No Gein III: The Final Cut, Part 11

Epilogue: A Happy Ending

Hollywood California 2010

“What do you mean they won’t let me have a tank!?!”

“The studio doesn’t want to pay for it.” said the female voice over the phone.

“But it’s in the script!” the director insisted, “the script you and I both wrote by the way.”

“Yes, we did.” The woman agreed.

“If I don’t have a tank, how am I supposed to film the finale?”

“Listen, let me take care of tomorrow, you get today in the can. Deal?”

“Deal. Thanks Rita.”

The director heard a knock as he hung up the phone. “Enter!” he jubilantly said, expecting it to be his 11:00 appointment. As a result, hhe was surprised to see his head makeup artist come into the room with a devil head and a fake piece of glass.

“You look a little frazzled,” the director asked, noticing her facial expression, “everything OK?”

“This glass prop is not working.” the young woman complained. “I’ve been working on it all morning.” Today’s shooting schedule involved a scene where a character named Tommy stabs the Devil with a shard of glass. He wanted as little CGI effects as possible, and knew his young makeup artist shared his love of practical effects.

“Well, let’s have a look at it after lunch OK?” he said. “I got an interview coming soon.”

“Alright.” she said meekly.

“We’ll get it sorted Stella, don’t kill yourself over it.”

“Really?” She said, half laughing at the director’s remark.

Laughing himself, realizing what he’d just said, the director waved his hand and said, “Just go have a nice lunch ya weirdo.”

The director’s appointment still hadn’t arrived, so, sitting in his trailer, he opened his laptop and logged into Myspace. Being in the public eye, the director recalled a conversation he recently had with his Rita, his producer. Interacting with fans on these platforms was cool, but there were downsides too, toxic fans, flame wars, even the occasional death threat. Some sins he himself committed on small obscure message boards years ago were so much more intense on places like Myspace and Facebook, where seemingly everyone was now.

Again, there were of course positives to it as well. Scrolling through his Myspace feed, he smiled as he saw a movie studio picture of his friends Dan and Vicki. Vicki was directing her third film now. George left a comment on this post kidding that she poached his makeup artist from him, referring to Vicki’s husband Dan.

Another knock at the door shifted the director’s focus. A man walked in with a notebook, a press badge, and a corny joke. “You’re not going to shoot me with a water gun are you?”

“Man, I’m never gonna live that one down.” George said, laughing.

The next hour was spent discussing the last few turbulent years of George Kohler’s life. After a self-imposed exile following the death of his sister, George was on the road to a comeback via his next feature film. George and the journalist were on the set of Freddy vs the Devil vs Ash: The Nightmare Warriors, the final film in a trilogy that mixed the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise with Evil Dead and, George’s favorite, Friday the 13^th.

“Do you find it difficult working on violent movies after the personal losses you’ve had in your family?” the journalist asked.

“You know, I can understand why people would think that, but honestly, it’s been really cathartic. I’ve put a lot of my own grief and loss into these characters.”

“The characters of Freddy and the Jersey Devil?”

“No, actually,” George paused for a moment before continuing, “well, I guess the news broke already, so I’ll just say it. We’re bringing back a lot of the surviving characters from past Friday the 13^th and Nightmare on Elm Street movies. People love the Jersey Devil and Freddy, but I want to show the strength of the people who survived these monsters.”

“That’s no small task you’ve set for yourself. Is this film also a catharsis for you and the fact that your sister’s murderer was never found?”

This question took George back to that cold night in Planfield. He could hear his shovel hitting the hard earth, his breath forming a cloud before him, the stench of death about. “I wouldn’t say that.” George answered quietly. “There’s a lot of things I could say, but I don’t know, I feel like no one ever gets away with anything, you know what I mean?”

“Well said.” The reporter responded. “Relating to that, characters like Freddy and Pinhead have their fans, but so do real murders like Charles Manson and Jeffrey Dhamer. Do you have any comment on that?”

“You’re right they do, and I don’t blame people who have an interest in true crime. When you look back at what happened to my sister, and to my dad, and as far back as my Aunt; all three of those situations were so crazy. If I were on the outside looking in, even now, I’d look at any of those situations and be like ‘Whoa,’ what the hell happened there?” I’d naturally want to know more about it. The difference is, I wouldn’t look at these murders and think “that’s my guy. Ed Gein wasn’t a hero. Milton wasn’t a hero. The guy who killed my sister wasn’t a hero.”

Luckily, the entertainment reporter overlooked that little slip George just made. That oversight didn’t stop George’s heart from racing in his chest as soon as those words shot out of his body,. His body tensed, waiting the next question, but as the reporter’s lips moved, George’s ears blocked out the sound. Remembering those relaxation exercises Franki taught him so long ago, George breathed slow deep breathes; his eyes focused on the blue press bade hanging from the reporter’s shirt.

“You did say in past interviews,” George refocused as the reporter repeated their question, “that in your younger days you were a fan of serial killers.”

George waited, still remaining silent, remembering those days from so long ago. In times long past he would dress up like the Zodiac killer and other famous murders, but those days were far behind him now. “Yes, I did.” George said, now fully present in the moment and focusing directly on the reporter. “I used to think serial killers were cool, but you know what’s cool, the people that survived them.”

The End

No Gein: III The Final Cut, Part Nine

Chapter Nine: Exposure

Milwaukee Wisconsin March 26th: 2007

On a dark city bus a small light from a flip phone shined on Stella’s face. Jonathan had invited her to a poetry night at the Emporium where they had their first date. As the bus passed by the Emporium, she remembered how she had planned to go, but something came up, something she couldn’t get out of her mind the last two days.

“Just curious,” Stella texted, “did you say that comic book guy grew up in Milwaukee?”

Looking down at the phone lighting up the palm of her hand, she read the words. “You mean Harry?”

“Yes.” her fingers quickly typed back as the bus came to a stop. Now exiting the bus, her hand gripped her cellphone tight as she hopped across a small puddle as the spring showers sprinkled down. After opening her umbrella, she checked her screen again, he hadn’t texted back yet, but she kept her eyes on the small screen until her feet reached the edge of the curb.

“Dammit!” she said aloud as she hadn’t seen the puddle in front of her but now felt the cold splash as a car sped by, its tires tossing water onto her jeans like a mean prank. She stepped back and wiped herself off until the green blinking man began his dance indicating it was safe for her to cross the street.

Still gripping her phone once she reached the other side, she felt the vibration on her skin. Looking down at her flip phone Jonathan finally texted back. “He told me he grew up in Milwaukee, but I remember when we went out for my 21rst, we went to that German bar. Ever have their sausage? My friend Steve worked their last year and he said it was really good.”

Stella’s eyes rolled as she thought to herself, “He texts the way he talks.”

Finally, he sent the text she was waiting for. “Anyway, Harry introduced me to liverwurst, good stuff, you should try it. He mentioned he had family in Amherst. I said you were from there, but he didn’t say much after that.” 

Standing before Deranged Comics and Games, its lights were still on, but she knew it would be closing soon. The electronic bell rang as she pushed the door open, and she entered to the sound of shouting.

