meet this guy was even a good idea. Now she stood in front of her new home, having had one of the best nights she could ever remember. “I did too.” She told Jonathan. “Thanks.”

Jonathan slowly reached his arms towards her, his fingers slightly trembled as they brushed her hair. Throughout the evening Jonathan projected an aura of confidence, but there periodic moments like this where he was exposed as being just as nervous as she was. Stella brought herself closer to him as their arms gently wrapped around each other. She felt his head turn towards her. Through her makeup she could still feel his lips brush her cheek, where she heard the gentle sound of his lips part. She couldn’t wait anymore, bringing her mouth to his she heard him inhale, as if he were honestly surprised to be getting kissed himself. His lips were warm and moist, and just for a moment she felt the tip of her tongue on his. It was simple, magical, and perfect just the way it was.

The evening ended with her whisper. “Good night.”

No Gein: Leftovers. Halloween: H2K Part 3

Milwaukee Wisconsin, August 15^th, 1999

“In fulfillment of Bible prophecy, the world today is beginning to speak the same language. We are satellite- and Internet-connected. We are fast moving toward a cashless economy, a one-world government, a one-world court and a one-world church. We are building a universal city with a one-world church whose tower reaches into heaven.”

“Just like the Tower of Babel!” Franklin’s mother shouted in enthusiasm while other members of the congregation clapped and cheered in agreement. Jerry Falwell’s sermon continued.

“But the Trinity has come down and looked us over,” the reverend said, “and it seems that God doesn’t like what he sees. He may be preparing to confound our language, to jam our communications, scatter our efforts and judge us for our sin and rebellion against his lordship. We are hearing from many sources that January 1, 2000, will be a fateful day in the history of the world.”

Franklin stood up and cheered. Caught up in the moment, he briefly forgot about his mind off his nearly passed out drunk father sitting next to him. Since he lost his job last year he’d taken to the bottle while his mom took to religion. Deciding they needed to escape the sin and debauchery that she claimed gripped their tiny town of Plainfield, Franklin’s mother took the family to the big city of Milwaukee for a religious retreat. Franklin was familiar with Falwell. He remembered a few years ago the reverend said something about one of the Teletubbies being gay. Franklin wasn’t sure about that, but he hoped Falwell was right about January first. Back home, the church his mom drug him to preached hard on the Y2K scare that was in the news and how it was a sign of God’s judgement. At first Franklin was annoyed at having to get up early on Sunday mornings, but a wrathful god massacring humanity sounded pretty awesome. In the last few months he’d been obsessed with those Columbine kids who massacred their school. Reading some of their journals that were posted online, and he started to think both them and God had the right idea. Fuck the world and everyone in it, blow this place to smithereens and start again. Maybe almighty God will get creation right next time.

Like all the speakers before him, Falwell started hawking his book and other merchandise to the crowd before him. Franklin looked at his watch impatiently as the program was running over. After hearing one last plug of merch he looked to the door behind him. One of the local ministers made an announcement that after a short break the adults would have special small group sessions and there would be some programming for the youth.

“Oh wonderful, you can make some new friends.” His mom said.  

“Mom I’m going to meet my friend, you know that.”

“Oh, dear just go check it out. It will be fun.” She said before she and Franklin’s dad went to the adult study.

Franklin felt agitated as he got off the bus. According to the horror message board he frequented, Patrick was going to LARP with some people in nearby Cooper Park. Franklin planned to meet him there, but he was late. He never tried Live Action Role Playing Before. No one in his little shit town would have the imagination to try something that cool. He looked around the park and didn’t see anything yet. Then he spotted a girl dressed in all black standing next to a guy that was big like a football player. The girl’s bright red lipstick was noticeable from afar, when he approached, she smiled at him, her exposed jaw revealed a set of plastic vampire teeth.

“Hey Franklin.” He turned around at the sound of a male voice to see a teenager, dressed kind of normal, t shirt, jeans, Air Jordon’s, but he was carrying a plastic crossbow so Franklin presumed he was a LARPer. “Patrick, good to meet you. Sorry you missed the LARP. We ended up starting early.” Nodding his head to the other guy he said, “Tim here has to go in for early football practice.”

“Hey I’m Tim, nice to meet you.” the other teenager said waving his large hand at him. Franklin said nothing as Tim said “Sorry, I gotta head out.”

“Later.” Patrick said as Tim walked away with his arm around the vampire girl.

“He plays football?” Patrick said in disgust.

“Yeah, he’s cool. He also plays in my Shadowrun campaign.” Patrick said, referring to the cyberpunk themed table top role playing game. Patrick couldn’t conceive of a jock being a gamer. He didn’t have a lot of time to ponder this as Patrick asked, “So, you want to hang at my place?”

Later, walking into Patrick’s house, Franklin asked, “Aren’t your parents home?”

“Well, I just live with my dad and he’s at work.”

“Sweet.” Franklin said as he followed Patrick up the steps. He wished he didn’t have to live with his mom. Walking into Patrick’s room, Franklin expected a shrine to horror movies. What he saw were posters of sports figures he didn’t recognize. He looked confused as he stared a few athletic trophies set up in a display case.

“Those are for track.” Patrick explained before asking. “What sports do you do?”

That question was preposterous. “Uh, I’m, I’m not into sports really.”

“All about the scary movies huh?” Patrick said, picking up the Night Skies DVD. “Cool, well, you want to check this out then.” Patrick had Night Skies Four, Kayeri, the direct to DVD sequel that came out last year.

Franklin nodded and Patrick loaded the DVD player. Picking its remote control, he said “On the forums you said something about Easter Eggs?”

