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 Five

Chapter Five: The Gein Ghoul House

August 27^th, 2004 Plainfield Wisconsin.

“America’s most Brutal and Bizarre Crimes,” read the neon sign at the entrance of the Gein Ghoul House. Leon, the owner of the local attraction, was happy to see the crowd of people ahead of him. Of course, the crowd was moving toward the parking lot as it was now after hours. The victim’s rights group who picketed the attraction were also packing up their signs and banners. Watching them leave, Leon chuckled to himself as he figured they hadn’t deterred any visitors. In fact, they probably attracted some.

A few months back the police questioned Leon when the Plainfield cemetery was desecrated and two youths were found murdered there. Apparently, some psycho was being a Gein copycat. There’d been no other victims since, and of course, Leon had nothing to do with it, but he welcomed the publicity. He also welcomed the jealous stares from the departing crowd as two voluptuous women walked with him to the entrance of the Ghoul House.

The attraction was designed like a simple farmhouse. Walking up the steps to the front porch with Candy and Sapphire on his arm, the trio were greeted by two skeletons sitting in rocking chairs. “You girls are gonna love this.” Leon said excitedly as he opened the door to the now empty attraction.

The first room they entered was not made up like a home but instead looked like a mental asylum. Mannequins of sinister looking Doctors and sexy nurses were set up around the room to appear as they were treating deranged patients in hospital gowns. The girls looked up at a TV hanging on the wall and saw a familiar face.

“Wow, I love Jerry Springer!” Candy said as she looked up at the screen playing America’s favorite tabloid talk show.

“Yeah,” Leon said, hugging her tight with his left arm, “look who else is up there.” Both girls looked at the screen, but it didn’t register yet. Then, they heard a familiar voice.

“No one believed her but me.” The voice from the TV said.

“Hey, that’s you!” Candy observed, her squeaky voice revealed genuine surprise.

“Yeah, no shit.” Sapphire said, taking out a pack of cigarettes from her purse as they both watched their “date” on the set of the Jerry Springer show.

“That’s right toots.” Leon said. “I worked over at Mendota Health Institute in back in the 70’s. One of our patients ran into Gein back in the day. Poor girl, no one believed her.” Leon’s voice showed no remorse as it told this story. In fact, he looked giddy as he passed the fake operating table where one of the dummy’s was getting vivisected. “Then, one day,” Leon gleefully continued, “it was just too much.” Creeping over to a door with a sign that read ‘Lobotomy Wing’ he went on. “The Doctors, those damned Doctors, they dragged her kicking and screaming to this door. I can still hear her shrieking, even now.” Leon then cradled his face with his hands. “No, please.” His voice now sounded lighter as he began his performance. Using his best acting skills, he mimicked his patient. “Please don’t take me there! Please no!”

“What did they do?” Candy asked.

A wicked smile emerged from Leon’s face as he thrust the door open and proclaimed, “They gave her a lobotomy!”

Leon’s mood went from glee to confusion as neither girl expressed any fright. In fact, Candy giggled and Sapphire took another drag of her cigarette, her boot tapped the floor not only to stomp out her ashes but to express her boredom. Leon’s head swung back; his eyes scanned the small room behind the door. The lobotomy chair sat empty, his plan of having Zeke, one of the house workers leap out at the girls had gone unfulfilled.

“Well, that was awkward.” Leon mumbled. His voice then perked back up as he said, “Let’s go to the kitchen!”

In the next room Sapphire felt Candy’s hand squeezing her tight. Even Sapphire was visually disturbed as a mock dinner scene sat before them. A ghoulish looking family feasted upon human arms and legs. A mannequin of a human head, eyes bulged in fright, it’s mouth agape as if trying to scream served as the table’s center piece. Surrounding this devilish dining scene were scantily clad female mannequins hung on meat hooks from the kitchen ceiling. “Don’t worry,” Leon said dismissively. “They’re just dummies!” Leon laughed while squeezing one of the fake plastic breasts; its body covered in fake blood lightly swung from its chain near the fake oven. With his other hand Leon then threw the oven door open, the sound of metal clanging startled Candy, who squeezed Sapphire’s hand even tighter. Leon was no longer expecting Jane to jump out as planned, and of course the mock oven was empty. However, Leon himself now appeared disturbed as he spied the door to the back entrance. “Oh, look what they did to the door!” he complained as he examined the broken doorknob while the wooden door swayed. “Can’t find good help these days. Here toots” he ordered Candy, “slide that chair over to me.” Candy grimaced as her small hands gripped the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen table were a mannequin of a maniac sat. “Don’t worry doll face that’s just a dummy it’s not gonna hurt you.” Candy still nervously pushed the chair over to him. It’s metal legs squealed on the tiled kitchen floor. Leon then carelessly pushed the mannequin off the chair and propped the seat against the back door keeping it shut.

“Won’t that make a fire hazard.” Sapphire asked.

“What are you the fucking Fire Marshall now?” Leon said sarcastically. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

The private show continued through a few more rooms on the second floor. The girls were treated to other figures set up wielding chainsaws, sledgehammers, and other scenes of brutality reflecting popular horror films.

One particular room seemed eerily normal. It was a clean nicely decorated bedroom with antique furnishing. Old curtains covered the windows and oil paintings decorating the walls, including one of Jesus Christ looking up at an angel. A lone figure sat in a rocking chair facing the window. Frills of the figure’s summer dress rippled as the motorized rocking chair creaked back and forth. Leon gestured his hand towards the gray wig which clung tightly to the fake skull attached to the full skeleton which sat in the rocker. “This was Ed Gein’s mother!” Leon announced as the music from the film Psycho played. Back in showmen ship mode he explained. “It was she that taught him the secrets of the dead, how to cook and devour human flesh!” Sapphire’s eyes rolled but Candy grimaced as she saw large plate resting on the lap of Ed’s “Mother” with a fake bloody dismembered arm resting atop.

Leon was still giddy like a pre-pubescent boy guiding these women through these monstrous displays. Approaching the doorway on the other side of the room, the girls followed behind as he announced, “And now for the grand finale, the Boudoir of Edward Gein!”

Even Sapphire cringed at the site of female heads posted on the bedroom wall. “Ew, gross.” Candy said upon entering. Speakers mounted on the walls projected sound effects of screams and running chainsaws. The far end of the room was not decorated save a simple curtain, but at the center of the room was the bed. Plastic skulls mounted the bedposts, and on the mattress laying face up was a female mannequin. Red makeup effects splattered the body giving the appearance of blood covering her legs to her neck, but not her head, as there was no head. Leering over the headless female was the Ghoul of Plainfield himself. The male mannequin stood upright, its trousers were pulled down it its ankles and was positioned at the edge of the bed giving the appearance of intercourse. Naked from the waist up save a red hunters cap that rested on its head, there he was in all his depraved glory, Ed Gein, the Ghoul of Plainfield.  

“Oh, that’s just nasty!” Sapphire shouted.

“I’m not paying you for your opinion. Speaking of which.” Leon pulled back the curtain which exposed not a window but a door.

“What’s behind there?” Candy asked. Leon opened the door which led to a small hallway. At the end of the corridor a half open door exposed a bathroom. “This is my office.” Leon said, leading the girls past a closed door. He checked to make sure it was locked, then took his keys out to unlock a second door.

“What’s back here, ghosts or something?” Candy asked.

“No sugar-tits.” Leon answered. “This is where we’re gonna party!”

“About time.” Sapphire said as they went in the private room. A large couch sat in front of a big screen TV. In between was a table with weed and cocaine along with bottles of whisky ready to be consumed. A small sink sat in the corner next to a mini fridge with a clear window on the door through which they could see cans of beer. Candy entered more cautiously. She looked around the room expecting more macabre sights to be found, not realizing the show was over.

“You okay sweetheart?” Leon asked as he observed Candy’s apprehension.

“Uh, yeah. Was that a bathroom down there?”

“Sure was hon.” Leon answered. “Feel free to go freshen up.”

As Candy exited, closing the door behind her Leon took a seat on the couch.

“So, you own all this?” Sapphire asked, sitting closely next to him on the couch.

“Sure do.” Leon said as he poured two glasses of whisky. “Got some money off my TV appearances and book deal and invested into this.”

“So, you’re a self-made man huh?” Sapphire said, picking up her glass.

“You got it baby.” Their glasses clinked together in a toast while Leon’s other arm wrapped around her waist. After a quick drink she scooted over and sat on his lap, wrapping her own arms around his neck. His eyes gazed at her bulging breasts almost busting out of her top. His gaze then floated to her thick red moist lips before finally resting in her dark eyes. Her head leaned in, and he squeezed her tight as he felt her tongue gliding on his neck. He closed his eyes an inhaled as he felt her body pressed against his.  Exhaling, he opened his eyes and was immediately taken out of the moment. There in his line of sight was the door to his private room, which reminded him of something he should check on.

“Hey, um,” Leon could still feel the heat from Sapphire’s breath on him neck as he pulled away and said, “why don’t you check on Candy?”

“OK baby.” She said as she stood up and grabbed her purse. “I should freshen up a minute anyway.” Before she went out the door to the small corridor outside, she turned back to say. “Don’t go anywhere.”

After taking another drink of whiskey, Leon approached the closed door ahead of him and said “Zeke, Jane?” His two co-workers were supposed to scare his “dates” as a practical joke. “You better not be boning in there!” He shouted as his hand gripped the doorknob to his private quarters. Behind this door was a small bedroom he made in the attraction for nights like these when he had company. “I’m gonna fire these fuckers” he thought to himself as he found the door to be unlocked. Presuming he was about to find the young couple in his bed; he thought if he were lucky, he would catch a good glimpse of Jane’s goods.

“Candy, you OK girl?” Sapphire said as she walked down the hallway. She didn’t find her in the bathroom. “Bitch better not have run off,” she thought to herself, wouldn’t surprise her though. Sapphire seen a lot of girls come and go in this line of work. Glancing in the cracked bathroom mirror, she reached into her purse and touched up her lipstick. Then applying a spritz of perfume around her neck she thought how this guy wasn’t hardly the weirdest client she ever had. All that mattered was that she got paid.