Harry had enough of Richard’s’s shit. The store’s owner let Richard run a World of Darkness campaign at his store because he was practically an expert on the product, but his people skills needed work. Tonight, Richard admonished a young player who was trying the game for the first time, and Harry was sick of the attitude.

“He was an idiot.” Richard protested as Harry admonished him. “I’m sick of these stupid people ruining game night.”

“Oh, sorry Einstein, I didn’t know we were writing the unified theory of physics, I thought we were just having a role-playing session.”

“He’s a noob, you know how noobs are.”

“All he did was ask if he had a flashlight!”

“And I said, ‘I don’t know do you!”

“That’s not how you run a game!” Harry could feel his anger welling up within him, but his feelings rolled back with the sound of the door opening and the sight of a somewhat familiar face. “He’s a new player and he should feel welcome here.” Harry said, finishing his thought.

“Yeah, so you can make money off him!” Richard cynically said.

“So, he can enjoy the hobby asshole!” Every nerd thinks they can run a comic book and gaming store, but Harry knew that like anything else it takes work. “Until you realize that, you’re the one who’s not welcome here. Go spend your money somewhere else.” Harry didn’t need his business anyway. Besides, it’s not like he needed this store for his livelihood, which was a fact he never shared with anybody.

Harry knew he finally got through to this jerk as he sat there with that deer in the headlights look. Returning to the register, he saw Richard’s large frame stand up from his chair and storm out in a huff, saying nothing as he walked past Stella. Harry wondered if Richard even noticed her, as he wasn’t known for noticing anyone accept himself.

The bell rag again and the glass door swung closed at Richard’s exit. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and said to Stella, “Hey, sorry about that.”

“It’s OK.”

“Jonathan’s girl, right?” Harry said pointing to her.

Blushing, she nodded her head. The store owner thought to himself how those two were a cute couple. Jonathan was a super nice guy, but he just rambles on and on and on, and here’s his girlfriend who’s all quiet. Harry couldn’t help but find it amusing.

Reaching back to the small shelves behind him Harry pulled out a comic that was just delivered today. “Anyway,” Harry said, “I saved #6 of Rob Zombie’s Halloween for you.”

Stella wiped her hands on her shirt before reaching for the comic. “Oh, I’d forgotten all about that. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry’s voice betrayed a hint of confusion as he rang her up. She’d forgotten about it? What was she doing here on a Wednesday night in the rain if she wasn’t intending to pick this up?

“Got a chance to read it earlier.” Harry said, making small talk while he took her money. “Cool stuff. Makes you wonder, what if Rob Zombie would have made a Halloween movie.”

The girl simply said “Yeah.” As he handed over her change. Inside he laughed to himself again. She’s like Jonathan’s exact opposite.

“The name’s Stella, right?”

“Yeah.” She continued being a brilliant conversationalist.

Harry then looked at his watch. It was already past closing time. “Alright well thanks for stopping by, I gotta close up soon.”

Stella then suddenly blurted something out, something he wasn’t expecting, something that stopped him dead his tracks. “So, why did you pick the name Harry?”

“What?”

“That was your grandfather’s name, right?”

It was now a slight panic that his voice betrayed as he attempted to brush her off asking, “What are you talking about?”

“You told Jonathan you had family in Amherst. I think I was at your old house. I thought for a minute maybe someone hacked you up with a chainsaw.” She then laughed while Harry’s face froze. “You know kids party in your house now?”

“Look,” his hands slightly trembled as he raised them up in defense. With one last attempt to dismiss her, he said. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“I remember the first time I saw you.” Stella recalled. “That night in the theater, you were crying in your seat.” The man gave no reaction, but in his mind, he remembered that night where his dreams shined there, right in front of him, yet so far away. “I read later, that was your dream gig, directing Friday the 13^th.”

“Everyone wants to direct Stella. Look it’s time for you to go.”

“You even named this store after that your first screenplay.”

“Who’s screenplay?” The man called Harry asked in vain, but he knew it was too late.

“George Kohler’s.”

He turned his head down in defeat as he left the register. He hadn’t talked to Franki since his father died, but he remembered the breathing exercises dad’s last wife taught him as he calmly walked towards the door. He remembered her teaching walking meditation, taking each step as if it’s both your first step and your last. He managed to block everything out until he heard the sound of the metal clicking as he locked the door and flipped the sign around to indicate the store was closed.

It was the girl who looked a little scared now as he turned back around to face her. He wondered what she thought he was going to do. What he did was ask one simple question. “What do you want? You want money?”

“What?” Stella appeared to have gone from fear to confusion.

“Well forget it. I’ll close this shop and disappear tonight. Is that what you want?” He pointed to the wall displaying pictures of the gaming club. “Where are these kids gonna go then?”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Well, what do you want then?”

Stella looked around at all the merchandise before answering. “I never thought I would really get to meet you, but I always wanted to thank you.”

Now it was he who was confused. “Thank me for what?”

“I lost a sister too.” Stella said. “She got in a car with her drunk boyfriend and got herself killed on 51.” Harry knew that road, the killer highway they called it. In fact, he thought he might have caught the local news report about that when it happened. That would have been during one of his visits to his father in Amherst years back.

“Everybody loved my sister.” Stella went on to explain. “She ran track, did good in school, did good with boys.” Her voice then trailed off as she added. “I was the weirdo sibling nobody liked.”

“Okay.” Harry nodded in understanding. His own sister was also popular in school back when he was a nerdy teenager. It took nearly a decade for him to realize that the reason people hated him back then wasn’t because he was fat or because he was a nerd, it was because of his arrogance, the same kind of arrogance his now former customer had. Looking at this girl before him, he could tell she had some real pain, and didn’t peg her as being conceited.

“Dad started drinking more, I got even more depressed.” the young girl continued. He may have understood her feelings, but he still didn’t get why she was sharing all this. Either way, he kept listening. “I remember my school had this art contest. My sister always encouraged me with my drawing, but now, I just drew a blank. It was right before your chainsaw movie came out.” The comic store owner hadn’t fondly remembered anything from his Hollywood days until just that moment. That was where his life peaked, being at the premier with his father and his sister, right before everything went to hell. “I watched a preview of it.” Stella recalled. “I never forgot the end. You had that image of the guy with the chainsaw spinning around in the field, it was amazing. For some reason it just stuck with me. I sketched a picture of it and submitted it. Figured it would be my last work.”

Harry was still listening, but in his mind, he was remembering that scene, as well as that maniac he spotted on the highway years ago when he was just a kid that inspired such an image. That last thing Stella said brought jolted him back to the present. “What do you mean, your last work?”

Stella answered by rolling up her sleeves. “I was pretty depressed even before my sister died.” The store owner gasped as Stella exposed old cut marks on her arms. He remembered girls he grew up with that did that, some of them didn’t survive high school. “Once she was gone everything got even worse; kids at school were on my case, dad was drinking more. One day he passed out and I took his bottle of whiskey, then I grabbed a bottle of pills and, well you know…”

“Oh my god.” Was all he could say.