“Yeah, if you fiddle around on the menu screen.” Franklin took the remote control from Patrick’s hand and pointed to the TV screen.” “Look here,” he explained, “it doesn’t look like the cursor can go here, but watch.” Pushing the left arrow button on the remote, an area of the screen was highlighted that wasn’t highlighted before, indicating this was an item to be selected.

“Oh cool, how did you do that?

“Like this.” he said, holding up the remote. Pushing the directional buttons, Franklin moved the menu icon back and forth. Them after clicking the icon on the hidden spot, a deleted scene was loaded.

“Wow, that’s awesome!” Patrick said as the gigantic star filled sky of the southwestern united states appeared on the screen. The two teenagers watched as the sound of a Native American wind instrument drummed through the speakers of Patrick’s small TV. On the screen, the camera panned down to the image of a campfire. A mother and daughter sat among their fellow tribesmen.  Looking up at the sky, the mother said  “Our people have stories about a tribe that flew on an eagle all way up into the heavens.” The child’s eyes widened with wonder as her mother went on. “They flew so far away they had to live among the stars.”

“Really, they’re speaking English?” Patrick laughed.

“Listen to this part.” Franklin said urgently. To him, this wasn’t hanging out and socializing, this was getting his friend up to speed.

They both resumed watching as the woman explained that that one day this special tribe will come back to their lands. Just then, a flurry of shooting stars streaked across the sky. “Is that them?” The young girl excitedly pointed her tiny finger up to the heavens.

“Maybe,” the mother said, “maybe they’re coming to take you away!” The young girl laughed as her mother proceeded to tickle her. “OK, that’s enough stories. It’s time for you to go to bed.”

Later, while the young girl lay down beneath the open sky, she could not bring her self to close her eyes. Her gaze remained fixed on the sights above her. One of the shooting stars she’d seen seemed to have been moving slower, almost hovering over her people. In fact, it looked like the light was drawing closer. It’s bright white glow grew larger and larger. The rest of her people slept as she watched in wonderment this ball of light landing on the Earth as though it were a giant eagle. No sound was made as it appeared to touch the soil. Her eyes unable to move from it, the young girl said but two words. She drug out the syllables as she spoke, it was a phrase the filmmakers knew the audience would be familiar with.

“They’re here.”

“Cool, I remember I was a little kid when Heather O’ Rourke died.” Patrick said, referring to the child actor who starred in the original Night Skies film, and tragically passed in the late 80’s.  “That really sucked.”

“Yeah, she could have been in the TV show.” Patrick referred to the Night Skies spinoff TV series that aired on the sci-fi channel.

“Uh, yeah,” Patrick said, turning to his computer. The sound of the 56K modem indicated that he was connecting to the internet. “Anyway, you want to watch the movie a bit.” Franklin agreed and selected the ‘play feature’ option on the menu. They continued to make small talk while the movie played and Patrick typed on the keyboard. The familiar bleeping sound of AOL messenger occasionally accompanied the sounds from the movie. Soon Patrick asked, “You got a girl back home?”

“Uh, yeah there’s this girl back home. Lindsey.” Her name hung from his lips, like honey on a spoon that was just out of reach.

“Cool.” Patrick continued typing on his keyboard. After a few minutes he said “Hey, what time do you have to get back?”

Looking at his watch, Franklin said “Yeah, I should probably get back soon.”

“That’s cool. I’m gonna go meet this cheerleader chic in a bit, but I can give you a ride if you need it?”

“Sure.”

Later, after saying goodbye to Patrick, Franklin entered the church where he saw his mom kneeling in prayer with the minister. His father looked at him, his eyes betraying no emotion but his mother immediately looked back after the sound of the door opening. “Oh my heavens where were you?” She rushed up to her feet and came toward him. “We were just about to call the police.”

“Told you he was fine.” His father said. Smiling and nodding at his son he speculated, “Probably out with some girl.”

“No,” Franklin responded, frustrated. “I told you I was out with Patrick.”

“Who’s Patrick?” His mom asked.

“I told you who Patrick is.” Franklin couldn’t believe his mother’s ignorance. “That guy I met online.”

“Wait,” The minister interrupted, “You met a man online and you went to his house?”

“He’s my age.” Franklin said annoyed. “I came on this trip so I could meet him.

“And what were you doing with him?” His mother said, still concerned.

“God mom, we just watched a DVD.”

“Son,” the minister interupted again, “was this a pornographic DVD?

“No you asshole, it was Night Skies IV!”

“Franklin!” his mother scolded. Meanwhile, his father looked at his watched, appearing just as annoyed as Franklin was.

“It’s OK.” The minister said to Franklin’s mother. “Franklin, you have to be careful about meeting people on the internet.”

“I only came on this trip so I could meet him, and I hardly got to hang out with him because your crap went on all day!” Then, turning to his parents, he said. “Now come on let’s go home.” He stormed out of the church and walked towards his parents’ car. He couldn’t believe in the stupidity of these people. Sitting in the car, fuming, he thought to himself, there was one thing he hoped these people were right about. He hoped the world really did end this year. If he ever would have prayed, he would have prayed for this planet to be obliterated. Watching his mother sobbing while coming out of the church, his father meekly following behind, he cursed his lot at having to be raised by these idiots. As they opened the doors and plopped themselves down in the car seats, he thought to himself, if they’re still alive in the new millennium, he might have to do the finish them off himself.

No Gein II: A Second Helping. Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Terror Remade

Mann’s Chinese Theater, Hollywood California, August 15th, 2003

Paparazzi crowded the approaching limousine which was soon bathed in a sea of flashbulbs. A beautiful blonde woman stepped out of the limo and waved to the cameras. As the lens of one particular camera zoomed in on her, the man behind the lens admired her dress, but wished it exposed more skin the way other starlets had. At least the dress exposed her back, which is where her partner placed his hand as he nervously waved to the cameras. The cameraman didn’t recognize this couple and could tell no one else did either as the sea of camera flashes quickly faded away. As the couple slowly walked the red carpet, it was obvious this was a new experience to them. “Who is that?” The cameraman asked Vanita, the reporter he was accompanying. “She’s gorgeous.”