After touching up her makeup she was about to turn off the bathroom light and walk out when she heard it. It was a wet sliding sound, the sound of skin slipping on wet ceramic. Looking at the closed shower curtain hanging on the edge of the bathtub, it was then that she noticed the smell. It was a distinctly sweet but sickly scent, like that of rotting meat. “Candy, you in there?” she said as the moist sound came to a stop. The curtain remained still as she reached her hand toward it.

Pulling back the curtain, she found something more horrifying than any of the designed frights of this local attraction. There sat Candy in the bathtub, her throat had been cut, and cut for real. Next to her sat another body, a young girl in a Gein Ghoul house shirt. Sapphire instantly knew this was no mannequin as actual blood poured from the open wound of her face. It was also not a mannequin that stood before her in the shower, yet it did appear unreal. Its female face hung from its skull, its body draped in a long dress, and a masculine hand raised up a meat cleaver, burying it in Sapphire’s face.

Leon entered his private bedroom to find a fully clothed Zeke laying face down on the bed. “Sleeping on the job asshole!” he shouted. He was more disappointed that Jane’s naked body wasn’t lying underneath his lazy employee. “You’re fired!” Leon approached his now ex-employee who remained motionless on the bed. It was then he saw the the stains on the sheets. “What, are you trying to Punk me?” Leon asked, assuming a camera was on him somewhere and Jane was about to pop up and scare him. “Come on, show’s over.” He said shaking Zeke and turning his body over. It took his mind a moment to register what his eyes were seeing, as for a split second he presumed Zeke’s cut-throat was a merely a makeup effect and part of some elaborate prank. As Zeke’s eyes rolled to the back of his head Leon knew this was no prank, Zeke was dead.

Leon gave no thought to the girls or Jane as he ran out his private suite, dashed into the small corridor and into the mock-up of Ed’s room. He screamed and collapsed to the floor at the site of a figure standing near the opposite doorway. A young woman’s face sat atop a figure wearing a long dress. One of its hands gripped a blood-stained meat cleaver. “Dammit, it’s just one of those mannequins.” he said aloud to himself as the figure remained perfectly still. Getting back to his feet, he approached the motionless figure. This wasn’t a mannequin he recognized. Face looked cute, kind of resembled that dead girl they found in the local cemetery, wearing too many clothes though. Drawing closer, he gasped as he looked in its eyes and saw his own reflection. It was too late for him to realize who he was looking at as the real meat cleaver swung into his gut sending true blood pouring to the wooden floor below. Collapsing to the ground again, Leon looked up to see the figure standing over him, its mouth began to move.

“You know,” a male voice spoke through dead female lips, “everyone thought I should work here.” The living eyes looked around at the gaudy horror decor, “But actually, this offends me.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Leon cried out while grasping his gut.

Looking down at his latest victim Franklin said “You worked at Mendota Mental Health Institute for a few months in the 1970s before they let you go. What did you do, fool around with the patients?” His assailant then stated. “If you even knew Sally Kohler, it wasn’t for very long.”

Then, looking over at the bed, the hand gripping the meat cleaver began to shake. Franklin let out a sigh of disgust as he viewed the mannequin representing Ed Gein mimicking intercourse with a fake corpse. The mouth of Gein was posed to appear as it was biting a near exposed breast.

“Ed never ate his victims, he never had sex with them either. The bodies smelled bad.” Franklin said in a cold monotone voice.

“How the hell would you know?” Leon protested as his blood spilled onto the floor.

In a calm, manner of fact way, Franklin looked down and answered. “He told me.”

“Ahh, look man,” Leon looked at his wound he pleaded. “You know your stuff, how about you be part of the act? You’d be great.” Pressing his wound, his hand was stained red as he pleaded “I.. I can even get you a movie deal. Would you like to be in a movie?”

“Oh, there will be a movie.” Franklin replied as he removed the skin mask exposing his true face. “Ed and I will see to that,” looking around at the décor one last time he added, “but it’s going to be done right, not this farce.”

Franklin was now the only living person in the psycho house as he’d swung the meat cleaver down, burying its blade in Leon’s skull.

No Gein III: The Final Cut. Chapter One

This is the final in a series of stories about what if murderer Ed Gein hadn’t gotten caught. To read the first of these stories, click here.

Chapter One: A Tough Old Broad

May 2cnd, 2004. Senior Center, Plainfield Wisconsin.

Bernice liked Franklin. Her great grandkids didn’t seem to care for him much, but she never minded having him around. Kind of reminded her of, of…

Who was that again? It didn’t matter. Franklin was a fine young man who always took care of her. She hated how her, and her husband Ronald had to live in this home now, but it was getting harder and harder for them to take care of themselves, and they weren’t getting any younger. As a matter of fact, she’d be turning 105 next week. She couldn’t believe she’d lived through three centuries. Of course, she was just a year old at the turn of the 20^th so maybe that didn’t count.

Bernice turned her head to see Franklin making his rounds checking on her husband Ronald. So nice of this place to let her share a room with Ronnie, who was just laying there peacefully, his head resting on the side of his pillow. A little drool dripped out of his mouth which Franklin kindly wiped away after pulling out a syringe he’d used on Ronald’s IV. She figured it must be vitamins or something that Franklin was giving him, must have been something good for him.

Franklin then came over to her bedside. He wasn’t smiling this time. He didn’t ask how she was feeling. Instead, he asked something else. He looked so serious as he asked, “Now, can you tell me anything about Ed?”

“Who was Ed?” She thought to herself. Franklin was such a peculiar lad. He seemed like a good worker, she bet this place got twice his salary’s work out of him. He was a nice fellow, just a little odd.

“He asked you to go roller skating.” Franklin recalled. “Ronald told me about it when I was a kid.” Bernice remembered when Franklin was just a boy, she took her great grandkids and their friends, including Franklin, to the movies and roller skating in Hancock. It was Tommy’s birthday, or was it Lindsey’s? God, she couldn’t remember now. Even then Franklin seemed a little strange, she could see even back then how other kids didn’t like him.

“You know, Ed.” Bernice heard Franklin say as she simply stared at him blankly. “Eddie Gein.”

Oh, good heavens, she hadn’t thought of that man in years. Ed was a simple man who lived out on the edge of town, always willing to help with handywork around people’s homes. If you paid him a dollar, you got a dollar and a half of work out of him. Kids liked it when he babysat them, he’d take them to ball games and to the movies. She remembered one day working at the hardware store and he came in to talk to her. As she thought about it, that might have been the last time she ever saw him.

“You said after he died there were stories his property was haunted.” Franklin stated. He was so serious. His hands fluttered and his eyes darted about when he talked, he kind of reminded her of old Eddie Gein. “What kind of stories were there?” he asked intensely. “Did you ever see his ghost?”

Just for a flash of a moment she remembered a story her and Ronnie saw on the news. They’d dug up a bunch of old graves on the edge of town, out by where old Eddie and his parents used to live. “Why are you asking me about that horrible stuff?” Bernice responded. Then, trying to deflect the conversation she changed the subject. “How are your parents?”

“They’re sleeping.” Franklin said in a deadpan voice. But they weren’t sleeping, they were right there. Franklin’s mom was standing at the edge of Bernice’s bed. My god, it looks like she has a horrible cut on her neck! She better see a doctor. Franklin’s dad is standing there too, and he doesn’t look too good either. Neither of them seemed concerned about their injuries, as a matter of fact, it looked like they’re worried about her. Why should they be afraid for her? She’s here safe in her own bed sharing the room with Ronnie while this nice boy Franklin takes care of her.

He didn’t look so nice now as his hands gripped the bed and he brought his face really close to hers. “Now listen bitch!” Such horrible language, his mom needs to wash his mouth out with soap; but Bernice couldn’t see Franklin’s mom anymore, she couldn’t see his dad either. All she saw was Franklin glaring at her with a hate she’d never seen before. “You knew Ed, and you’re gonna tell me about him. I warned you yesterday, if you didn’t tell me, then your husband was going to go,” but he didn’t go, Ronald was standing right there. God, he looks so handsome, and so young! Bernice was always grateful to land such a great man, but Ronnie looked scared now. He was mouthing words like he was trying to tell her something, but she couldn’t hear a sound. She could only see him motioning with his hands to the room’s panic button like he wanted her to press it. Why would he want her to hit the panic button? Why didn’t he push it himself if he wanted it pressed so bad? Besides, there was nothing to panic about. She was fine right here with this nice boy Franklin.

“Last chance Bernice.” Franklin still looked so serious. “They say he killed Mary Hogan; did you know her?” Franklin asked as he backed away and pulled out another syringe. Bernice kept looking at him blankly, saying nothing as she looked at the needle. She still said nothing as he injected the fluid from the syringe into her IV. She supposed he was giving her some vitamins, such a nice boy. She hoped her husband got those good vitamins too. Franklin then pulled out the syringe and walked away. He didn’t even say goodbye. Franklin had been such a helpful lad, but he really needed to work on his manners if he ever hoped to land a girl.

Bernice couldn’t tell how much time had passed. She remembered laying in her room watching TV when that nursing room smell faded away. Franklin must have cleaned the place good, but there wasn’t that clean smell either, it smelled like, like nothing. Then suddenly, the TV, and everything else just kind of switched off and went black, like someone turned the lights out on the whole world. At least she couldn’t feel the aches in her bones anymore. That awful after taste from her pills was gone too. Strange thing was she could still hear the TV, like it was still on somewhere far away, but soon that sound faded away as well, as though someone turned the volume all the way down.  

The next thing she heard was music, “Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream.” It was that old song she liked by the Chordettes. Her mouth had a salty taste in it, and she needed a drink. Soon she caught the aroma of good beer.

As if waking up from a deep sleep, Bernice found herself sitting at a bar. It hadn’t struck her yet how strange this was. It didn’t feel weird that she recognized this place as the Crossroads Tavern in Pine Grove, nor was she surprised to see its owner, old “Bloody Mary” tending bar. “Here you go hon!” Mary said while sliding a mug of beer down towards her customer. Bernice quickly grabbed the sliding mug off the bar and took a full swig of beer. It felt smooth going down and tasted heavenly. In fact, it was better than any beer she ever had in her life. Slamming the mug down, she felt great, like she’d just stepped into a brand-new body, but her memory was still a little fuzzy. She couldn’t recall when the last time she even saw Mary Hogan. God, it had to have been even before she met Ronnie.