“I mean, obviously I didn’t do it.” She said, half cracking a smirk. “I was just about to when the phone rang. I don’t know why I even bothered answering it, but I did. It was the school.” She then laughed, continuing, “You know I was actually a little annoyed, because I thought, God, now I have to go into school and get the stupid award and then off myself.” Stella stopped for a moment. The rain was still coming down outside. She slightly titled her head and shrugged her shoulders as a light thunder sounded in the sky outside. “But I stuck around.” She resumed. “Dad stopped drinking, I ended up getting a scholarship and, well here I am.”

That was a nice sentimental story, but it still didn’t fill the hurt he had inside. “I lost my family to all that shit. No offense but you think this is supposed to make up for that?”

“No,” she answered simply. “but my sister always encouraged my drawing. She wouldn’t have wanted me to stop. Would they have wanted you to stop?”

“If I’d kept my job in Pennsylvania, I’d still have my family.”

“Wow, being stuck in a cubicle, sounds like a great life.” The store owner’s sarcasm detector was going off the charts.

“Look, I’m not gonna tell anybody. I just wanted, I just wanted to tell you.” Staring at the door, Stella said “Now are you gonna let me out or are you gonna cut me up with a chainsaw?”

His heart pumped again as his hands frantically unlocked the door. He pushed the glass door open hard and his arm remained still holding the door open.

Stella laughed walked past him. “God, I was just kidding. You’re so serious.”

Harry was now long gone as the door closed. George breathed a heavy breath as he locked the door again. Somewhere in his gut he knew he could trust her. He knew she wouldn’t tell anyone.

Walking back to one of the comic book shelves, he gazed longingly at a Friday the 13^th comic, and remembered that dream from so long ago. Flipping the wall switch the light’s dimmed while he walked back to the register.

Sitting down trying to close out the register, his mind was still in a fog. One thing occurred to him. She never asked what happened to his sisters killer?

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 Three

Chapter Three: The Last Date

I-39 North, June 11^th, 2004

“Six dollars, it’s like a dollar an hour!” Lindsey burst into laughter as her boyfriend did a spot-on impersonation of Napoleon Dynamite, the movie they’d just seen before beginning the drive home.

“Eat the food!” Lindsey chimed in with her own impersonation. Ben laughed as he watched the road ahead of him. Lindsey then watched Ben’s expression shift from laughter shift to surprise. She was taken back herself as she turned to see the normally desolate freeway dotted with pairs of red break lights. “Oh wow,” Lindsey said, “there must have been an accident.”

“Hope it wasn’t anything too serious.” Ben said as he turned up the radio and held his foot on the break. For the first time in their lives, they were in a traffic jam, something hard to come by in the state of Wisconsin, but nothing phased them these days. Life was great, they’d just graduated high school, were about to go off to college, and the possibilities were as open as the wide prairies surrounding them.

“The Reason” from Hoobastank played on the radio as Ben lit a cigarette. “Thanks for the movie.” Lindsey said as she leaned over, brushing his arm with her hand.

“No problem.” Ben said as he took a puff of his cigarette.

Remembering her recently departed great-grandmother, Lindsey asked, “Remember that time my Nana took us to the movies for my brother’s birthday?”

“Yeah, we went roller skating afterwards.” Ben recalled, tapping his cigarette on his windowsill sending the ashes to the macadam below. “I didn’t want to go because I couldn’t skate.” Ben recalled with a laugh. “Franklin really wanted to see that horror movie, but your brother didn’t want to invite him unless I was there too.”

“What, really?” Lindsey never knew this nugget of information. That was the day she first met Ben. Even back then, when they were just barely teenagers, Lindsey knew there was something special about him. “Why was that?” she inquired.

Looking out into the night illuminated by the red glow of the brake lights, he explained. “I was like his only friend back then. I guess I was supposed to keep him in line or something.” Lindsey nodded as she remembered Ben’s friend who had a reputation of being odd and intense.

“You know,” Ben then looked at his date to reveal, “I had a crush on you even back then.”

“Awww!” Lindsey leaned toward him granting a tiny taste of her lips. Pulling back, she blushed as Ben’s face was now marked with a small red smear.

As she playfully wiped his mouth with her handkerchief, she heard him say, “Yeah, Franklin used to tell me that I’d have to fight him to the death for you.”

“Oh really?” she said, putting the handkerchief back in her pocket.

“Yeah,” Ben said laughing as the traffic slowly crept forward. “You know, the thing was I think he was serious!”

“So I take it you won?”

They both laughed as he replied. “No, I just went and asked you out!”

Squeezing his hand, suddenly a memory emerged from years ago. It was such a trivial thing, but still. “There was something I never told you.” she said quietly.

“Oh yeah.”

“Remember when we went to the winter formal?”

“Of course I do. That was a great night.” She knew he was right, it was a great night. That night was the first time, for both of them.

“Franklin asked me to go with him.” she suddenly revealed.

“What?” Lindsey didn’t know how he would react. He didn’t look angry, more surprised. She supposed it didn’t matter now.

Telling more of the story, Lindsey said, “Yeah, remember that time we went to that awful Hell House that year?”

“Oh yeah, that weird church put that on.” Ben recalled. “Wasn’t that the church that closed up after Y2K didn’t and the world and all that.”

“I think so, yeah.”

“You know what? I do remember that haunted house thing. We had a fight that night.”

“We did?”

“Yeah, you were really offended and wanted to leave.” Ben recalled. Lindsey had forgotten all about that awful skit where a woman was portrayed as getting raped then going to hell. “I wanted to see it all since I paid for it!” He laughed.

“Wow, I’d forgotten all about that.” As she spoke she recalled how the big rumor around school was that they’d broken up, but those were put to rest when they arrived at the Winter Formal together. “Anyway, when I left I went to the hardware store to get some stuff for my mom, and he was there.”

“He was? Wasn’t he working at the Hell House? I remember he was all stoked about that.”

“Yes, he was, he was talking to me about one of the rooms he designed or something.”

“Oh, right.” Ben remembered. “He got kicked out that night because he got into a fight with Ken Tramer.”

“He did!” Lindsey said.

“Yeah, Ken told me about it at school the next week.”

“I never knew that. Anyway, I ran into him at the store. I think he asked me to watch a movie with him or something, and then he asked me to the dance.”

Ben jokingly asked, “Well, did you think about saying yes?”

“I was just shocked. I never had anything against the guy, but I was like, ‘How are you asking me out you know I’m dating Ben?”

Shaking his head showing complete understanding Ben said “It was like he had tunnel vision. If he wanted something, nothing else mattered.”

“I’m sorry,” Lindsey said, hoping not to offend him. “I know he was your friend.”

Ben said nothing as the traffic moved along. Their exit was soon approaching. As he and Lindsey looked around, there seemed to be no sign of an accident, no flashing red lights, no police or ambulance in sight. Still, Ben gripped the steering wheel tightly. “Ah shit!” he said, looking to his left.

“What is it?”

“I totally forgot that opened tonight.” Ben said aloud. As the traffic slowly trickled to the Plainfield exit ramp exit ramp Lindsey’s stomach turned at the image before her. A large billboard bore the image of a big burly maniac donned in a leathery like mask wielded a chainsaw. Surrounding him were scantily clad females whose cleavage spilled over, their mouths hung agape seemingly screaming in terror. Little blood or gore was displayed but the presence of meat hooks behind the women left little to the imagination. The bloody text of the roadside billboard read ‘Gein Ghoul House’.