“I think that’s the director’ s sister.” the woman explained. “The square must be her husband.”

“Yeah, like I care who the dude is Vanita.” 

“Just shut your mouth and keep recording.” Vanita ordered as an older couple stepped out of the same limo. Once again, the woman, an older but still attractive redhead, also in a conservative dress, waved happily to the crowd, while her partner, who was dressed to the nines, timidly ignored them.

“That’s the director’s dad and I think his new wife.” Vanita explained.

“Wasn’t asking.” The camera man said.

“You’re going to be asking for a new job if you don’t lose the attitude, Bill.” Vanita did seem extra bitchy tonight, but Bill understood why. She hadn’t gotten a big scoop in a while, and Bill knew how fickle this business was. He also knew Vanita feared getting the axe if she didn’t hit a big story soon.

Another wave of camera flashes swept the area, this time maintaining their intensity as a young man emerged from the same limousine. He posed to the crowd with a confident smile and a voluptuous woman on his arm. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Bill shouted as his lens zoomed on the woman’s exposed cleavage, he then moved the camera up and down her body, allowing his lens to capture all the exposed flesh her dress revealed. Billy was quickly yanked out of his own private fantasy by Vanita’s voice shouting “Let’s go!” 

Vanita shoved through the sea of reporters all making their way to the young couple. She almost reached him when another reporter pushed ahead of her and got the man’s attention. “We are with George Kohler, the director of tonight’s world premiere.” The reporter said. “George this isn’t your first rodeo, but are you confident about how your audience will receive this?”

“You’re right, this isn’t my first rodeo, but honestly, I am always nervous whenever a project is done.” The young director humbly answered. “I never assume anyone will like it. The original film is such a classic in the eyes of horror fans, and I hope I have done it justice.”

“Early buzz is this film is quite scary.” The reporter followed up with his next question. “Your name is fast becoming associated with the horror genre. What is next for you?” 

“Well,” George said looking over the crowd of spectators, “this is all great and I really do appreciate it, but I’m going to the set of my next film tomorrow and getting right back to work.”

Finally, managing to squeeze her way through the crowd, Vanita reached George. “Vanita Williams, Inside Entertainment. Word is you’ve added elements of cannibalism and other shocking content to what you refer to as a classic. There is already some controversy surrounding this film, as some say this was inspired by the late Wisconsin serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer.”

Billy loved it when Vanita got under someone’s skin. He smirked as he could see George’s face instantly shifted from being happy go lucky to irritated and stern as he answered, “Dahmer was a sick man and I in no way took influence from him. This movie is a period piece, and I hope it lives up to the original and the legacy it left for so many of us.” Vanita had one more question, and she knew this one would be the killer.

Henry was used to keeping stuff to himself. All that changed when Franki came into his life, as well as when he reconciled with his son a few years back. Now here they all were at a Hollywood movie premier, something he couldn’t have even conceived dreaming of during all those years he worked at Bethlehem Steel. As he watched George taking questions from reporters, Henry thought how things happened so fast and his son had been so busy that he never got to tell George how proud he was of him. 

“He looks a little upset?” Franki whispered in his ear while squeezing Henry’s hand. When he looked, he could see George did appear a little agitated while storming away from a reporter. 

As George and his date approached his family at the entrance to the theater his father asked, “What’s wrong son, that reporter piss you off?” Then, laughing, he added. “They didn’t say jack shit to me!”

Holding his date’s hand tightly, George answered “I’ll tell you later.”

Entering the theater, George felt more nervous than usual. Since cutting weight he felt more capable of dealing with all the stress the film business has to offer, but he put extra pressure on himself tonight. This latest project was a lot to live up to. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his face. “You’re sweating again.” His date said sternly as they sat down. Her nagging only heightened the tension as he looked around at the packed theater. 

While the lights dimmed, George remembered the breathing exercises Franki taught him, breathe in, breathe out, focus on what is right in front of you, be present in the moment. In this moment, the curtains pulled back, and a beam of light shot through the darkened theater splashing on the white screen ahead.  Soon the color switched to green as an MPAA rating was shown for the upcoming trailer. 

“1980,” the white letters read on the now black screen, “Fear was born…” These words faded, before being replaced with, “1980,” which in turn was replaced with, “The nightmare began…”

“Yes!” George pumped his fist while his date looked at him confused. “I heard this was coming!”

A series of images involving blades and claws flashed by the screen before words reappeared reading “2003,” then, “The legends come together.” 

“Warn your friends,” the voice of a little girl now filled the theater, “warn everyone.” Then the words “face to face” appeared. 

The whole audience cheered as Kane Hodder burst onto the screen as Freddy Krueger, the villain from the Nightmare on Elm Street series. The tall muscular actor spouted out lines, “Welcome to my nightmare.” and “Why won’t you die!” as he battled what appeared to be a vicious monster. 

“This Halloween,” the screen read, “evil will battle evil.” before a female character appeared saying “Place your bets.” According to the end of the trailer, on October 17th, after years of the characters being in literal hell and, what was worse in the eyes of fandom, Hollywood development hell, Freddy vs the Devil would finally be released. Paramount’s crossover film between Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday the 13th would at last see the light of day. George yelled out a cheer that the rest of the theater soon followed. He was almost as enthusiastic for this as he was for his own movie premiere. Earlier, when asked outside what was next for him, George was hesitant to say what he really wanted. In the darkness of the theater, he spoke aloud what was his true wish. “Someday I’ll direct one of those.” George proudly stated while his date checked her makeup in her pocket-sized mirror.