“Mary!” Bernice exclaimed. “Whatever happened to you?” she said as she was passed a second mug of beer. Blurting her thoughts out loud, Bernice said, “I remember you went and vanished one day. We always heard you were mixed up with the mob and they came for you or something like that.”

Mary was a tough old broad. She took down a big gulp of her own beer before laughing and saying, “You know, in my day I fought gangsters and cops and all kinds of maniacs, and then I go and get whacked by the village idiot. Can you believe that shit?”

Bernice couldn’t help but laugh, but she also wondered aloud. “The village idiot?”

“Yeah, remember old Eddie Gein?” Mary said after she gulped down a beer of her own.

Bernice gasped, “No…” it was inconceivable to her, but Mary nodded her head in earnest.

“Honest to God, he walked in here one night and shot me right in the head. Never saw it coming.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Bernice reached out and squeezed Mary’s hand tight. Before releasing her grip, she said “We, we had no idea.”

“Meh, life throws you all kinds of curve-balls.” Mary said as she poured herself another drink.

“Cheers to that.” Bernice said as the two women toasted each other. Mary then observed, “You know, I was always envious of you.”

“Good heavens, why on Earth would you be envious of me?” For years Bernice owned the local hardware store before selling it off and enjoyed an extended retirement with her husband Ronald. She led a long and happy, but rather uneventful life. She certainly was never a colorful character like Mary.

Now puffing a big cigar that seemed to just come out of nowhere, Mary answered, “In Uptown sometimes we get to watch other places, kind of like different channels on a TV. Remember that time old Eddie Gein came in your store and was asking about guns?” Bernice nodded as her now crystal-clear mind instantly recalled that particular day. “There’s another spot,” Mary explained, “where he comes for you about three weeks later.”

“Really?” Bernice gasped. “So, how come that never happened to me?”

“Some young girl,” Mary explained, “who only exists in our place, had a run in with him. Gein ended up getting killed, but that poor girl suffered for the rest of her life for what she saw that night. We all had a real ghoul living right near us and no one ever knew.”

Bernice shook at the realization. Taking a slow sip of her drink, she said one simple thing. “That’s so scary.”

“You think that’s bad; you should see the one where Hitler wins the war.” Mary’s voice was always loud and boisterous, but this revelation came at almost a whisper. “That one’s God damn awful.”

Bernice never imagined Mary being scared of anything, and she herself shuddered at the horrible thought.

 “It’s total bullshit how you went out.” Mary went on. “Wouldn’t even let you see a hundred and five.” she said laughing. “When this world’s author gets here, we both should give him a good kick in the balls. If that fucker wanted a world without Gein I could have shot the bastard myself instead of putting some poor girl through all that misery.” Bernice now looked confused as Mary seemed to be rambling. “Anyway, sorry.” Mary said, holding her hand up. “Point is, you still got to live a long life. You got to see your kids and grandkids. Hell, you even got to see your great grandkids you lucky bitch!” Ed’s victim and would be victim laughed and toasted each other again.

“Did you have kids?” Bernice asked.

“It was kind of a secret, but I had a daughter. Got grandkids too and even a great grandson. I see them, from afar you know. That’s the rules, but you know, we’ll all meet in Uptown someday.”

It was then that a new song came on the jukebox. It was another tune that Bernice recognized.

Better luck next time
That could never be
Because there ain’t gonna be no next time
For me
No, siree

She always liked Tony Perkins song; and of course, she always thought he was so handsome. He never got too famous, but he was also a great actor. She recalled her and Ronnie watching him in the movies like Friendly Persuasion and Fear Strikes Out. This made her think to ask as she looked around the empty bar. “Where is Ronnie?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’d consider this good news or bad news, but he’s in Uptown already.”

“Oh, okay.” Bernice said quietly. She sipped on her beer, trying to take it all in.

“Anyway,” Mary pointed upwards with her finger saying “The Boss thought it would be a good idea for us to have a chat first. Now, let’s get out of here.” Bernice just then noticed the doorway to the side. It was filled with a white light, a light so bright she couldn’t see anything passed the door frame. As Bernice got off the stool and stood next to Mary, Tony’s song finished on the jukebox.

I’d like a new lucky day
That would be nice
But this comes just once in a lifetime
And it doesn’t come twice

Bernice took a hesitant step toward the glowing doorway. Mary put her hand on her friend’s shoulder and assured her. “It’s a little scary at first,” Mary said, “but don’t worry. You’re a tough old broad. You’ll be fine.”

No Gein: Leftovers. Halloween H2K Chapter Five

December 27^th: 1999 Milwaukee Wisconsin

Franklin and his family went to the big city for a religious retreat; where they’d be spending New Year’s Eve singing hymns and waiting for the apocalypse, anxiously awaiting the apocalypse in Franklin’s case. Thinking back on the events of this past year, he remembered those kids in Colorado. They were doing us all a favor, taking us one more step into the fiery abyss, burning the whole world down and taking out as many worthless souls as they could. Way in the back recesses of Franklin’s mind, he wasn’t entirely sure if the world really would end in a few days. Just in case, he had one thing he wanted to do.

Sixty-Seven Wild Rose Lane, Franklin remembered where that guy from the message boards lived. He sent an email saying he’d be coming by, and the car was parked outside so Franklin knew he was home. After knocking on the door a couple times, Franklin paced back in forth in the cold. Soon, Patrick opened the door. “Hey, what’s up?” he said.

Franklin said only one thing. “Can I see it?”

“Good to see you too, dude.” Patrick laughed. “Come on in.” Entering the house, Patrick asked “How was your Christmas? Did you get lots of cool stuff?”

“Yeah, a few things.” Franklin didn’t want to reveal that his family only exchanged a few gifts this year, as his mother earnestly believed there wouldn’t be much time to enjoy Christmas presents.

Then he saw Patrick look up towards his staircase as annoyed as a female voice spoke from above. “Who is it?”

Patrick lowered his voice to say, “Just handled my business with this girl. Wait here, I’ll go get rid of her.” Patrick watched his friend ascend back up the steps. Soon he heard faint whispers from upstairs, including that incessant whining of a teenage girl which he heard all the time in school. “I guess girls in the big city bitch too,” Franklin thought to himself while looking around the living room. Hanging from the walls there were a few framed pictures of Patrick and his mother. It was a shame, his mother seemed nice. Franklin wished he would have had cool parents, but with any luck, after a few days it wouldn’t matter anymore.

Once again Franklin heard a pair of footsteps, this time they were descending. Franklin forgot about that annoying female voice when his eyes rested on her toned legs moving downward. Each step revealed more, as he soon saw her blue skirt with gold trim, and the rest of her body followed.

Patrick followed behind, or at least Franklin assumed she did. He still wasn’t looking at her face when Patrick said whatever it was her name was. “What’s up?” he heard her voice say. Franklin simply nodded and smiled; her voice no longer annoyed him.

Patrick then said, “Well, Franklin and I are gonna chill. I’ll call you later alright?”

“Awesome.” Her now cute voice replied. Her moist wet lips kissed his cheek before she gave Franklin a coy smile and walked away. Both Patrick and Franklin were now watching her legs as they walked toward the door and her body exited the house.

Franklin almost forgot why he came here as the door closed with a thud. The next sound he heard was the voice of his friend saying, “smell that,” as he put two fingers up to Franklin’s nostrils. Franklin’s head jerked back at the wet musty smell that was completely alien to him.

Patrick laughed at his reaction. “Come on man, don’t tell me your not getting any poon tang back home. You got a girl right?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure I am.” Franklin said.

Nodding his head Patrick said, “Alright, it’s cool. Let’s go upstairs.”

The two walked up the steps and into Patrick’s bedroom. It looked the same as the last time Franklin was here. His sports posters still adorned the wall and his trophy case remained intact. This hardly looked like the room of someone who’d won the Halloween H2K contest. He watched Patrick going into his closet, from which he pulled out a cardboard box. “This is it man.” Patrick said, placing the box on his bed.

Franklin was shocked. “You put it in the closet?”

“Can’t get head from the head cheerleader with this laying around my room.” he laughed while removing the lid. Franklin had no understanding of what he meant, but he approached this holy grail of horror while Patrick removed the contents.

First, Patrick pulled out a werewolf mask. “Halloween Six, Curse of the Werewolf.” Franklin said in reverence. Next, Patrick pulled out a prop ceremonial dagger, fake blood decorated its plastic blade. “Part Five, the Revenge of Samhain.”

Looking on as though witnessing an ancient archaeological dig, he heard Patrick say, “And the crown jewel.” He slowly raised the mask of the Shape, the mask of Michael Meyers, and presented it to his friend. The dead black hollow eyes of the mask stared at Franklin, who stared back in reverence.

“Can I,” Franklin nearly stammered, “can I put it on.”

“Sure, knock yourself out.” He tossed the mask to Franklin. It made a flopping sound as it landed in his hands. “I owe you one anyway.” Franklin looked down at the mask, tilting his head slightly to the left. This statement was confusing to him. When Franklin thought about all the people that owed him, Patrick was not on that list. “You helped me win that you know?” Patrick said while taking seat at his desk and booting up his computer. “I got stuck on that last code, but then I remembered what you showed me about Easter Eggs on DVDs. That’s how I found the last one.” Franklin wanted to scream, instead he pulled the mask over his face, its rubbery material covered his mouth. He could hear his own breathing as well as the sound of a lighter as Patrick lit up a cigarette. “Want one?” he asked, holding a pack in his direction.  Franklin said nothing, but the smoke from the just lit cigarette already made Franklin cough, ruining the aura of donning the mask. Stepping out of the room he heard Patrick say, “Bathroom is the last door on the left.”

Walking into the bathroom, he looked in the mirror to admire the sight of himself in the mask. The room was silent save the sound of his breathing. He could distantly hear the clacking of the keyboard. While he felt amazing with the mask on, he still felt like Franklin. Looking at the reflection of his skinny body donned in blue jeans and a red sweater, he didn’t feel like the Shape. He intended to relieve himself here, but he stopped cold in his tracks when he saw it. The used condom floating in the toilet was a reminder of what had just occurred in that bedroom. It wasn’t like he didn’t know; the scent of Patrick’s two fingers clued him in, but there floating before him was a mocking reminder of what he never had, what he never would have. Slowly turning away, he again caught his reflection in the mirror. Those dead black eyes stared back at him; his breathing echoed powerfully through the rubber surrounding his face. Now it had finally come, that secret signal had been sent to his brain, and the body standing before him was no longer Franklin, it was merely a shape.