“Wow, I’m so sorry.” Ben said, embarrassed as he knew the attention their little town had been getting made Lindsey uncomfortable.

“It’s OK.” Lindsey assured. Looking to her left at the line of cars crawling down I-39 south, Lindsey could see the actual house that was the attraction. Its Second Empire Victorian architecture looked like it belonged on a Hollywood backlot instead of the Wisconsin landscape. “You know,” Lindsey observed, “that’s not even where he lived?”

“Where who lived?” Ben asked flicking his cigarette out the window.

“You know, that Gein guy whose property they found all those bodies.” Motioning with her thumb towards the east she added, “He really lived out that way. Did you know my dad was the one who discovered all that?”

“Really? He’s the one who found the bodies?”

“Yeah, he dug them up by accident when he was working for the county.”

“Oh wow.” Ben looked relieved as they were finally getting to their exit. “Did you still want to go to the cemetery?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Most of the other cars around them used this exit to take Highway 73 west to head to the new morbid local attraction. Hence the traffic was now clear for Ben and Lindsey as they took 73 east for just a moment before making the left at 5^th avenue toward the Plainfield Cemetery. The interstate was still visible off to the west, but little to no cars were heading north of their little town. As they approached the cemetery gate, Lindsey asked. “Have you talked to Franklin recently?”

Shaking his head no, Ben answered. “Not in a long time actually. He got too weird for me, always on about serial killers and shit.” Looking toward the interstate he said “He’s probably in his glory days now. Hell, I’ll bet he’s working at that damn spook house.”

“He works at the senior center.” Lindsey replied. “He looked after Nana and Ronnie. She always said he was really good to her. Guess he wasn’t all bad.”

“That’s cool. I should probably call him sometime. I heard his parents passed.”

“Oh really, what happened?”

“I don’t know. Natural causes, I guess. From what I heard they both died at home.”

“Oh!” Lindsey got scared for a minute. Ben slammed on the breaks and looked about. Lindsey then put her hands up to her face “I’m sorry.” She giggled as she looked to her right. She felt so silly reacting to the sight of a freshly dug grave. What else would she expect to see at night in a cemetery? “I wonder who that is?” she said aloud. In their small community there had been no recent deaths. While they couldn’t make out the name on the tombstone, one word at its head of the tombstone was the most visible to the couple. That word was ‘Mother.’

“Let’s go see who it is.” Ben said as he switched off the ignition before asking. “Can you reach in the glove compartment and get my flashlight?” As both of them got out of the car, Lindsey followed Ben from behind as he shined his light toward the open grave. The sounds of traffic and beeping horns were far behind them as now the only sound they heard were crickets and the crunching of gravel under their feet. Ben’s light poured into the freshly dug grave. “Nothing down here.” He said.

“Look.” Lindsey said tugging Ben’s arm.

“What the hell?” It didn’t make sense, but a coffin rested right near them. It looked small and light, and also looked really old. “Why would they just leave this out here?” Ben wondered aloud. Lindsey gasped as she looked ahead. “What is it?” Ben asked. Her only answer was to point to the stone before them, a stone that rested here longer than any of them realized.

This grave had been here since 1953.

“Oh no, Nana!” Lindsey said in a horrific realization as she ran through the cemetery. She heard Ben calling from behind for her to wait, but she couldn’t wait. That tasteless haunted attraction was one thing, but this was too far. Their little town made national news this past year as it was discovered that decades ago, a man named Edward Gein went grave robbing undetected. He died in a house fire and his crimes went undiscovered until remains were accidentally unearthed just a year ago. Now some sick freak was looking to be a copy-cat, and all she could think of was her recently departed Nana.

Her chest heaved as she placed her hands on her hips and breathed a deep sigh of relief. There before her, was the perfectly intact grave of her relation. At least someone had left her be.

She turned around to see Ben’s light still behind her. He hadn’t caught up to her yet, in fact his flashlight seemed to be sitting in the grass. Was he checking a grave of his own relation? He did have family buried here, most of the locals did. “Ben.” She called out. “It’s OK, she’s fine, but let’s get out of here, alright?” There was no answer.

As she picked up her pace, moving quickly among the grave markers, the light ahead remained still. Then, she slowed back down as she approached it, another pile of overturned earth. Dammit, this sicko violated another grave, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The flashlight must have been carefully placed on the ground so the beam of light could shine in that exact direction, perfectly illuminating the exposed earth; and there, in front of the marble slab, sat Ben. His throat slashed and was still bleeding onto his shirt.

“Ben!” she shouted as she rushed to his side, desperately pushing her hands on the wound in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. She shouted his name again and again, but it was too late. She sorrowfully cradled him in her arms. His blood now stained her own clothing as she took his car keys. “Oh, Ben.” she sobbed, kissing his forehead as she said goodbye to the future they imagined together, a future that was so shockingly and suddenly cut short.

Keys in hand, she ran back toward the car, her head frantically looked about but could see no assailant. Ben’s car sat ahead of her. For a millisecond she felt a sense of relief, but as soon as she set eyes on the vehicle she sensed something was wrong. Speeding closer to it, her worst fears were confirmed. All four tires were slashed.

Crying out in desperation, Lindsey leaned over with her hands on her knees. It was then she saw it. A black shape emerged from the tree line ahead of her. Long curly hair bounced in the night as the figure approached. It appeared to be carrying a long object, like a shovel.

Lindsey bolted away screaming, knowing there was no one around to help, and no way home except her own feet. With no light of her own, her eyes tried as best they could to scan the area in front of her. She feared stumbling over the white tombstones that dotted the landscape, but those fears were alleviated in a twisted manner as she fell into yet another unearthed grave. Her body hit with a hard thud as she struck the dirt wall. The sound of her ankle snapping was dulled by the loose dirt below. Now another sound was audible aside from her screams of fear and pain. It was the sound of footsteps.

Lindsey covered her mouth, smothering her screams of agony and terror as the sound of the footsteps grew louder. From above she could see another beam of light moving about. She desperately wanted to cry out for help but knew there was no help to be had.

The beam of light then fell into the pit exposing Lindsey and all her vulnerability. Looking up, she could see the shape of a person standing over her. Its long curly hair flopped down to the person’s shoulders as the shape simply stood over the open pit and stared. Lindsey could hear this person breathing as the beam of light slowly lifted up until it exposed the face the person above her wore. She didn’t know to plead for help or mercy as the face of Franklin’s mother looked down on her. At least it looked like his mother’s face, but something about it wasn’t right. Its skinned unnaturally drooped off the head as if it were placed on the wrong skull. Besides, hadn’t Ben said that she died? The figure also appeared taller than she remembered his mother being. The chest appeared perfectly flat, and the body was wiry as if she’d lost a lot of weight. None of that mattered in the moment, as Lindsey shot up her hand and cried out for help. A masculine hand pulled the strange face back, its wet skin slipping off like a glove. Laurie whaled in shock, falling back into the pit as the female face now hung from the person’s hand by its hair. Only now was the proper face of this person clear. His hair was a mess, but that was nothing new. That face stained in blood was one she knew too well.