Other trailers followed, and part of George wished these previews would go on forever. As the feature presentation was about to begin, he felt that anxiety creeping back up on him. His heart raced as the studio logo hit the screen. This was it, the moment of truth. George remembered Franki’s advice of being present in the here and now. He concentrated his whole attention on each second of the now rolling film. As the introduction commenced, he remembered how thrilled he was when he managed to get John Larroquette to reprise his role as the film’s narrator to the opening crawl. The actor, now known for his role in the 80’s sitcom Night Court, explained what the audience was about to see was one of the most bizarre crimes in the annals of American history. It wasn’t really a true story, but that added touch always gave this title an extra sense of dread. Adrenaline washed away the anxiety while the audience cheered again for the opening of this highly anticipated remake, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

No Gein II: A Second Helping

This is a sequel to No Gein: An Alternate Horror, a story I wrote last year that was an experiment I called Pop Culture Alternate History. The premise was what if real life murder Ed Gein never got caught. To understand this sequel, it may be helpful to read the original here.

No Gein II: A Second Helping

Chapter One: The Truth Unearthed

Plainfield Wisconsin, August 5th, 2003

Bits of earth flew up towards the hot August sun as the dirty steel pierced the ground. The sound of the mini bulldozer engine was partly smothered by the nearby radio on which “These Are the Days” belted out over the small speakers. This song by Burn Victims was now considered a classic from the recently departed decade of the 1990s. Though the 90s were not as far back as Toby’s own childhood, that song still filled him with a sense of nostalgia. While operating his machinery he remembered this tune playing at the Hancock skating rink during his son’s birthday party. Back then, Tommy lived for Mortal Kombat and Michael Jordan. Now he was a high school student, crazy for cars and girls. That birthday party Toby remembered was only a few years ago, but, knowing his son now, and remembering him then, it might as well have been another lifetime. 

A different sound now struck his ear, it was a quick scratchy sound, like metal scraping on metal. He gripped the machine lever tight as he noticed his partner waving his arms in the air while standing near the small pit. 

Stepping out of the bulldozer he saw Nick kneeling down holding something in his hand. It was cylindrical and rusted. “Fucking assholes using this for a landfill!” Nick shouted.

“That looks pretty old.” Toby observed as he got a closer look at the decayed coffee can.

Looking around at the flat Wisconsin plain, Nicholas asked, “Well, nobody ever lived out here, did they?”

Turning back, looking at the nothing surrounding them, Toby remembered the stories his grandmother told about the old days of Plainfield. “Actually, I think there used to be a farmhouse about a quarter of a mile from here.” 

“Really, who lived all the way out here?” 

Toby shook his head as he tried to jog his memory. “Don’t remember.”

Tossing the can to the ground, Nick said “Man, if I lived out here….” pointing to the tiny town up the road where they both grew up. “Plainfield is small enough as it is, but living out here, that’d drive a person nuts!”

“Yeah,” Toby agreed. His own son was at that age where he was getting restless, wanting more action than any rural town in the plain states could offer. His teenage daughter Lindsey was felt the same way. Toby wasn’t ready for this yet, but he knew that pretty soon, it’d be time for them both to go off into the world. “Anyway, I’ll dig the rest of this out.” Toby said as he walked back to the min-dozer, trying to keep his mind off the future. “Probably have to call the garbage company to haul all this shit.” 

The newly exposed pit began to smell as the engine re-started. Steel jaws bit into the earth and more waste was scooped into the machine’s metal mouth. After digging about two feet in, Toby noticed a patch of denim fall out of the metal jaws and back down to the earth. It looked like an ancient pair of overalls, but it appeared they were used to wrap something up. He didn’t register Nick giving a startled look into the pit, but he did notice him fall backwards as he undid the brass button on the overalls, unwrapping their contents and exposing them to the humid air.

“Ah shit!” Toby heard Nick shout before racing back to his pickup truck to fetch a shovel. Nick then waved his arms into the air, yelling “Stop, stop!” Toby turned the engine off. Stepping out of his machine, he watched Nick digging into the pit with his shovel. He made quick but delicate thrusts into the dirt, as if he were an archaeologist unearthing some prehistoric Babylonian temple. “Shit, shit, shit!” Nick shouted.

The smell was now becoming overpowering as Toby approached. “What’s wrong?” he asked. It was a rhetorical question. Given that awful smell, he knew full well what they had just unwittingly uncovered.

“We gotta call the police.” Nick coldly said, as they both looked down to see a nearly complete human skeleton, among other human bones buried in the ditch.

Hope you enjoyed this opening appetizer of No Gein II. Come back in a few days to see some old familiar faces at a world premiere of a remake of a classic horror film. Does it have any connection to the awful truth that has just been unearthed? 

Find out in No Gein II: Chapter Two, Terror Remade!

No Gein: An Alternate Horror Part Seventeen

Part Seventeen: These are the Days

August 5th, 1998, Wisconsin

“Boy they sure murder you on this popcorn!’ Bernice said as she put her change back in her purse. Her grandson carried a large tray towards her great grandkids, Tommy and Lindsey, along with their friends. The young teens eagerly snatched the bags of popcorn and paper cups filled with soda. Bernice remembered when she could see movies for a whole year on the amount of money she’d just spent, and these were matinee prices!

No matter though, these were her golden years, her platinum years even, in which she not only enjoyed grandchildren, but great-grandchildren, both of whom she spoiled rotten. She’d long sold her hardware store, and she and Ronald, her second husband of over 30 years, now enjoyed all of their free time. 