Patrick laughed as the form of his friend stood in the doorway. “You make a good Michael Meyers.” he said sarcastically. The brain underneath that rubber mask screamed, “It’s not Michael Meyers it’s the Shape!” However, no sound emerged from the body’s mouth as it took a slow step forward. Looking back at the computer screen, it appeared Patrick was in some local chat room. “Hey, my friend Shaun is having a party tonight. Let’s check it out. They’re gonna have some wicked egg nogg.”

The body behind Patrick remained silent as the computer shut off. Patrick then stood up and faced his friend saying, “Come on, you’re not going to the party looking like that. We’ll get you some girls and you’ll forget all about this shit.”

The body before him remained motionless, making no sound except his breathing.

“Oh, so you’re Michael Meyers now. Come on let me get it back.” Patrick reached up for the mask but the body before him pushed his hands away. “What the fuck man!” Patrick pushed shoved the person before him, then got pushed back while reaching for this mask with his own hands. Patrick’s hands gripped the rubber mask; but a second pair of hands hung onto it like a petulant child. “You’re gonna rip the mask you asshole!” Patrick swung a body shot which made the shape before him recoil and release his hands. Patrick then ripped the mask off the child’s face. Franklin took a deep breath as beads of sweat fell from his cheeks to the floor.

Patrick then tossed the mask on his bed before saying, “Get the fuck out of my house!”

With all his strength and rage Franklin punched Patrick in the groin, bringing him to his knees. Still feeling the pain in his gut, Franklin knew the truth, he was no Shape. He could never take this guy in a fight. He knew there was only one chance as he reached for the thick power cord below Patrick’s desk. While Patrick’s hands still covered his groin, Franklin wrapped the cord around the teenager’s exposed neck. Patrick desperately tried to pull off, he was the stronger of the two, but Franklin wrapped the cord tightly around the boy’s throat. The victim desperately thrashed around the floor, but Franklin couldn’t let him get away. He couldn’t stand knowing someone else had gotten what was rightfully his. Not only did this boy win the prize, but he had friends, girls…sex.

His victim now had his stomach on the floor. Franklin thrust his hips forward pulling upward on the cord with all his strength. Patrick made one final thrash of his arms before the life left his body.

Rising back to his feet, Patrick looked at the Meyers mask as well as the other prizes that were now his by right of conquest. Grabbing a backpack from the closet, Franklin loaded the items into the bag, and quickly exited the house.

Running back to the Church where his family was staying, the night air chilled his lungs. If the world really was going to end in a few days, then at least he could spend his last days with the only things he loved.

Epilogue: August 25^th: 2003

Driving in his car, Franklin long forgot about how the world was supposed to end a few years back. He still felt like most of this planet wasn’t worth a damn, but that was only when he took time to think about it. A few years back, he was actually planning to follow in the footsteps of those kids in Colorado, but someone called him about a job. Before he graduated, someone recommended him to the local nursing home. Bernice and her husband lived there now, and he always got along with them. Now that he was out of school, he was working at their full time, and he kind of liked it. He was still living at home, but his dad stopped drinking, and his mom wasn’t on his case as much now that he was bringing in some income.

Also, in an amazing turn of events, things were actually a little exciting around town. A few weeks ago some remains turned up just a few miles away from where he lived. Looked like someone was trying to wipe out this boring place long before he’d thought of it. “Too bad he didn’t get them all,” he thought to himself. Driving back to work from his lunch break, the radio had the latest news. The local sheriff called a press conference, and a huge bombshell was dropped. The property on which the bodies were found was once the residence of a solitary figure by the name of Edward Gein. Apparently, around 50 years ago, Ed had murdered a local bartender, but that was not the least of his crimes. According to the sheriff, one night, almost half a century ago, the local authorities had discovered, and covered up, the fact that Ed Gein had robbed almost ten graves in the area, before dying and before his property burned to the ground.

Hearing this amazing news, Franklin felt a tingling sensation in his hands while they gripped the steering wheel. He had to pull over to the side of the road as he began hyperventilating. Hearing this news, he could never have imagined, never in his wildest dreams, that something this awesomely gruesome could occur in his own backyard. He knew right then and there this was about to become his new obsession.

Something else occurred to him. Edward Gein, he’d heard that name before, but where? Who would have possibly known him that would ever bring his name up. Looking down at his name badge for the nursing home, he thought perhaps Bernice would know something about this.

Finally catching his breath, he looked at the tree close to him on the side of the road. The branches looked oddly shaped, bending in a way he didn’t think branches could bend. A buzzard sat perched on a thick branch and glared at him with dead black eyes. There below the leaves, a man stood. Frankling hadn’t noticed him before, but he wore a red hunters cap, had a weird lopsided grin, and a saggy baggy eye.

The End

Stay tuned for Franklin’s awful exploits in the final entry of the No Gein saga,

No Gein III: The Final Cut!

No Gein: Leftovers. Clarice, The First Taste Part Four

The Final Friday of August, 1993

“You can’t wear that on a date!” Emily complained regarding her granddaughter’s black t-shirt. It’s white skull like image on the front underneath a Misfits logo didn’t seem very lady like.

“We’re just going to the movies grandma.”

“Times of changed!” Whitman laughed while standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

“Tell her grandpa!”Clarice looked in the mirror putting the finishing touches on her makeup. Black lipstick was applied while Danzig’s melodic “Sistinas” played on her CD player.

Resigning to her granddaughters outfit, Emily looked her over. Finally giving her approval, her eyes welled up as she said “Out little girl’s first date. I wish your father were here to see this.”

Clarice’s own eyes grew moist as she replied “I wish my mother were here.”

This sweet moment was interrupted by the sound of a horn blaring. “Oh, that’s him!” Clarice said, quickly wiping her tears. “Shit, my mascara.” she looked in the mirror saw her makeup was slightly running.

“Here dear, I’ll touch it up for you.” her grandmother said approaching the mirror.

“No time!” Clarice said in frustration as she used a tissue to simply remove the makeup she’d just applied. The horn beeped again as she rushed out her bedroom door. “Sorry, I gotta go.”

Her grandparents followed her out of her bedroom to the living room, where out the window they could see the mustang in the driveway waiting to pick her up. “OK honey, have a good time and be safe.”

“OK I will, love you guys.” Clarice said as she rushed out the door.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Emily said as the figure of Clarice grew smaller as the distance between them grew.

Remembering his first date with Emily, Whitman playfully smacked her bum and said “Honey, there’s not a damn thing you wouldn’t do.” His wife giggled in response.

Watching the car drive away Whitman said “That’s a nice car.” Then, something just occurred to him. “You know, he didn’t even come in and introduce himself!”

“Times have changed!”

Darryl looked good with his shoulder length red hair and his Metallica shirt which fit tight to his body. “Hey Darryl.” She said excitedly while her eyes looked him over.

“Hey.” he simply said. He was so cool with his cigarette hanging out of his mouth, it’s glowing red tip bounced slightly as he drove. He removed the cigarette and asked “want some?” She immediately took it in her slender fingers and wrapped her black colored lips around the tip. Her lungs quickly filled with smoke and she coughed heavily. Her face turned beat read from the smoke as well as the embarrassment. Even worse was the sound of Darryl laughing, but it wasn’t a mocking cackling kind of laugh. He made more of a chuckle while taking the cigarette back. He then patted her on the back and asked if she was OK. She shook her head yes as she felt the heat from Darryl’s hand through her cotton made shirt. This sensation more than made up for her embarrassment. “Don’t worry about it, it’s cool.” Everything seemed cool about Darryl, from his jeans to his car to the Iron Maiden cassette tape playing in his stereo.

Naturally they sat in the back of the movie theater. Her body was excited to feel the caress of his hands, but she slowed him down occasionally, not wanting to go too far. When the film’s logo came on the screen, she did allow him to kiss her. His mouth was hot and tasted like ashes, but she didn’t care, she loved the feeling of his tongue inside her while his whiskers brushed against her cheeks. As the movie progressed they fooled around a little, she occasionally giggled which drew the ire of film goers in front of her.

Later during the film, as she again felt Darryl’s hand on her leg, something caught her attention. It was an evil looking tome, apparently bound in human skin with a horrific facial design on the front cover. Clarice was sure she’d seen it before but she couldn’t remember where, but when one of the characters from the Cult of Vorhees held the book up Darryl identified it.

“Cool, the Necronomicon.”

Clarice wasn’t dating Darryl for his brains, but she was impressed by his knowledge of this mythical book. “Oh, you read H.P. Lovecraft?” she immediately whispered.

 “Who?”

“Lovecraft, the guy that wrote about the Necronomicon.” Clarice explained, referring the the pulp writer who was a bedrock of American horror.

“You mean he wrote Evil Dead?” Darryl asked, thinking she was referring to the Sam Raimi horror flicks in which the tome also appeared.

“No silly, like Call of Cthulu and stuff like that.” This boy might have been cute, but she was getting annoyed by his ignorance as well as some one shushing them a few rows up. From here on out the two of them were quieter. She happily held his hand on her lap, but now her full attention was on the movie. Darryl also turned his gaze to the naked breasts that occasionally graced the screen before the Jersey Devil, the killer of this decade plus long franchise, disposed of the horny teenagers.

The climax of the film had the full attention of both Darryl and his date as the Devil got stabbed with what both Clarice and Darryl recognized as the mythical Kandarian dagger from Evil Dead 2. Clarice cheered the Devil on as it fought off demonic hands that now reached up from the ground trying to pull it down to hell. Then, the whole theater erupted in applause as that familiar bladed glove burst from the dirt. Actor Kane Hodder made a surprise cameo, leaping up from the earth in the role of Freddy Kruger from the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise. The film ended with Kruger pulling the Devil down to the depths of hell.

Riding in Darryl’s car after the movie, Clarice was a chatter box. “Wow, I can’t believe they put the Necronomicon in that movie. Do you think that means the Devil is really a Deadite?” she asked, referring to the zombie like creatures of the Evil Dead franchise. Darryl said nothing as he parked the car.