“Ed told me about your Great Grandmother.” Franklin said as he stood over Lindsey. What he was saying was incomprehensible to her, but he babbled on. “She was a lot like you. He tried to be nice to her, and what did he get?”

The earth crumbled in her fingers as she desperately tried to reach up and crawl away. She heard a light thump, like a wet rag dropping to the ground as his mother’s face fell next to the hole. The smell of dead skin trickled down into the pit. “The same thing I got.” was the last thing Lindsey ever heard as the thick blade of the shovel pierced her skull.  

No Gein: Leftovers. Halloween H2K Part Four

October 27^th, 1999. Plainfield Wisconsin

“No, no, please God help me!” The voice of a young Ozzy Osbourne bellowed over the speakers on the Black Sabbath track that Franklin selected for his room in the Hell House, the local Church’s Halloween attraction designed to scare patrons into accepting Jesus. Franklin’s skull mask clung tightly to his face as he screamed and made monstrous sounds to the teenagers, some of whom fled in tears. Ghastly imagery of skulls and death adorned his section of this controversial haunted house. He was disappointed the whole attraction was not horror such as this. The Hell House had different rooms the patrons went into which recreated real world scenarios. A man who marries another man ends up dying of AIDS, a young girl gets raped at a party then kills herself, a single mother dies from an abortion. Franklin almost volunteered to do the school shooting simulation, but he managed to talk to the pastor into letting him design the Devil’s lair. Franklin took pride in this little slice of hell he made for himself. He was surprised they let him play Black Sabbath music, but then it occurred to Franklin, the organizers probably didn’t know what Sabbath sounded like.

“I told you I wasn’t gonna like this.” Franklin heard a familiar voice say as a new group of teenagers walked in.

“You knew who was hosting this, what did you think you were going to see?” Ben argued with his girlfriend Lindsey as he followed from behind. Franklin’s heart raced as he saw them both. Rumor around school was everyone’s favorite couple was on the rocks, and now Franklin was seeing it with his own eyes which watched from under the skull mask.

“You know we gave these assholes our money for them to spread this shit! Gays and single mother’s are going to hell, and that girl that got raped! Really?” Personally, Franklin enjoyed the skit about the girl who went to a rave and got drugged and raped and then committed suicide. Of course, the rapists weren’t portrayed as going to hell.

Otherwise, Franklin was indifferent to the issues Lindsey raised, he was just happy for the chance to scare people, but now he was ignoring the other teenagers who walked by. Some stopped to admire his mask; others ignored him. Franklin didn’t notice them either, as his gaze remained fixed on Lindsey.

“Hey asshole aren’t you supposed to scare us or something?” Franklin turned to see the face of his classmate Ken standing before him.

“Fuck off.” Franklin answered back. His gaze remained on the young couple, who quickly exited the exhibit, not stopping to see the room he worked so hard on.

“Wait, is that you Franklin?” Ken said in surprise, recognizing his classmate’s voice. Looking over his outfit he said “You know that’s actually a cool costume. I dig it.”

“Dig this, asshole.” Franklin gave his classmate the middle finger.

“Come on man, we came here to get scared.”

“Tupac sucks cocks in hell motherfucker!” Franklin shouted as he leaned forward, thrusting his skull mask into Ken’s face.

“Hey fuck off man, what’s your problem?” Ken pushed Franklin away in protest. Franklin pushed him back, shouting and commotion followed.

Soon the minister hosting the event came in. “Hey, that’s enough!” Focusing on Ken and his friends, the minister said, “You guys get out of here, I’ll handle this.”

The others stormed out. “I already told you about your language,” the minister said to Ken, “and now your starting fights?”

“They started it.”

“That’s enough of this, get out of here.”

“But this is still open for another hour?”

“I said get out of here, you’re done!”

Once he got out of there and cooled down, Franklin thought to himself it was probably a good thing he got to leave that stupid Church thing early, as today was a day he’d long waited for. Today was the day Halloween H2K came out on DVD. From the Church, Franklin walked to Worden’s hardware store, which carried new DVD releases. Passing the magazine rack, he saw the new issue of World of Wrestling was in. Too bad that slut Sable was on the cover. Bitch couldn’t even wrestle but since she looks like a damn Barbie doll, she gets the cover. He rolled up the magazine so people couldn’t see what he had as then approached the DVD rack. Of course, they had that stupid Star Wars movie. He also saw copies of the Matrix, Fight Club, but no Halloween. Franklin couldn’t understand. He was told earlier the store would be getting it. His eyes scanned the rack over and over as his heart slowly sunk. He should have known better than to expect this little shit town to keep up with the rest of civilization.

“Can I help you sir.” That dweeb four eyed clerk asked him.

“I thought you were getting H2K?” Franklin said. The confused look the face of this ignoramus revealed how clueless they were. “The new Halloween movie?” Franklin almost shouted. “It was coming out on DVD this week.”

“Oh yeah, those movies with Michael Meyers.” This guy was a total idiot, Franklin thought to himself, as Michael Meyers hadn’t appeared in Halloween movies in almost 20 years. “Yeah, we had a few of them.” the clerk said. “They must have sold out already.”

Franklin rolled his eyes in disgust. He’d rather they never had it at all than to have it be here then taken away. Bad enough his mom made him take his horror posters down once she started going to Church, but now he missed out on getting the DVD because of this stupid Hell House. “Well,” Franklin held is magazine up in defeat, “I guess I’ll just take this then.”

“That Sable’s pretty hot huh?” the same dorky clerk asked Franklin while at the register.

Franklin shrugged his shoulders as if the question were completely alien to him. “Let me guess,” the clerk said, laughing, “you just read the articles.” Of course he read it for the articles, Franklin thought to himself as he handed over his cash. Why else would he be buying it?

“Franklin.” He heard an elderly voice as he collected his change. “How are you?” Franklin turned to see elderly Bernice standing before him. “I thought you were working at the Ghost House?”

“Oh, well I was.” His voice trailed off.

“Anyway, come back to the office I have something for you.” Bernice was the long retired owner of Worden’s hardware store, but she still came in once and a while to do odds and ends, mostly for something to do. She led him back to the manager’s office. No one was in at the moment. Flipping the lights on she asked “What do you got there.” referring to the now bagged item Franklin carried.

“Just a wrestling magazine.”

“Oh, I know why you bought that.” Bernice said with a glimmer in her eye. “That Sable’s gorgeous!” Reaching into a bag that rested on the desk she said “I wish they would put the Rock on the cover.” Franklin blushed in embarrassment as Bernice boasted. “He could pin me anytime!”

His mood instantly elevated as she removed the contents of the bag. “I knew wanted this, so I saved one for you. Think of it as an early Christmas present.” Franklin eagerly snatched the item presented to him. It was a DVD case, the cover of which looked like a computer monitor dripping with blood. The green Matrix-like letters read “Halloween: H2K.”

“Wow, awesome.”

“I knew you’d like it.”

“Franklin” he’d already turned around by now but he stopped in his tracks. When he turned back around she said “You can be a nice boy. Maybe invite some friends over to watch your movie. A boy your age should have friends you know?”