The screen lit up the darkened theater as the previews began. Bernice smiled as the trailer began with a familiar tune. She figured the kids wouldn’t recognize the song Mr. Sandman by the Chordettes, but to her it brought back fond memories. Then the mood of the trailer shifted as that familiar 90’s preview voice spoke. “It’s 1998, in a California beach side town.” It then cut to a group of kids boasting about having a Halloween party. 

Bernice blushed as the characters joked about having a roaming orgy. “What the hell is this?” her husband Ronald complained, probably not wishing to explain the word “orgy” to the young ins. Bernice just laughed, figuring the kids heard much worse than this, given the kinds of things they put on TV these days.

On screen characters also took issue with the teen’s behavior. An attractive teacher says, “No booze, no drugs, no kidding.” Then the trailer cut to the action. In the nature of trailers these days which gave away half the movie, the kids in the theater laughed and cheered as one by one the horny teens were dispatched by a mysterious shape.

That familiar trailer voice returned saying, “The face of evil, will meet the face of good.” Some in the audience laughed, and others groaned, as a familiar, but long forgotten face appeared on the cue of “the face of good.” Ronald smiled as he recognized the face of Sylvester Stallone, whose career had fallen far from the heights of the 1980s. Ronald remembered when a few years back the actor even tried a few comedies. Hopefully, Ronald thought, a horror movie would be Sly’s ticket back over to the top of the movie business.

 “This time,” the voice over said, while images of what looked to be a sea creature floated across the screen, “it’s going to be a fight to the finish.”  

It looked like the eighties all over again as Stallone faced the screen, his wet muscles bulging as his hands gripped a shotgun. “Hey yo,” he said in his trademark deep Italian voice before pumping the shotgun, ‘this monster’s gotta go!”  Like the action films of old, bullets were flying, and boats exploded on the water while Stallone spouted out lines like, “I shot it six times!” and “You don’t know what death is!” 

The trailer’s narrator concluded with, “At this beach, terror won’t be taking a vacation.”

The words “Halloween: H20” then appeared onscreen.  

“Cool.” One of Tommy’s friends blurted out. “I hope it’s better than Halloween: Resurrection of the Vampire!” 

“Be quite Franklin!” Tommy said, shushing his friend. Ronald was also annoyed but Bernice just smiled. She presumed the kids would want to see this once it came out in a couple months.

Finally, the feature presentation started. Bernice liked it already, it had the credits upfront the way movies used to, with a shrieking violin orchestrating the soundtrack. One credit got Ronald’s attention “Based on the novel by Robert Bloch.” 

“He was a local author,” he whispered to his wife. Ronald knew Bloch wasn’t from Plainfield of course, but he did graduate high school in Milwaukee. As the movie Psycho properly began, Ronald remembered hearing about the book. It was the author’s last work before he died about four years back. He said nothing as another familiar credit lit the screen. “Directed by George Kohler. He remembered the Kohler family from his home up the road in Amherst.

Not long into the movie the teens hooted and hollered at the sight of a beautiful woman taking off her clothes before getting into the shower. “Yeah, let’s see some titties!” Franklin yelled, but much to his disappointment, there were no naked female breasts to be seen.

Ronald didn’t like the outburst, but he did enjoy the sight of the woman in the shower. It was an actress he’d seen in a few other films recently. In fact, Ronald thought she might have been the teacher in the trailer for that Stallone movie . Her name was Jamie something. She reminded Ronald of Janet Leigh, who was an actress he enjoyed back in the 1960’s. Thoughts of this starlet vanished once he felt his wife’s soft skin squeezing his hand as she whispered, “I remember when I looked like that.”

The elderly couple had seen their share of horror movies, and sitting near the front of the dark theater, they were not frightened, but both were a little disturbed. Not at the murder scene on screen, as what looked like a female form pulled back the shower curtain and stabbed the young beauty to death, but that the kids laughed and cheered while it happened. Franklin particularly took delight at this scene, mimicking the stabbing motions while the violin music played. 

After the movie they all went to the skating rink in Hancock, Bernice and her husband sat down at a table with the kids. Pizza pies and soda were spread out ready to be consumed while the jukebox played a mix of current pop music.

“How did you like the movie? Bernice asked her great grandson Tommy.

“It was great! Tommy said. “It was so scary, and that ending was crazy!”

“Did you like it? Her great grand-daughter Lindsey asked.

“Yeah, I liked it, it was a scary one.” 

Tommy agreed, “Yeah it was, and that ending was nuts!”

As Bernice thought about that ending, with a twist she was sure no one saw coming, she had a strange moment of reflection. “That Norman Bates sure was an odd fellow.” she said, “He kind of reminded me of old Eddie Gein.”

“Who’s Eddie Gein? Lindsey asked.        

“He could have been your great grandfather!” Ronald teased.

“Oh, stop it!” Bernice swatted him on the arm.

“Oh, it’s true,” Ronald persisted, “he used to hit on Bernice all the time.” He then excitedly leaned toward the kid, as if about to tell a secret. “He even asked her to come roller skating right here!” His old, wrinkled finger pointed down to the ground as he spoke.

“Oh you!” Bernice’s cheeks were glowing red.

“What happened to him?” Tommy asked.

“Oh, he died in a fire way way back.” Bernice thought hard about exactly when it was but couldn’t recall anymore. “It was a shame really, the poor guy.”

“Well why did he remind you of Norman Bates?” Franklin inserted himself into the conversation.

“Well, the poor man was dominated by his mother all his life, kind of like that Norman.” Bernice noted. “Wouldn’t let him have any friends, I don’t think he ever even had a girlfriend.”

“Did he kill anybody?” Franklin asked excitedly.

“Franklin you’re never gonna have a girlfriend either if you don’t stop talking about serial killers all the time.” Tommy objected.