Clarice looked around, realizing her date parked in a secluded spot, she looked at him with a devilish grin saying “Perfect place to get slaughtered.” He then planted his lips on hers, his tongue pushed its away into her mouth again, and in no time they hopped in the back seat.

She was so hot for him, but he was getting a little rough. His lips wandered her cheeks and his teeth grazed her neck when she said “Could you slow down a bit.” He continued kissing her roughly as he lay on top of her, and it was getting hard to breath. Her hands tried pushing against his shoulders trying to make some space between the two of them but he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the seat cushion.

Now it was getting even harder for her to breath. “Darryl.” she panted as he continued pressing against her body, her head moving down to her chest. “Darryl stop I can’t breath.”  He did not stop as she wiggled underneath him. Finally, in a panic, she kneed him in the groin. He cried out in pain and his body slightly rolled to her right. Her arms frantically reached for the door handle and, while still on her back, she managed to push the door open. Darryl leaned forward towards her and she kicked him in the chest, sending his body back to the opposite door. Tilting her head back she saw a man standing outside the car. It was Ed. Her brain didn’t have time to register why her childhood imaginary friend was here on her first date. She just knew he was standing there, his hands waved in a gesture suggesting “come on.” Her body wiggled out of the back seat of the car. She turned around as her skin hit the damp wet grass below. Brushing herself off as she rose to her feet, she saw Ed walking away, continuing his hand motions suggesting she follow her.

She took a few steps forward when she stopped at the sound of Darryl’s voice. “Fucking bitch.” he said, “You can walk home.” His laid against the back door rubbing his aching crotch when he said what would end up being his last words. “I should have stayed with Diane instead of a cocktease like you.”

Ed shook his head in sorrow as he witnessed the rage boiling in her face. He faded away into nothingness while Clarice turned around and dove back into the car. Lunging towards Darryl, just for a moment he looked excited, perhaps thinking he was about to get the fuck of his life. Her eyes were crazed as she wrapped her hands around his neck, the pain in his crotch was gone, replaced with the aching excitement of adolescent lust. That was the last moment of pleasure he would feel as her teeth sunk into his flesh. Darryl screamed in pain as blood splattered from his body just as it had in the movie they just watched. The car rocked back in forth for the next few minutes. Had there been any witnesses, they would have presumed that what was occurring within that vehicle was pure ecstasy. Ironically, they would have half presumed correctly, it was incredible ecstasy, for one of them.

Back at the homestead, Whitman and Emily sat on the porch in separate rocking chairs. Emily, her nose in a book, said aloud. “Clarice was right.”

“About what.” Walt asked. 

“This is better than that Bloch novel.” Emily answered, turning a page of American Psycho.

Walt was not reading a book like he did many nights with his wife. Instead, he sat on his porch and watched the stars. “I hope Clarice is having fun on her date.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. If anything happens, well, she’s feisty like her father was.”

Walt, like both of his sons, was often a man of many words, but this time he replied with a simple, “Yeah.”

Looking up at the stars, Walt figured Frost was up there somewhere watching down on her, on all the family. He missed his son, but he knew full well with the life they chose, some disaster was bound to happen sooner or later. Still, it had been almost twenty years now and he and his wife both still missed him so terribly much. He looked down to wipe his eyes when he noticed the two beams of light approaching; and approaching fast. “Who is that?” Emily asked. 

The engine roared louder as the car approached, it appeared to swerve slightly on the road, as if it were driven by someone behind the wheel for the first time. Feeling this looked like trouble, Walt head for his front door. “I’m gonna get my gun.”

“Wait.” Emily said as the mustang became more visible. As it pulled up to the house Walt heard his wife exclaim “It’s Clarice.” Now parked in the driveway they could both see their granddaughter at the wheel. She leaned over and opened the passenger door. Emily squealed in excitement as the dead teenager that was once Darryl plopped onto the macadam. Walter grinned from ear to ear as the engine shut off. Clarice emerged from the car and said one thing. “I brought home dinner!”

No Gein: A Second Helping Chapter Sixteen

No Gein: A Second Helping

Chapter Sixteen. Deviant

Hallow-con, New York City, October 2004

“I don’t know, do you!” Franklin hated newbies, and this one was ruining his Orpheus session. The new World of Darkness role playing supplement was right up Franklin’s alley, but the player next to him was wrecking the mood asking stupid questions like “Do you I have a flashlight?” 

Even worse was the game master was some dumb girl. “Cool it pal!” she said to him through her black lipstick laced lips before encouraging the newbie to be even more newbish. “If you want to have a flashlight I’ll let you have one, but next time write it down on your items list.”

“Have you ever even run a campaign before?” Franklin asked. Now he had the woman’s attention, along with everyone else at the table. 

“Really? You’re gonna question my cred!” Franklin didn’t understand why she got so upset over a simple question. “You’re playing a sleeper, you’re cryogenically frozen and your body ejected your soul,” Then, pointing to the young teenager Franklin previously berated, she continued, “He is a Hue, which is like a Spirit except while alive he took the drug pigment which kept his spirit from being fulfilled.” 

“Whatever.” Franklin thought to himself. He figured she probably got a cheat sheet from her man or whatever which was probably the only reason she got this gig as a gamemaster, or storyteller as they called it in World of Darkness. He figured this fake fan probably could see the unimpressed look on his face as she just kept running her bitch mouth.

“If that’s not enough, asshole, I can tell you the thirteen clans in Vampire the Masquerade, or the sixteen tribes that serve Gaia in Werewolf the Apocalypse, or I could just save us all the headache and tell you to get the fuck out of here right now!”

Franklin was flabbergasted. How dare she talk to him like that? He traveled a long way to get here and this is what he gets. “You can’t kick me out!” he protested.

“It’s my game and I have the discretion. If you have a problem with it check the convention guidebook. You’ve been a shitty player and I can tell you’re a shitty human and we don’t need that in our community!”

“Fuck you bitch I’m outta here.” Franklin tossed his dice toward the woman as he stormed away. 

“Kick his ass Vicki!” He heard one of the players taunting. Probably some white knight douchebag that was desperately hoping for a shot to nail her. He didn’t need that shit. Her and her jetblack hair and black eye makeup looking all goth and…He could have nailed her, if he wanted to, nail her right against the wall, but whatever.

Franklin was still steaming as he walked the convention floor. “I wonder what that goth bitch’s head would look like on a stick.” he thought to himself. While walking amongst the rest of the convention goers he thought he spotted a familiar face, a familiar face and that old hunting cap. Walking down the aisle Franklin lost him in the crowd. Franklin now found himself by a booth selling horror movie posters. As luck would have it, the vendor had the poster for last year’s Freddy vs the Devil movie. He snapped that up, along with the only Halloween poster he didn’t have, the second of the anthology series, Halloween IV, Return of the Wraith. The Halloween franchise just dropped some news which Franklin was excited about. 

He soon reasoned to himself that it was probably better off that he left the role playing session early as he scored a spot in line for the Freddy vs the Devil booth. Though early, there was still a big line ahead of him. He wished he could get a chainsaw and mow through all these fucking people that were his way so he could meet Kane Hodder for the first time. Kane reprised his iconic role as Freddy Krueger in last year’s smash hit horror flick Freddy vs the Devil, the long awaited crossover with the Friday the 13th series. Finally, once everyone got out of his fucking way he almost laughed out loud at what he saw. There was Robert fucking Englund of all people, his little body tried to fill the imposing Jersey Devil costume of the Friday the 13th series. For the life of him Franklin couldn’t figure out how Robert got this role. In some parallel universe inside Franklin’s own mind the part would have at least went to someone like Ken Kirzinger. Pointing his finger at him, Franklin mocked “Haha, Freddy kicked your ass!” The actor knew not to say shit back as he signed Franklin’s newly bought poster. Franklin even gave a thumbs down during their picture together. 

Finally, Franklin saw the man he travelled across the country to see. “Yeah, there’s the man right there!” Franklin shouted as he shook the hand of Kane Hodder, who was all decked out in his Freddy Kreuger outfit and makeup. Nodding to that little bitch of a Devil, Franklin said “You showed that pussy what’s up huh!” As Kane’s large hands reached towards him, Franklin knew what was coming next. Hodder was known for giving his fans a lovingly squeeze on the throat during photo ops. “Damn, he does squeeze tight,” he thought to himself as the convention staffer took the photo. 

Now he was really getting his money’s worth as the actor gave him a bit of a violent shake as the camera flashed. “Calm the fuck down.” He heard Hodder whisper as the polaroid emerged from the camera. Franklin quickly wiped his eyes as he took the photo and staggered away. Looking back at the signage hanging above the booth, he was thrilled to see that Freddy vs the Devil was not only getting a sequel, but it would add another horror icon into the mix. “Freddy vs the Devil vs Ash! That is so cool!” he thought to himself as he caught his breath while Kane gave a polite nod as another convention staffer led Franklin away from the booth. 

“You alright?” the convention staffer asked him. Wiping his eyes again, Franklin thought this bitch needed to mind her own business. Ash from the Evil Dead films was going to be in a movie crossover with the Friday the 13th and Nightmare on Elm Street Series, of course he was going to be alright!

Walking through the convention floor again, he heard someone say. “That shirt is sick.” A man dressed up as Marvel Comics’ Blade commented on Franklin’s Jeffrey Dahmer T-shirt. 

“I know it is.” Franklin replied, presuming that was a compliment. Franklin thought this fan’s Blade outfit was pretty cool too. Blade III was coming out this December, and Franklin wondered if comic book movies would ever cross over like the horror characters now were. One of the big bits of news from this convention was that, due to the success of Freddy vs The Devil, a crossover film would be made with the Hellraiser series. Franklin was so stoked for who Pinhead from Hellraiser would be fighting. For the first time in over 20 years, Michael Meyers from the first two Halloween movies would return to fthe silver screen to face off against Pinhead. If Marvel or DC could ever start making movies where their comic book superheroes cross with each other, that would do some big business.