“Yeah, yeah OK thanks.” Franklin said before leaving.

Walking outside, Franklin stared at the package, reading the contents on the back; audio commentary by the director, behind the scenes features, a sticker on the plastic indicated about the contest. This DVD was the key to a contest where he could win the original Michael Meyers Mask. Then, Franklin felt his body bump into something. A mat of brownish hair swatted his face, and for just a second, he felt the smooth skin of a female.

The sound of groceries hitting the sidewalk preceded her voice “Oh, Franklin, I’m so sorry.” Lindsey said, kneeling down picking up her items.

Embarrassed, he looked back at Worden’s, where through the window he could see Bernice smiling at him. Seeing the chance before him, he knelt down and helped her pick up her things. “Thanks.” Lindsey said, smiling at him. This was the first time she’d spoken to him in forever. She was wearing a plain brown sweater, not that nice holiday themed one Ben got her last year. His heart raced as he remembered the gossip around school. Word was that she’d broken up with Ben, and what he’d seen earlier tonight seemed to have confirmed this.

She spoke to him again after putting her things in the trunk of her car. “I heard you were working at that Hell House. I didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah, my shift was over so..” his voice trailed off before asking, “Did you like the Hell room?”

“Um, I didn’t stay long. Not my thing you know.” Spying the wrestling magazine in his hand Lindsey said, “Is that a wrestling book?” He nodded, embarrassed by the cover he knew she saw.

“Yeah, and I just picked this up.” Franklin held up his new prized possession.

“Oh cool, what is that?” she asked.

“Uh, it’s the new Halloween movie.”

“Oh nice, you always did like that stuff.” Lindsey said as she opened the car door.

“Yeah, uh,” he couldn’t believe he finally had the courage to ask, “would you want to come over and watch it with me?”

“I have to get home.” She answered as she sat down in the car seat. “Besides I’m no good with scary stuff, it’s too much for me.”

Franklin looked back at the store, where on the doorway there was a poster for the upcoming school winter formal.

“Uh Lindsey.”

“Yes.”

“I was thinking about going to the Winter Dance.”

“Really, that’s great.” She smiled at him and reached out and touched his arm.

“I was wondering if you’d want to go with me.”

“Oh Franklin.” For the second time tonight, his heart sank. “You know I’m going out with Ben.”

“I heard you broke up.”

“Since when do you listen to the school gossip.” she giggled before saying, “Ben and I had an argument but we’re fine. I’m sorry Franklin but I’m going to be going with Ben.” Now Franklin was struggling to fight back his tears. “You should ask one of the other girls at school. I’m sure you can find someone to go with.” Someone else? Who else would possibly go with him? A cold wind blew over Franklin, rustling the leaves about him. “I’m sorry Franklin but I have to go. See you.”

He winced at the sound of the door slamming shut before the engine came on. Then, Franklin heard another sound behind him, it was the blaring of a car horn, followed by the blaring of his mother’s voice. “Franklin, stop talking to that girl and get over here. We’re going home.”

Lindsey politely waved goodbye as she drove away. “What happened?” His mother asked. “Why were you getting in fights at the Hell House?”

“I don’t know, they were just some dumb kids.”

“Well, why were you talking to that girl? Who is she?”

“It’s just a girl from school mom.”

“Probably some slut.” She said as she drove away.

As soon as they got home they could both smell the beer. Franklin’s father had been sober for a while, but now he was sitting on the couch watching TV while cans of beer lay about.

”Oh,” Franklin’s mother said. “so I guess you didn’t go get a job today?”

Franklin didn’t bother sticking around to watch the argument. He had more important things to do anyway. Once he got to his room and popped the DVD in, he forgot all about his parents, the Hell House, and that stupid dance. He turned up the volume, drowning the shouting of his parents below.

He pulled out his notebook while the DVD menu loaded. From the H2K website he solved various online puzzles and answered trivia questions. For his success he was emailed special instructions to find nine hidden codes on this DVD. Whoever emailed the nine codes in first would win the grand prize, which was various props from the Halloween movies, including the original Michael Meyers mask.

Franklin’s eyes scanned every frame of the movie as it played, always searching the background for clues. Any terror and suspense the movie might have offered was not able to phase this viewer. Soon, however, Franklin was startled not from the content of the movie but from the sound of his door slamming. His drunk father stumbled through the doorway; his eyes lazily looked around the room. “What are you doing?” he slurred. “You don’t have a girl up here, do you?” After looking at the strange imagery on the TV screen he said, “Of course you don’t.” Stumbling forward, eying the DVD case he added. “You’re into all this weird shit. Why don’t you play some sports. Go out and get a girl.” Then, looking back at the TV, he asked “What is this?”

 “Dad don’t!” Franklin said as his father pushed the TV, making the DVD player on top slide part way off.

In response, his father pushed the TV harder, this time making it tip for just a moment. His fingers also accidentally hit the DVD panel. The sound of the DVD tray opening accompanied the banging sound of the whole device hitting the floor.

“What is going on in here?” Franklin’s mother burst into the room. His parents resumed they’re argument but at least took it out in the hallway. Franklin quickly knelled down to look at his electronics equipment. The lights were still visible on the display of the DVD player, indicating that it still worked. Unfortunately, it was too late, the damage was already done. Franklin’s face reflected up at him from part of the DVD, tears fell from his eyes onto part of the disc. These tears wouldn’t change the fact that this DVD that was just gifted to him was now cracked in half.

No Gein: Leftovers. Halloween: H2K Part 3

Milwaukee Wisconsin, August 15^th, 1999

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He plays football?” Patrick said in disgust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh cool, how did you do that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’re here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

“Who’s Patrick?” His mom asked.

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

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

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

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

“God mom, we just watched a DVD.”

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

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

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

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

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

No Gein: Leftovers. Clarice, The First Taste Chapter Five.

September 1993

Carrying his bible into the library, Milton passed Jason, who was sat with some tutor apparently learning to read. with some special tutor teaching him how to read. It burned Milton to know an illiterate like that stacked up more bodies than he did. He quickly sat down and opened his bible to the New Testament to take his mind of this macabre injustice.

Milton hadn’t read these stories since he was a kid, in fact, it was so far back it was before he ever killed anybody. He remembered enjoying this book as a kid, but now this Jesus character sounded like a damn hippy. Milton took some pleasure in imagining he and his family being around back then. His clan would have nailed him to the cross themselves, along with those two thieves Dismas and Gestas, who reminded Milton of those two hippy bastards his family caught when he was a kid.

The Last Supper was certainly an enjoyable story. Milton forgotten all about the stuff about eating Christ’s flesh and drinking his blood. That being the case, Milton re-thought his earlier position. Maybe he and his family would have been apostles after all. They were never one to miss a good meal.

His mind was brought back to the current times by the presence of one of the guards. Without saying a word, the guard placed a newspaper on the table in front of Milton. It was the La Porte County Herald-Dispatch; Milton’s regional newspaper he’d arranged for the prison to carry. Deciding to put his scripture studies aside, the silence of the prison library was disrupted by the turning of the newspaper pages. Milton skipped to the back, something he usually didn’t do when reading, so he could read about how his Alma Matter was doing in high school football. Then he read of church bake sales, bingo sessions, yard sales, and all the things he never gave a shit about otherwise. He even read all the horoscopes even though he didn’t even know what his sign was.