Bernice laughed, “Oh goodness no, no no no, but he lived all alone in a spooky farmhouse, kind of like the house in the movie. All the kids in town thought it was haunted. Especially after he died, we would all tell stories about seeing his ghost at night and all such things. Most people remember him as a good man though. Always willing to help people out, he was harmless,” Bernice remembered, “if not a little odd.” 

“What kind of stories?” Franklin pressed, sounding anxious to hear further details.

“Oh god, we got Franklin started on killers again.” One of the teens said in annoyance. 

“Come on let’s go play some Mortal Kombat.” Tommy said as he and his friends ran to the skating rink’s arcade section.

Franklin remained, still pushing to hear more. “What kind of stories, did you ever see any ghosts?”

“You go run along now.” Ronald said, waving his hand at Franklin in irritation. “Go play with your friends.” 

The kids then spent the rest of the afternoon playing video games and roller skating as the music continued to play. After a while, they all gathered back at the table to sing happy birthday to Tommy. Bernice Worden didn’t know the band Burn Victims, but their lyrics echoed through the skating rink. “These are the days to remember,” with the word “days” drawn out by the female singer. Bernice smiled as the song played. These were the days for her to remember, enjoying the love and the company of four generations of family and friends. As her great grandson blew out the candles on his Michael Jordan birthday cake, she thought about how next year she would be one hundred years old. Regardless of if she even made it that far, she sure felt lucky for what she had.

The End

Happy Halloween! Hope you all are safe and taking care of yourselves, and I hope you enjoyed this experiment in horror and alternate history. How many pop culture deviations did you find? What was the first one you noticed? Feel free to comment below. If you enjoyed this, stay tuned for No Gein Two: A Second Helping! 

No Gein: An Alternate Horror, Part Fourteen

Part Fourteen: A Bloch Letter

July 26th, 1991. Bethlehem Pennsylvania

George spent the afternoon at the comic store to blow off some steam. He’d just quit his sucky job. He was tired of working for such stupid people, but at least he didn’t have to deal with them anymore. Now he drifted away into the Marvel Universe. George picked up several comics, including the new issue of the Ghost Rider. The flame-skulled supernatural hero was fighting an evil ninja clan alongside the Punisher, who himself had a skull logo painted on his Kevlar vest. Ghost Rider and the Punisher together killing ninjas, what else was there in life?

There was one more stop to make before going home. At Blockbuster Video he dropped off his VHS rental, Silence of the Lambs. George loved this movie about a serial killer who liked to dress up in the clothes of his victims. It was crazy stuff.

Finally coming home to his new apartment, he thumbed through his mail. Seemed like the usual shit at first; shit, bills, catalogues, offers for cheap CDs from Columbia House, but then there was an envelope sent via priority mail. Opening the it; he found a letter addressed to him. “Cool, Robert Bloch wrote to me again.” he thought to himself. He hadn’t heard from him in a while, and he wondered what he had to say. Setting his comic books down he began to read the letter.

“Hello. It has been some time since we had correspondence. I hope this letter finds you well, and that you are still writing and pursuing your creative endeavors. Recently I recalled our prior conversation when we met at that horror convention. I confess that I did not put much stock in the tale of your relative. Please do not take offense to this, I never doubted you had heard the tale you related to me. It is just that, when you are in my profession, a myriad of people come out of the woodwork to tell you all manner of tales of haunted houses, grisly murders and other such maniacal ramblings. H.P. Lovecraft was a good friend to me, who I miss dearly, and to this day I am approached by those who speculate that Howard was in fact in contact with the Elder things or the Great Old ones, and that Cthulhu really does in fact sleep under the Pacific Ocean and will one day rise up and take back the world he once ruled. But I suppose there are worse problems to face than the grievances of a successful author.

Anyway, I am digressing. I am digressing because even as I write these words, I am afraid to finish them. Even as the ink hits these pages, I speculate on whether I should continue.

But continue I must, as I had recently found myself back in Milwaukee at a high school reunion. From there I took a spontaneous road trip to the northern part of the state to look up an old friend. After my visit I saw a sign for the town of Plainfield. Remembering your tale, and having some time to kill, I spent a day there, taking a look into the local history. I read about an occasional fire or hunting accident, but at the time nothing particularly sensational stood out.

Robert E. Gard and L.G. Sorden wrote, “Wisconsin contains, if the yarns are an indication, more ghosts per square mile than any state in the nation.” If such a statement is true, then the town I stumbled into may be the most haunted place of all.

That evening, at a local tavern, the horrible news broke regarding the murderer in Milwaukee and the gruesome discoveries in his home. I cannot begin to imagine the pain being endured by the families of his victims. It is too much to think of. As an awful supplement to that terror, the bar patrons near me began spinning a yarn about their own local ghoul, an odd eccentric man from decades ago, who lived in a farmhouse near this community. As the tales were told, I sank away in a corner booth, becoming invisible as I jotted down a few points about their tales. Some locals defended this now deceased citizen, insisting he was harmless eccentric, others claimed things much more sinister.

After that night, I pursued my investigation, posing as a friend of your family. I can no longer stall the narrative; I must force myself to simply blurt out the truth. After talking to a firsthand witness, and, after extreme hesitation, hearing the same story from another source, I have reached a terrible conclusion.

The stories of your Aunt were absolutely true.

Had she lived a very very long life, she could not have expected, nor could she have wished to see, as much of the mad and macabre as she saw that night. Enclosed is the contact information of the two eyewitnesses I spoke to, which they have permitted me to share. One, a retired local sheriff, the other, a longtime resident of Plainfield. I do not wish to retell this terrible thing I have heard. I shall if you insist, but I believe it will be better for you not to hear it second hand. I would encourage you to share this information with your father as well. 