Regardless, the early aughts were turning out to be a great time to be a horror fan, and one of the reasons was the man he was going to see next. George Kohler directed the Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake which was a smash success, and as a result every studio was going through their vaults to see what old scary titles they could dust off and repackage. Prom Night, Maniac Cop, Stepfather, My Bloody Valentine, When a Stranger Calls, The Hills Have Eyes, Last House on the Left, Black Christmas, Pumpkinhead, Silent Night Deadly Night, and countless more were greenlit for a remake.

He went into the ballroom where George Kohler would be speaking. Coming into the large room, he spotted that hunter’s cap again. Franklin walked over thinking he’d join him, but he soon became lost among the flood of fans, who all cheered when George took the stage.

Kohler wasn’t here to talk about Psycho II, his third feature film which as usual had controversy. Franklin remembered when he was a teenager seeing the first Psycho in the theaters. It was so awesome, with a twist that completely blew his mind. Psycho II did the same, where the end reveals Norman Bates was killed by a hitchhiker from the first act, and the identity of the movie’s main killer Franklin never would have guessed. Near the end of filming Psycho II Kohler had to leave the set due to a personal tragedy.

Today Kolhler wasn’t here to talk about movies, but his new book, Deviant. Franklin was super stoked about it. He boisterously cheered along with everyone else in the audience while George took the stage. George waved politely. “Thank you for coming. I really appreciate it. My father wasn’t a fan of this scene,” 

As soon as Franklin heard this he let out a loud “boo!” The best part was he could tell it registered on George’s face. Still, the director continued. 

“but he was really proud of me.”  All the sheep then cheered at this sentimental shit. Some old red headed hag in the front row was even crying. What the fuck was she crying for? It didn’t matter. George went on to explain the topic of his book, which was how some bizarre events intersected with the lives of several members of his family, including an incident with a murderer who went undiscovered for 50 years along with another unrelated incident with a family of psychopaths that were mixed up with the mob. “I know a lot of you want to go out to Plainfield and see this stuff for yourself, but there’s nothing there to see, and the townspeople don’t like the attention. There’s a lot of good people there, as well as the rest of the great state of Wisconsin. I should know, my family is from there.” George then elaborated how the authorities wanted to keep a lid on things at first, but, given everything that happened, including what happened to George’s father, George decided to, after talking it over with his sister and the authorities, publish this book and put it all out there in the open. 

After his talk he took a few questions from his fans. Some people asked him about Psycho II and why he made the decision to kill off Norman Bates. “I think Robert Bloch would have wanted that.” George then explained that the author, who wrote the novel Psycho just before he died in 1994, may have been a horror fan, but he wasn’t a fan of some of the violence in horror movies. “He sucked.” Franklin thought to himself. George speculated that Bloch might not have wanted, say, four movies about Norman Bates killing people. Having said that, while he couldn’t reveal plot details, George assured his fans that there still would be a Psycho III. Not only that, but a Bates Motel prequel series was in the works about a young Norman Bates and his mother set in the 1970s.

After the talk Franklin got in line to meet George and buy his book. “I’m from Plainfield.” was the first thing Franklin said when meeting the author.

“Oh really,” George said. “Wow, thanks for coming all the way out here.” 

Franklin immediately went to the question that had been burning in his brain.

“So when can we expect the Ed Gein movie?”

“Never.” George answered immediately, following up with, “I mean if someone else makes it I can’t stop them, but there won’t be an Ed Gein movie on my watch” He then handed  Franklin the autographed book and turned his attention to the next fan in line.

Once again Franklin was led out of the line, and once again he was enraged. How the fuck would George not make an Ed Gein movie. The best horror story ever fell right into his lap and he was going to throw it away. Here was a chance to put Franklin’s little shit town on the cinematic map, it had to happen. Franklin didn’t give a shit about his dead dad, he wanted his fucking Ed Gein movie. One way or another, that movie was going to get made, even if it was over George’s dead body.

It was then that Franklin noticed him again. He was still wearing that old hunters hat. As Franklin watched him on the convention floor everything else around him started to look blurry, almost as though he  was dreaming. Franklin was starting to feel dizzy, like he was detached from his body which was making slow steps towards the image of the man in front of him. Upon closer look he recognized that little glob of flesh that hung from his eye. He knew it from old pictures the local news showed on TV last year. 

The fellow Wisconsinite only had one thing to say. “So, you want me in a movie huh?”

Hungry for more. Stay tuned for the final chapter of this trilogy of pop culture alternate history. No Gein III: The Final Cut, coming soon!

No Gein II: A Second Helping Chapter Fourteen

No Gein II: A Second Helping

Part Fourteen: Three on a Meat Hook

“This is it.” Kristina said as she rode with Chuck and Helen in Henry’s pickup truck. The small two story house looked a little worn down but not as though it’d been abandoned. They didn’t see anyone else around, though it looked like there were some fresh tracks in the driveway. 

Approaching the house, they could see its white paint beginning to chip. Walking up the creaky steps Henry looked around and said, “Doesn’t look like anyone lives here.” 

“Why do you say that?” Kristina asked.

Looking at the splintered wood in the door. “The door is busted.” Henry explained. It looked like someone took a sledgehammer to it. Henry then kneeled down, looking closer at the white chipped paint, his fingers brushed bits of debris until they felt something hard and smooth. Placing it between his thumb and index finger, Henry realized he was holding a tooth. Then, looking at the chipped paint, it looked like something splattered on the porch. It looked like, no it couldn’t be. 

“You two wait here, Chuck you come with me.” Henry said as he drew his pistol. 

“Should I get the shotgun in the truck?” Helen asked.

“Not yet,” Her father said. “Just wait here.”

Someone had been living in the house, as evident by the furniture and cans of beer in the living room. The TV screen was on but with only snow on the screen. “Hello?” Henry called out. “Is anybody home? Looks like your door’s been busted. Are you OK?” There was no answer.

Nothing unusual awaited as they walked into the dining room. At the far end was a door Henry presumed led into the kitchen. It was then he noticed the smell.

Outside, Helen and Kristina looked over the house. “What do you expect to find here?” 

Helen asked. “I don’t know.” Kristina anxiously paced the porch as she answered. “I just want to be able to tell my mom that I saw where my grandmother was.” Walking again to the far end of the porch, she noticed it, a white shape sticking out from the bushes. Whatever it was, she thought she saw it move. 

“Where are you going?” Kristina didn’t answer Helen when she hopped off the porch. As Kristina drew closer to the bushes, she saw a white van. An instant later she realized there were two vans, two vans and an old beat-up pickup truck. One of the vans looked as old as the truck. The other van looked brand new. It was then she saw the big logo on its side. 

“Shit” she thought to herself. Kristina was hoping to avoid media on this trip, but there the news van sat. The thing was it was sat unattended. “Were the reporters in the house?” she wondered. Then she saw the movement again. It was the news van, slightly rocking back and forth. “Jesus,’ she thought, “was someone fucking inside?”

“Hello?” Henry said, not too loud, but loud enough that he expected an answer. There was none. Henry wasn’t liking this, but he knew he had to move forward. Chuck slowly moved behind him as he opened the door. What hung behind that door was simply unreal. Henry knew people who served in Nam who shared some awful stories, but he’d never seen or heard of anything like this. There they were, three on a meat hook. Three corpses swung back and forth on steel hooks as Henry and Chuck audibly screamed. Adding to the shock was that Henry recognized the female corpse. It was that reporter he saw on TV and on George’s set. While this woman may have pissed him off, prying into his family history, he never would have wished, nor could he have imagined, such a horrible fate falling upon her. 

Supplementing the madness was a wicked cackling. Henry saw a crazed old woman throw a hot pan of water at him before charging with a meat cleaver. “Run!” Henry shouted to Chuck as he wiped the scalding water from his face as he stumbled to the ground. Chuck charged into the dining room when the steel from a sledgehammer grazed him in the ribs. It wasn’t a hard shot, but it was forceful enough to knock him down. As Chuck looked up, holding his possibly broken ribs, he saw an elderly man standing over him. “Can’t swing it like I used to.” the old man thought out loud as he again sent the steel hammer swinging towards his intended victim. 

Clarice leapt from the newsvan striking Kristina in the head with a camera. “Teehee, I just found a new hobby.” Milton’s niece giggled. “We’re gonna make a movie!” Dropping the camera, she stood over Kristina while reaching into her pocket. “I’m gonna play the slasher!” she said, pulling out a small knife she pointed to Kristina adding, “and guess who you’re gonna be!” Kristina tried to scurry away on her hands and knees as Clarice gave quick jabs with the knife which made small scrapes on her victim’s skin. Kristina managed to grab a small rock and throw it at Clarice’s face before leaping up and running away. 

The stone struck Clarice below the eye, stunning her for a moment. Once she wiped her eyes and cleared her vision she saw her intended victim trying to run away, the sight of which excited her. “Ooh, a chase scene!” Clarice gleefully shouted as she ran after Kristina. The Wisconsin sun pounded down on both of them as both pairs of feet sped through the prairies. Helen motioned for Kristina to come to run for the truck. Kristina’s speed increased as Clarice began breathing heavily and slowing down. 

“Ah, it’s too hot for this.” Clarice said in frustration. She then pulled out her gun, saying, “We’ll just fix this in the editing.” 

“Gun!” Helen shouted as Kristina dove to the ground just before the bullet shot through the barrel. Hot steel whisked through the air harmlessly striking the ground below. The next sound Kristina heard was the ratcheting of Helen shotgun as she fired back at their assailant. 

“Wow, A Texas shootout!” Clarice giggled as she hid behind a tree. “Too bad we’re not really in Texas! Bang bang!” 

“It’s a regular Thanksgiving feast today!” The grandmother proclaimed as she swung her meat cleaver down towards Henry, who just in the nick of time pulled a wooden chair over himself to block the blow. The blade of the cleaver dug deep into the seat. The elderly woman quickly tried to pull the blade out, but Henry managed to kick her hard against the wall. Her back slammed against the stove, and in one swift motion Henry reached for his gun and shot her between the eyes.

In the next room Grandpa was making short thrusts with his sledgehammer, trying to strike at Chuck. Hearing the gunshot, he immediately used his hammer to tip the dining room table over and ducked behind it. “EMILY, EMILY, are you okay?” he shouted.

“Your old lady’s dead and your next asshole!” Henry taunted.

Hearing this horrible news, Grandpa shouted, “MILTON, get your ass down here now!”