He set the newspaper down, but the front page peaked out at him from behind the other folded pages. The local news section hung on the edge of the table like the Garden of Eden’s forbidden fruit. Just like the produce on the Tree of Knowledge, the temptation was too great. Milton’s hands shook as they gripped the flimsy pages and turned to the police blotter. His eyes quickly scanned the reports of petty theft and vandalism, and breathed a sigh of relief as nothing their caught his eye. It was then that he saw the headline, it hid quietly on the bottom of the page.

 “Police are still looking for Daryl Cunningham. The 17 year old male’s car was found in the Coffee Creek Watershed Preserve ”

Breathing heavily, Milton bowed his head in his hands as the paper lay open before him. He knew that awful truth, she knew it was Clarice. He knew Coffee Creek was one of the spots they’d use to dump a car. His mother probably drove it out, then went for a leisurely hike before being picked up by his father. The silence of the library was broken by a sob accompanied by the sounds of the newspaper being folded up. Shoving the paper to the side, after wiping his eyes Milton saw the Bible still lay open on the table, it’s scripture seemingly mocking him from two millennia ago. Milton could take no more. His hands slammed the holy book shut and angrily pushed it away, causing it to fall on the floor with a thud, causing the pages to open again. “That’s not how we treat our here books sir!” The librarian said sternly. 

Milton got up and walked out, ignoring that four eyed geek who had the gall to scold him. A piece of shit like that would never have dared talked to him like that on the outside. Hell, on the outside he wouldn’t have talked to him period. In the real world if that pencil necked nerd even looked at him wrong Milton would have ripped his damn face off.

“Milton you gonna pick up that shit or are you gonna take a strike?” One of the guards asked. Milton knew full well ‘strikes” were like demerits in school, too many strikes and you lose what little privileges you get in here. Milton had, to the surprise of some, been a model inmate. In fact, he couldn’t even remember if he’d ever gotten a strike. He presumed he would be getting one as he walked out the door.

“What was that all about?” The guard asked the librarian.

“I don’t know. He’s been reading here for years and I never saw him act like that before.”

“Must have read something that didn’t agree with him.” The guard said as he knelt down to pick up the Bible, he saw the Psalm it was open to and read it aloud. “O Lord, rebuke me not in thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure.”

“Sounds like ‘thee’ were angry.” the guard lauged as he snapped the book shut.

“Was that Psalm 6?” The librarian asked, fixing his glasses.

“How the fuck would I know?” The man said, tossing the book on the shelf. “I just work here.”

“Oh, ok, well I’ll put it back.” The librarian said as the guard walked away.

“You do that.”

Flipping the book back open, the librarian read the rest of the Psalm.  “O Lord for I am weak. Heal me, my bones are vexed. My soul is also sore vexed, but thou, O Lord, how long? Return, O Lord, deliver my soul: oh save me for thy mercies sake.”

“Lord,” the Librarian quietly prayed, “let that man feel the pulled towards your will, and let him go down the right path.”

September 2003

“You finally brought home dinner.” Emily’s face glowed from the combination of the campfire and the pride she felt for her granddaughter, who’d just told the tale of her first kill. “He tasted great too!”

“Smokers never tase great.” Whitman said as he stood up. The fire was slowly dying out by now, and Clarice’s grandfather poured a pale of water to extinguish the remaining flames.

Milton listened the whole time Clarice told her story. He remained quiet as his family curled up in their sleeping bags in the grass, far off the interstate where no one would see them. Watching the smoke rise from the smoldering pit that was their campfire, he remained sitting, looking out over the darkness while his family began their slumber.

Finally, he layed down on his blanket next to the van. Milton remembered that day so many years ago when he visited the prison Chaplin. Thinking back to that moment as he lay looking up at the stars, he chalked it up to having a weak moment. To his right lay Clarice in her sleeping bag, that teenage boys severed head lay next to her. She was still awake, gazing into the dead head’s eyes, her hands caressed the cold skin as if it were and undead lover. “Yeah, that Clarice is certainly a chip off the old bloc.” He thought to himself. Looking to his left, Milton’s parents were fast asleep. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this while trip was a wild goose chase. Naturally he wouldn’t dare say this aloud, but when passing through their home town he thought about pulling off the interstate and insisting they just go home. However, he could tell this little road trip of death made his father feel alive. Moments like tonight, and in that alleyway in New Jersey, made him feel like it was 1974 all over again. The clan was back together, and mayhem and murder followed. Milton wanted to enjoy every moment he could with both his parents while they were still around. Before they were, before..

Milton now turned upwards to gaze at the stars. He wondered if his brother was up there somewhere. Was it really like they said in those Sunday school stories, was he really up there looking down on him and his family?

“Hey  Frost,” he whispered, waving at stars that died so long ago. “Are you really up there looking down on us?” If so, Milton pondered, then his departed brother could see all the chaos and death he and his family had been causing, and he’d be proud. He’d be be especially proud of his “daughter.” Milton himself never wanted kids, but he remembered Frost always had a soft spot for them. Since the moment he found her as a little baby in the back of that house after dispatching her parents, he loved her like her own. “You’d be proud of her.” he whispered as he again looked over at her, now fast asleep. “She’s a nut like the rest of us.”

“Ah what the hell am I doing, fucking talking to myself.” He muttered while turning to his left side. Past his parents he could see the now extinguished fire pit. The bones and leftover flesh remained burnt on the spit. Remembering the mighty fire that once roared there not long ago, Milton thought to himself. “That’s the kind of place God would send us to, if any of that shit was real.” He remembered those days back in the prison, it was the first time he’d read the holy book since he was a kid. Good stories actually. He particularly liked the Old Testament, all that wrath of God stuff. If those stories are to be believed, then the Almighty stacked more bodies then ten generations of his family could dare dream. The aroma of burnt flesh still tickled his nostrils as Milton thought about the sinners burning in the eternal pit of flames. “Why should he suffer.” Milton pondered. His family would never be that Norman Rockwell slice of Americana. He loved what he did, and he couldn’t imagine living his life any other way.

Rolling over, once again laying on his back, his eyes again scanned the unspeakably large canvas that was the sky above him. “What an amazing work of art this infinite abyss of the cosmos was. Could all of this really be here by accident?” Before his eyes fell asleep, he had one final closing thought. “If there really is something up there,” he muttered to himself before he fell to sleep, “then he created a butcher like me.”

The End 

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

September 2003

On a secluded area off an interstate in the mid-western United States, Milton’s family reminisces about a time they visited him at a New Jersey Prison.

“I remember that trip.” Milton’s mother recalled. “We went into New York afterwards.”

“Yeah,” Clarice added, “I emember I got lost in the Strand bookstore.”

“I remember you STOLE something from the Strand Bookstore!” Milton’s father recalled with a laugh over the misadventure they had in the world’s biggest second-hand book shop.