In closing, I have no doubt that you have heard of the recent awful crimes in Milwaukee. As I recall, you had a fascination with the outlaw members of our nation. While I confess an irresistible curiosity with these current crimes myself, my interest stems from how such a thing could occur. I would politely suggest to you that if you wish to learn about those who commit such horrible acts, you owe it to the victims to learn about them too.

It is my hope that this information may provide some peace to your family.

Sincerely yours, 

Robert Bloch”

Henry couldn’t remember the last time he played guitar, but after a few minutes of jamming with Franki it was like riding a bike. He loved the way she looked at him while he played, knowing full well he had a lot of catching up to do to match her talent, but she was nothing but encouraging as he strummed on his old strings. 

Helen seemed to like her too; which Henry was happy about. She was just a kid when he went through with his divorce. It was ugly, but Alice never stopped being good to Helen. Helen never liked it, especially after her mom died, when he started seeing other women, but she was older now and seemed to have someone in her life. 

His daughter also had someone in her life now as well. Chuck was a teacher Helen met at Church. Henry wasn’t ready for that yet; but Franki introduced him to the Course in Miracles, which was something about gaining awareness of the presence of love in your life. He didn’t know about all that either, but right now he knew that he was having a good time jamming on his porch with both new and old people in his life. It felt like old times, but it felt fresh too. Helen accompanied he and Franki with a Tambourine, and Chuck chimed in on his harmonica.

Their jam session was soon drowned out by the loud engine of a Chevy Impala and the metal that blasted out its windows. He didn’t recognize the massive car at first, but he noticed his daughter give a confused look as it miraculously managed to parallel park.

“He really did put on weight.” Henry thought as his son got out of the car and crossed the street. Looking at the manilla envelope in his hand, he wondered what he wanted.

“Who is that?” Franki whispered to Helen.

Henry saw Franki’s eyes light up as he calmly answered the question directed at his daughter. “It’s my son.”

As George came up the steps Franki greeted him with arms wide open. “It’s so nice to meet you!” She hugged him tight. Pulling back, she said “I’m Franki.”

“Nice to meet you!” George said in a chipper voice. Looking her over, he was impressed his dad landed such a nice lady.

“Hey George!” His sister greeted him with a small hug before introducing him to Chuck.

“Hi,” George said surprised. “What brings you out here?”

“Well, we were just jamming.” Chuck answered.

“Cool beans.” George said as he looked over to his father.

Henry remained in his seat, still holding onto his guitar. Eyeing the envelope in his hand he asked, “What do you got there?”

Glancing nervously at dad’s lady friend, George said “Well, I gotta talk to you about something.”

Henry knew Franki to be in tune with other people’s presence, their aura as she called it. He felt a pang of frustration as she said, “Oh ok, well I’ll let you two catch up.” She took a step toward the porch steps, but Henry wouldn’t have it.

“Whatever you have to say to me you can say to her.”

Franki thankfully remained still as George just blurted it out. “I’ve been talking with this author, you wouldn’t know him, but anyway he’s from Wisconsin. I had him look into a few things for me, and well, he found out some things about my Aunt.”

Growing more irritated Henry said, “You still trying to make a movie?”

“No dad, I’m not making movies.” George said defensively, “I think what your sister said was true.”

“Yeah and…” George’s statement was no great revelation to Henry.

Holding up the envelope George explained “I got contact info on two people in this little town in Wisconsin. They can confirm her story.”

Henry shook his head. “That’s all in the past now,” he said dismissively. “What are you doing bringing all that up?”

Still holding the envelope in his hand, George looked confused as he looked around the porch. “Ok, well, have a nice day then…” 

“Oh, but won’t you stay a while.” Franki asked.

“Laters.” George said, not looking at Franki or anyone else as he turned back towards his car. Henry’s daughter gave him a disappointed look as he watched his son walk off the porch and drive away.

“Fucking asshole!” George thought to himself as he slammed his apartment door shut and blasted Macabre’s album Grim Reality. He didn’t understand it. The demonic like vocals to Hot Rods to Hell growled as George vented to himself. Dad spent his whole life defending his sister when everyone thought she was nuts. George remembered his dad standing by Aunt Sally when she was in and out of rehab or the prison or the hospital or wherever the hell she was. Now, here was proof that she wasn’t a total lunatic, and his dad didn’t care. Looking at the letter again with the contact information at the bottom, he thought about calling these people himself, but then he thought, “What’s the use?” and threw Bloch’s letter in the trash.

Now, Natural Disaster, an instrumental track, shredded through his stereo speakers, but he turned it down when he realized someone was banging on his door. Probably a stupid neighbor complaining about the noise again. George opened the door to find his father standing there. George said nothing, but his father just had one question. “You up for a road trip?”  

No Gein: An Alternate Horror Part Eight

Part Eight: Film School

October 26th: 1990. Hallow-Con, New York City

“Man, they kill you on these prices!” Dan complained while handing cash over for two hamburgers and sodas. He then brought his tray back to the table in the convention venue cafeteria with Victoria and George, who had splurged on a big personal pan pizza and a large soda. 

“Well, it was cool running into you.” Victoria said as she took her hamburger from Dan and started eating.

“Yeah man, so really what happened?” Dan’s curiosity was killing him. “You were the big man on campus, then you just disappeared. Some of us wondered if you were dead!”

“Haha, I was dead!” George relished in the exaggerated rumors about himself. “That is so great. No, the truth about what happened to me was worse, my fucking dad wouldn’t help me pay for the rest of the school year.” 

“Oh man, that sucks.” Dan said.

“Sure does.” George said while chomping into his pizza. 

Victoria then asked, “So, what are you doing now?”

“Back in Bethlehem, working a sucky job. Sometimes I get some gaming in, and I’m working on a few projects.”