Milton was shocked to actually find what his father was looking for in this house. His parents went to check on the noise they heard downstairs as he inspected the bag. He didn’t care about the old envelope it held, tossing that aside, he looked over the diamonds and jewelry. His dad said it wasn’t all here but was happy to find what they found. Now, hearing his father call out to him, Milton marched down the steps with a vengful purpose.

When they first arrived, Clarice anxiously killed the sole occupant of the house. As fortune would have it, a pair of reporters arrived not long after. Grandpa got that pretty reporter in the face with his sledgehammer, and that little bitch of a cameraman tried to run, but this time Milton got him. He didn’t have his newest toy handy, but he grabbed the man around the waist, drug him kicking and screaming like a bitch back into the house and stuck him right on the meat hook. Releasing his body onto the sharp steel, Milton felt that incredible rush again. Finally, he tied with Jason. Now all he needed was one more body. One more body, and he’d beat the record, just one more kill; and hearing the gunshot and the pain in his father’s voice, he already knew this would be a special kill. This kill would be for revenge. It felt like 1974 all over again as went down the steps and let loose the roar of his fresh new chainsaw.

Coming down the steps all decked out in his suit and tie, his grandfather yanked on his arm. “Duck you idiot.” His father said, pulling him to the ground behind the dining room table as Henry fired off another shot. Milton’s father with his hand mimicked the words, “Where’s your gun?”

“I don’t use a gun.” Milton answered. “Where’s your gun?” 

“He’s got a gun you moron!” His father said angrily. “We gotta shoot back.” 

Patting the handle of his trusty new chainsaw Milton explained, “You know this is what I use. The saw is my modus operandi.” 

“I don’t give a fuck what your motor operator is! We need to kill this motherfucker now!”

Helen and Kristina could see Clarice running off into the bushes. Handing the keys to Kristina, Helen said, “You drive.” before climbing back into the cab. Kristina drove the truck towards the bushes where Clarice ran. Scanning the field for this crazy bitch, Helen didn’t know if Kristina could hear her, but she yelled “Look out!” as the news van came crashing into the truck. Helen leapt out of the back before impact and both vehicles came to a stop.

“This is going to be a great movie!” Clarice laughed as she backed up the van then got out. Running over to the truck, she figured it would fit the slasher motif better for her to carry her knife instead of her gun. She could see the poor girl passed out inside, “Should have worn your seatbelt.” she said out loud as she opened the truck door. 

Kristina was playing possum, having unbuckled her seat belt after impact. Now she could elbow her assailant in the face, knocking her back, Kristina then crawled to the other side of the truck. Clarice grabbed her by the ankle “Na ah ah,” she mocked, as her other hand brandished the knife. The next sound she heard however was the ratcheting of the shotgun. “Oh yeah!” were her last words, as she realized she’d forgotten about Helen. It didn’t matter anymore, as her pretty face was now gone, exploding like a watermelon as her body fell to the floor.

Henry couldn’t get a clear shot as the two maniacs hid behind the upturned dining room table which had been pushed to the doorway of the kitchen. The new saw blade cut through table wood extending into the kitchen frantically darting attempting to draw blood. Henry motioned to his son in law, holding up three fingers, then with his thumb gestured toward the kitchen’s backdoor. On three they rushed toward the back, but Grandpa had the same idea, having already circled the house while Milton kept his chainsaw running. “Shit!” Henry shouted. Chuck pulled him out of the way and grappled with the sledgehammer wielding killer. Chuck’s ribs still ached, and he knew to grapple for long, so he kicked him in the knee sending the old man falling besides his deceased wife. 

By then Milton burst into the room and with his trusty chainsaw. Henry faced him with his gun, but with one quick thrust the chainsaw struck him in the chest. “NO!” Chuck shouted as Henry collapsed to the ground. Milton raised his chainsaw in the air. Normally in this situation he might recite a speech by Romulus or Genghis Khan, but the pride in him was so great it overwrote his oratory skills, and he instead let out an animalistic howl. 

The roar of the shotgun followed as Milton collapsed to the ground. The chainsaw bounced about for a moment before shutting off. A cloud of smoke filled the room from the firearm as Helen entered a room filled with death. 

Milton had fallen face down on the hardwood floor, breaking his nose in the process. His face would be even more ugly now, and he definitely would not be appearing in any movies. That wouldn’t matter for much longer, as through his whole body Milton felt this indescribable sensation, as if his body knew its soul was about to be ejected. His family was gone or about to be gone anyway, so wherever they were going, they would be going together. His head faced toward his last victim, who lay facing up, blood shooting up from his body as his family gathered around desperately trying to help, but Milton knew it was too late. A wound like that is something you just don’t survive. He took pleasure in the shocks and agony that hung on their faces like flesh hanging from a meat hook, not to mention the disgust when they saw Milton smile. As he lay face down in a pool of blood, he knew he finally accomplished what he set out to do. “I beat his record.” were the last words that escaped his lips. No one around him could comprehend the mening of these words, but Milton would die knowing he was king of the body count.

Milton’s moment of glory was short lived, as now it was he whose face wore a look of terror. For what he saw next, not even the epic poetry of Dante’s Inferno could accurately describe. What he saw was not in this room where he was, but was where he was going. All the horror he inflicted on other people was about to fall upon him a thousand-fold. For all his madness and violence, Milton always prided himself on his intellect and articulateness. His whole life he quoted the great poets like Whitman and Chaucer, but as his soul fell into the abyss, the final sound his body ever made was a simple, unintelligible, animal-like squeal. 

Grandpa was now the last surviving member of his motley cannibalisitic clan. Laying on the floor in emotional agony, he kissed and caressed the dead corpse that was his bride. “My family.” he said as he looked over at what was his son, who for nearly twenty years was his only living son, who was now gone as well.

“My family!” Helen shouted as she pointed to her bleeding father on the floor. “Your granddaughter or whoever that sick fuck was, her brains are splattered all over the grass outside!”

Kristina shrieked horribly at the buffet of death as she entered the kitchen. The worst sight for her was not the bodies hanging on the meat hooks, or the dead murderer laying in front of her, but Henry bleeding out on the floor. Unrelenting pangs of guilt filled her as she saw an elderly man crawling in the back, and when she saw the sledgehammer, she instantly knew this was the man who gave her mother a lifetime of pain. She marched over the bodies towards the elderly man and said, “Mary Hogan’s daughter sends her regards.” before kicking him in the face. 

As his head bounced back, she saw the birthmark on his chin, hidden within his stubble. She could see his eyes widen with understanding, comprehension of the incalculably mad events that brought them together. “You’re her granddaughter?” Whitman’s tone was a cross between an inquisitive statement, and an acknowledgement of what he already knew.

“Who are you?” Kristina asked. 

“I’m, I’m your..” his head then burst open, and the thunderous sound of the shotgun once again roared as Helen could no longer wait to complete her vengeance.

Kristina screamed at the sudden sound of the firearm, but she did not blame Helen for her spontaneous action, she fully understood her need for vengeance. Kristina simply felt guilty, if only she’d just gone home, but it was too late for all that now now. She rushed to Helen’s side. “Oh my god I’m so sorry, Helen I…”

Through her tears Helen answered “It’s OK, it’s not your fault, but I need you to help me now and get an ambulance.” Kristina nodded rushed into the next room to use the phone.

Chuck and Helen knelt beside Henry. “Oh God dad,” Helen cried, “we gotta get you to a hospital.” She grabbed some paper towels and desperately tried to cover the wound. 

“Love you two.” Henry said, coughing up blood, “so proud of George.”

“No dad,” his daughter pleaded, “just hang in there, we’ll get an ambulance.”

“It’s OK. Everything is impermanent. Franki taught me that.” Then he looked away, up at the ceiling, as if he could see something far beyond. He only said one word. “Sally.” Through all the pain, he was smiling. His eyes did not reflect the grotesque sights of this room, but a rather sense of awe as he said, “She’s singing to me.” Helen was even more scared now as it appeared he was babbling.

Her fears of her father’s mind slipping away seemed to be confirmed as he said his last words. “Careful in the shower.” Helen wailed as her father grew cold. She couldn’t possibly understand at that moment, but here in this room filled with horror, a man died at peace.

No Gein II: A Second Helping Chapter Thirteen

No Gein II: A Second Helping

Chapter Thirteen: Bloody Reunions

Pine Grove, Wisconsin. December 8th, 1954.

“Keep your chin up kid.” Mary wasn’t the crying type, but her eyes welled up as she wrote these words before stuffing the paper they were written on into a white envelope. Upon sealing it, she placed the envelope in a small bag filled with what was left of the family jewels now hidden it under the floorboards of her bedroom. Placing the wooden boards back in their proper place, she remembered the last time she hid something in a spot like this. Saved her husband from a lot of trouble when cops raided. Looking back on it, maybe she would have been better off if the cops caught her crazy ex. Who knows, maybe Marilyn was better off never getting anything from her at all. What she did know, as the emotions sprung out of her like a leaky faucet, was that in that moment she needed to get out of the house. 

Stepping out into the Wisconsin plains, she marveled at how It was so open out here, it was like you could see off into forever. Kodak country was a far cry from the stuffy city of Chicago. In these wide fields, someone could be watching her from miles away and she would never even know. She didn’t like to think about that as she drove to her establishment that she’d opened with the money she grabbed from Whitman. This little slice of heaven she made for her self was now her baby, her pride and joy. Mary figured for all the insanity she’d endured in her life; she should get something for her troubles. 

Plainfield Wisconsin, September 2003

Milton wasn’t about to find any literary magazines at the hardware store, but his mother was happy browsing the wrestling magazines. His parents’ love of this glorified carnival show was a mystery to Milton. “It’s Shakespeare for the masses!” his mother once tried explaining to him. 

As Milton’s mother flipped through one of the grappling magazines she came across a special report from Japan. It featured a large photograph of a wrestler standing in the squared circle holding a chainsaw, with the caption below reading “Saw Man.” Clarice caught a glance of it while she walked by and grew excited upon seeing the picture. “Wow.” she exclaimed. “That looks like you Uncle Milton!” 

Milton was indifferent to the picture, but Clarice’s grandmother was livid. “That bastard stole your uncle’s bit! We should sue!”

“I don’t understand why you still like that stuff.” Milton complained. 