“That’s cool.” Dan said before remembering. “I think the last time we hung out was in the East Village when we saw Macabre.”

“I think you’re right.” George agreed. “I just got the new Slayer album. It’s pretty wicked!”

“Cool,” Dan said. That venue we saw Macabre at is where Victoria and I met.” Dan said before beginning to eat his food.

“Neato.” George said while taking a drink.

“Yeah, it was a Fibonaccis show.” Victoria happily remembered.

“I remember them. Sucks they broke up.” George pointed to Dan recalling “I remember you playing their album in the dorm. I liked that track Some Men, and the instrumental piece after it, what was it called, Romp of the Meiji Sicophantas?” 

“Sycophants.” Dan corrected.

“Right, not my usual thing,” George said, “but cool stuff.”

“How did you two meet?” Victoria asked.

“I met Dan at a Herschell Gordon Lewis seminar.” George answered.

Victoria then asked, “Who’s that?”

“He was this guy who made a bunch of sleazeball films in the 60s and 70s.” George explained.

“Yeah, you probably wouldn’t have liked him.” Dan said to Victoria. “I read in an interview once that he thought about doing horror movies, but never followed through with it.”

“Too bad.” George complained. “His style would have fit the genre. He could have been a real wizard of gore!”

“Probably right.” Dan agreed. “Anyway, you ever gonna come back to school?”

“I don’t know, I got more into writing recently, I’m gonna try to bang out a book or two. I tried to get some film projects going a few times, but you know how that is, people are stupid and flake on you and all that.”

“Yeah, really.” Dan laughed, amused about how the irony of what George just said went completely over his big head.

Victoria could see that this was as far as that conversation was going to go. “Say,” she said, “we’re having a birthday bash for Dan in the village tonight. You should come.”

“Yeah!” Dan agreed. “Some of the old gang will be there. I’m sure some of them will be glad to see you.”

“I’m going to a panel tonight then I’m gonna meet this author I’ve been corresponding with.” George said as he looked at his watch. “Actually, I gotta go.” 

“That’s awesome. Well, hey it was great running into you.” Dan said.

“I was happy to talk to you both.” George said as he stood up. 

“It was nice meeting you.” Victoria said.

“Laters.” George then walked away.

Victoria watched George exit the eating area, carving out a path among the crowd wherever he went. “He was… interesting.” she said.

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.” Dan replied, to which they both giggled. Watching his friend from film school walk away, he said “He’s got an ego the size of Montana, but he was SUPER talented. If he ever got the ball rolling, he could make some kickass films.”

Bethlehem, 1989

“This is bullshit!”

“No this is bullshit!” Henry held up a screenplay and slammed it down on George’s table, its front page emblazoned with the title ‘Deranged’. The murderous letters shined back at him in their red ink. “I’m not paying for you to make crap like this!”

“You just don’t want me to succeed!” George yelled defiantly. “You just want me to be like those asshole jocks in Freedom High School!”

Henry was beside himself in both confusion and anger. “You loved football when you were a kid!” he objected. “Then all of a sudden you stopped lifting and stuffed your face with pizza, I didn’t understand it.”

“I didn’t want to win the Superbowl dad, I wanted to make movies! My loan only gets me so far. Even if I have to work 80 hours a week, I still can’t afford to finish my degree!”

“That’s not my problem!” Henry desperately tried to reel his emotions back in. “I know I told you I would help you pay for school, but I’m not gonna pay for you to exploit a family tragedy!”

“It’s not a family tragedy Dad! She was probably just high; you know how fucked up she was.”

“She was my sister, you son of a bitch!” Without thinking, Henry lunged toward his son. His hands pushed hard on George’s chest, knocking him down to the couch. There was a loud thud when George’s body hit the cushion, followed by the sound of wood cracking as one of the legs of the couch snapped. Henry pulled back and braced himself. He was getting older now, but his son was grossly out of shape. He held his hands up, more than prepared for anything his son might do.

George remained still on the couch; and it was evident he wasn’t going to do a damn thing. Henry couldn’t remember the last time he saw tears in his son’s eyes, and he was plenty upset himself. Henry lowered his trembling hands and could feel his heart racing. Raising his right hand, he pointed at his son to say, “You do what you wanna do, but you’re on your own.” He then picked up the screen play again and squeezed it with his fist. “But if you ever go through with this shit, then I don’t ever want to see you again.” He threw the document back down and walked out of his son’s apartment. 

Henry was brought back to the present by the voice, it was a female voice talking quietly over the microphone. “I remember cabbing home from an artist party, somewhere near my old shrinks building…upper West end, catching all the green lights.” Looking at the small stage Steve was now gone, and in his place was that lovely red-haired woman who continued, “Till we hit this wasted eastside corner down in ‘Alphabet’ land.” Henry looked back at the table to make his shot, but he couldn’t stop listening to her voice. “And there was this crowd hissing to the street bitching of some old punk band.” He called eight-ball in the corner pocket. It was an easy shot, so easy he missed it, he missed it and the cue ball sunk. He scratched, Helen won. “When this kid comes up to my window with a chewed-up Styrofoam cup in his hand… and he says… ‘you gotta let life go…” Helen gloated in victory as the woman on staged laughed, saying, “What a rip!” Henry expressed no disappointment in his defeat. He simply put his pool stick down and looked at the stage while the woman slowly sang the words, “You gotta let life go.” In her light gentle voice, she continued. “You gotta live, let live.” She looked a little older, maybe she was around his age, “Don’t even, search your soul.” Ha, not likely he thought. “You gotta let life go.” Her bare arms looked fit, and her face was quite pretty, but he could tell by the deepness of her eyes this woman had lived a life. He picked up his beer and took a sip while still watching, still listening. He’d lost the game, but he was starting to enjoy his evening.