“Well,” Milton’s mother answered, “they say wrestling is in your blood. I don’t know about that, but I once had a wrestler in my belly!” she cackled.

“May I help you?” Milton and his family turned around to see a very elderly woman standing before them.

“Do you work here?” Milton said, not hiding the surprise in his voice. This woman looked even older than his parents.

“Oh heavens no, I’m long retired.” The woman answered. “But I owned this store a long time ago. I still help out sometimes.” The woman introduced herself as Bernice. Spying the magazine, she added. “Oh, are you a wrestling fan?”

“All my life!” Milton’s mother replied. Then, pinching her son’s cheek as if he were a newborn, she said “When this one was just a little baby we used to watch Gorgeous George on the television set.”

“I remember him, he was such a scoundrel!” Bernice recalled. Her wrinkled cheeks then blushed as she added, “I was a fan of Lou Thez. That man was one tall glass of water!” Then she revealed with a giggle. “Used to make my husband so jealous!” The ladies shared a laugh before Berncie said, “Well if there’s anything I can help you with just let me know.”

“Actually,” Milton cut in, “we’re in the market for a new chainsaw.”

“No problem, right this way.” Bernice immediately led them to the section that held chainsaws. She detailed the stock as if she were still the store’s manager. Milton gazed at the selection, and there, hanging up high, was the one for him. It was a ferocious looking farm and ranch saw like the one he had in his heyday. “That’s our newest model.” Berncie said as she watched Milton eye the particular saw like a small child in a toy store. “The 74 Hooper. Runs 20% longer than other saws before refueling, has a built in shock absorber, throttle trigger, and a pre-separation air filtration system. A few of the rancher’s around here picked this one up and I haven’t heard any complaints!”

“Imagine the damage you can do with this Uncle Milton.” Clarice said in awe.

Milton reached up to the saw and firmly gripped its handle. It felt very comfortable in his hands. So much time had passed since he’d held a saw blade. He felt like Arthur withdrawing the mythical sword from the stone, proving by that act alone that he was the rightful King. Holding this powertool in his hands, he knew that one day soon, he would be the King, the King of death. Staring at the blade as if it were an extension of his own body, he only said one thing. “I’ll take it.”

Kristina sat alone in the crowded police station waiting room, completely taken back by what she saw. Since the local news broke a lot of reporters and curiosity seekers were descending on this tiny town. It hadn’t occurred to her that con artists and attention seekers might come out here to tell a similar story to what she had. She hadn’t come out here for attention, she just wanted the truth.

“I loved that kind sweet man, and I still do.” The elderly woman said while walking past Kristina. Looking at the old woman, Kristina thought to herself how she kind of looked like Margaret Hamilton from the Wizard of Oz. Kristina’s mom loved that movie. If only she could be here to see this circus. It was like being on the set of the Jerry Springer show, she would have loved it.

“I’m sure you do ma’am.” The police officer humored the woman while escorting her out the door. Kristina could tell the officer didn’t believe her, but a crowd of reporters flashed photographs and ate up every word she said. “Eddy and I had a romance of 20 years. Why he even proposed to me you know?”

“What did you say?” An anxious reporter asked.

“Well, not that there was anything wrong with him,” she ironically answered, “but I turned him down. I don’t think I could live up to what he expected of me.”

“Ms. Watkins,” another report asked, “what was Ed like on dates? What did you two do?”

“Oh, well we’d go to a tavern and talk about books we read. He liked to read about lions and Africa and stuff like that.”

“Could Eddie hold his liquor, or did he need another hand.” A reporter said laughing.

“Truth is I’d do most of the drinking. He’d rather go to the drugstore for a milkshake. But let me tell you, he was a perfect gentlemen. He always had me home by ten pm.”

Kristina could see the officer that escorted her down the corridor shaking her head. This police force must have been hearing every nutcase in a hundred miles tell stories about how they knew Eddie Gein. As the officer approached, she locked eyes with Kristina. Pointing to her, she asked, “You’re Kristina right?”

After nodding yes, the officer said, “Sorry to keep you waiting. The Sheriff will see you now.”

Kristina walked back to the Sheriff’s office where she found the Sheriff sitting at his desk and on the telephone. “OK, see you soon dad.” she heard him say before he hung up. Seeing her, he stood up and asked, “You’re Kristina right?”

“Yes, officer.” The young woman nodded.

The Sheriff gave back her driver’s license and the stack of papers back that belonged to Kristina’s mother. “Here you go ma’am.” the officer politely said. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Please understand, there’s been all kinds of weirdos coming out here since the story broke, but your story checks out.”

“Do you have information about my grandmother?” She asked. 

“Okay, here’s what I’m gonna do.” The Sheriff said in a low voice. “I’m gonna give you directions to this address.” He handed her another slip of paper saying “It’s my father’s home, his name is Roger. I want you to go there in about a half hour. He’ll be expecting you. Myself, and some others will be there shortly. There won’t be any prying eyes there, so once we get settled in, I’ll give you some information.”

Kristina wasn’t expecting Tom Clancy Cloak and Dagger business coming out here, but given how many people she saw snooping around she could understand why. The directions brought her to the old house on the outskirts of Plainfield, where she was greeted by the elderly Roger. He invited her in, where she met another older man, along with a couple who looked around her age.

Roger introduced Kristina to the three saying, “This is Henry Kohler, his daughter Helen, and this is Helen’s husband Chuck.” 

These three looked familiar, but Kristina couldn’t place it. “Have I seen you before?” she asked. 

“No, I don’t believe we’ve met.” Helen said.  

Kristina was certain though. “No, I’m sure I’ve seen you before. Were you on TV?”

“Helen’s brother is George Kohler,” Roger explained, the film director. 

“Oh wow!” Kristina now remembered seeing them on the entertainment news, but then, understanding the implication of what she just heard, she grew a little worried. “Um, are you going to make a movie here?”

“Hey Dad.” the officer Kristina had met earlier said as he walked in and greeted Roger. After greeting the rest of the group, he said, “To answer your question Kristina, no, they won’t be making a movie. Actually, they’re here for a similar reason you are. You might want to sit down.”

Once everyone took a seat in the living room the Sheriff cautioned. “Now what you hear in this room stays here OK? I’m doing my damndest to keep as best of a lid as I can on this thing. Understand me?”

“Sure.” Kristina said. She had no desire for publicity, she just wanted to know what happened to her grandmother.

“That pit where they found those bodies” the officer explained, “about a quarter of a mile away there used to be an old farmhouse. About 50 years back there was a man there by the name of Edward Gein. Ma’am, I’m afraid your grandmother’s body was on his property.”

“OK.” Kristina tried to calmly process this fact. “How do you know this?”

“I had a sister.” Henry began to explain. “Her name was Sally. Long story, but one night she accidentally ran into him. Almost got killed herself.” Pointing to Roger, Henry went on, “Short version of the story is she got a hold of Roger. He went to the house along with a policeman. They weren’t sure what was happening, but they’d found Ed, and.. God.” Henry shook his head as he remembered that horrible night when he learned the truth about his sister.

Roger took it upon himself to finish Henry’s sentence. “It turned out Ed had been grave robbing for years, and he’d kept the bodies in his house.”

“Oh my god!” Kristina exclaimed. “This man robbed my grandmother’s grave!” 

“No, actually we think he murdered her.” The officer said. “She lived in a town called Pine Grove just down the road. Her old house is still standing actually. Anyway, she had a little tavern which Ed was known to frequent. One day she came up missing, and in her tavern a pool of blood and a bullet cartridge were found on the floor. There were always rumors she was out here hiding from the mob, so at the time people figured her past caught up with her.”

“That’s what everyone thought at the time.” Roger interjected. “That night the Sheriff and I discovered what Ed had done, we also found your grandmother’s, uh, body.” He did not wish to tell her the awful details of how his father found Mary’s face peeled off and stored in a plastic bag. He shivered as his mind relived that horrible moment.

Jonathan, the police officer, then concluded, “We know Ed owned a gun that would have matched the cartridge found in Mary’s tavern, and rumor had it Ed joked about having Mary at his house. Dad figured he killed her. I’m really sorry ma’am.”

As much as it was a shock, at the same time it was a weight relieved from her shoulders. The truth was unimaginarily awful, but at least she knew what that terrible truth was, and at least she could tell her mother before she passed. “You said she had a house nearby?”  She asked.

“Yes, that’s correct ma’am.” The officer said.

“I’d like to see it.”

“You’re perfectly free to do that on your own time.” Jonathan said. “Anywhere I go now is going to draw attention, but you are free to do that if you like”

“We’ll go with you.” Henry said.

Kristina was grateful for these people willing to accompany her. The officer gave her the address. She would see this home where her grandmother walked, hopefully this would provide some closure, and then she could tell her mother what she’d learned.

Pine Grove Wisconsin, December 8th, 1954.

Cleaning off the bar, Mary couldn’t get the thought out of her mind. Maybe Marilyn was better off without her. No, no she needs to see her. Maybe she should leave right now and go see her, but what if she got caught. Her mind bounced back and forth between the possibilities. Luckily happy hour was about to start. The locals came pouring in with their usual banter kept her mind off her troubles.

Hours later she announced last call, and eventually the usual hangers on staggered away. Her little establishment was doing well for itself, but as the patrons left, Mary’s troubles rushed back into her mind like the tide of an ocean that never reached this land. The bell chimed as the door opened again. “Shit” she thought, “who was coming this late?” Then she heard the footsteps, quiet little footsteps that sounded like they belonged to a small man.

“Hi Mary. You OK? You look upset?” The late patron observed.

“Oh, I just got something in my eye. No trouble.” It was old Eddie Gein. “What are you doing out so late? If you’re hunting rabbits, you won’t find any here.”

“Oh, I know, I was just having trouble sleeping.” Eddie’s hands fluttered and his eyes darted around the room as he spoke. “Is it okay if I have a drink?”

“Well, I’m closing soon, but I’ll give you just one, OK?” Mary then turned her back to him as she poured a short beer. Eddie always seemed like a harmless fellow, if not a little odd. She heard about how he often helps out around town, sometimes played with the local kids. She also heard about his crazy mom. What she never heard was the gunshot. She didn’t hear her own body hit the floor either, as she was already gone.