“Oh, those were good times.” Emily rememinisced. “We saw Cats on Broadway, and remember we went to see the Twin Towers?”

“Oh yeah, we did.” Clarice said, recalling the two landmark skyscrapers that were part of the national tragedy that occurred just a few years ago.

“I remember that day.” Milton said. “We didn’t have TV but we all heard the news on the radio.” Then, shaking his head he muttered. “God damn awful.” His family nodded in agreement. Every single person sitting around this campfire had blood on their hands, but even for monsters such as these, they all silently agreed that the evil that day was a step too far.

“Anyway, that was a nice little trip.” Emily said.

Before his niece continued her story leading up to her first kill, Milton thought about the time just after their visit. This was something he hadn’t thought about in a long time, in fact, it’s something he almost forgot himself.

Federal Correctional Institution: Fort Dix, New Jersey August 1993

Milton sat quietly after the religious service. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he liked the Chaplin. Mr. Savanelli preached about the Flood and Noah’s Ark. Milton always like that story as a kid. Afterwards, he asked the Chaplin for a word in private.

Now alone in the room, the Chaplin asked, “Did you enjoy the service today?”

“Of course. I always liked that story where God drowns everybody.” Milton answered with a smile. “You know I drowned somebody once.” Milton shocked himself with this casual reveal. A sense of panic followed, the likes of which he hadn’t felt in years. Milton looked behind him to see if the guard was there, but luckily, he was standing outside.

Turning back, the Chaplin maintained his warm friendly smile, but it was evident he’d read the expression Milton wore on his face. “Don’t worry,” Savanalli said, “anything you say here is between us.” 

Milton trusted this God fearing man to be good on his word. “OK. ” Milton said, wiping his brow. “It wasn’t that fun anyway, almost went under myself.”

“Would you like to sit down?” Savenelli asked.

“Sure.”

As they both sat down the Chaplin said “I don’t recall seeing you before. What brings you to us today?”

That was a good question. What had brought Milton here today? He thought about it before speaking, even though he already the answer. Finally, he said, “I got a visit from my niece recently.” 

“Oh, that was your niece that came? I thought maybe it was your daughter.”

“Wait, you saw her?”

“I saw you with who I assumed was your family when I was visiting with Dr. Pleasance.”

“Dr. Pleasance.” That name brought a smile to his face and wicked thoughts to his mind. “Yeah, we saw her talking to that guy that did the baby-sitter murders. Clarice, my niece that is, was asking about him.”

“I see, is she afraid of him?”

“No she idolizes him.” Milton answered immediately. Then with a chuckle he added, “She thinks he’s awesome.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

Milton answered the question with a question of his own. “Think there’s any hope for a guy like that?

“Well, Jesus preached to those who were far off and those who were near. Scripture says that in Christ we are no longer strangers and aliens, but that we are all fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God.”  

“Yeah, yeah, Ephesians 2:19.” Milton responded dismissively. “I mean, do you think they’ll ever let him out?”

“Milton, as I’ve told you,” the Chaplin now sounded more stern, “I won’t share anything you tell me here. I would ask you to understand that I won’t be discussing that man’s case with you.”

Milton shook his head, amused how the Chaplin blocked this line of query. “Alright, well let’s discuss his soul then, if there is such a thing that is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, your God,” Milton then snapped his fingers as he asked, “couldn’t he do some magic trick to make him good?”

“Milton, I think you know God’s not a parlor magician. He gave us free will.”

Of course Milton knew all about free will. He’d read “Summa Theologica” by Thomas Aquinus as well the writings of John Wesley. He could have easily formulated a counter argument against these classical theologians. Instead, he looked at the iron bars across the window and responded. “Free will to end up in here.”

“Or free will to accept his grace and walk into his light.”

Milton laughed at the response. It brought him back to that time when he was a teenager and a pair of Jehovah’s witnesses knocked on their door. Their flesh tasted tough and chewy, like the leather of their shoes that had walked too many miles. “So, even if a monster like me believes in God’s only son than I shall have eternal life?” he asked, mocking the much quoted verse, John 3:16.

“Even a sinner such as you,” Savenelli answered with his own smirk, “no matter how infamous they may be.”

“So, you know who I am?”

“You’re not the first prestigious inmate I’ve witnessed to.” The Chaplin said proudly. “In fact, many within these walls have come to Christ.”   

“That sounds great chaplin. Hey, do you think the people I butchered would want to be up there in heaven with me?” Milton knew just how to phrase this question, and felt proud of himself for stumping the chaplin. After a short moment of silence Milton added “Yeah, I didn’t think so,” wrapping a bow on the moment.

The stumped chaplin pivoted by asking, “That elderly couple Clarice was with, were they your parents?”  

Still proud of stumping the chaplin and understanding why he changed the subject, Milton answered coyly “You got it.”

Savanelli then asked, “What about the girl’s parents?”

“Her dad, my brother,” Milton’s emotions now clouded as he explained, “he died when she was just a baby.”

“And the mother?”

With an uncanny gleam in his eye Milton answered “Well, it’s probably best we don’t talk about that.”

Savanelli appeared to accept that answer. Seemingly knowing not to push that subject further he then observed,  “Your parents must be getting up there in age. Raising a teenager is a lot for them to take on.”

It was then Milton revealed what was truly on his mind. “It’s not my parents I’m worried about.” Milton took a deep breath after those words exited. He felt genuinely startled that this sentence had just come from his own lips. It was as though his words were prisoners escaping from his mouth before it occurred to his mind to close his jaw, keeping his thoughts trapped forever.

The Chaplin immediately pounced on this opening. “Why are you worried about your niece?”

Knowing he was exposed, Milton’s eyes wandered around the room. Looking at the prison walls he answered, “Well, she’s being raised by the same people that raised me.”

“And your concerned Clarice will follow in your footsteps?”

Finally speaking freely, Milton said “She’s a good kid, she’s so smart, likes to read, not ignorant like other brats her age. I just..I just want her to do good.”

“And there’s not much you can do for her behind these walls.”

The normally articulate Milton replied with one word. “Yeah.”

“Milton, I tell you what we can do. God asks us to pray for him in our times of need. We pray to God especially for things that our out of our hands.” He then extended his own hand and asked. Would you like to pray with me?”

Milton said nothing, he just sat there looking at the man’s hand. “You know Milton, maybe you’re right, maybe praying won’t help.” This was the first thing Milton heard that surprised him. “But it won’t hurt now, will it?”

He took the Chaplin’s hand and closed his eyes before hearing these words. “Father God, I thank you for Milton’s presence this day. He has come humbly before you to ask for your help. Together we lift up his niece Clarice in prayer. She is a wonderful young girl with a bright future ahead of her. We pray for her that she may walk the righteous path. We pray for Milton’s parents, who are raising her, that you may give them the strength to guide her during the trying teenage years. I also pray for Milton that he may be a good influence on his niece, even if from afar. I pray for the four of them that when they journey down the road of life, that all four of them may turn towards the light, the light of your son Jesus. It is in his name we pray, Amen.”

Milton opened his eyes and quickly wiped the tear from his cheek. He knew the Chaplin saw it, but he said nothing of it as he held up his Bible saying “We do have some of these in the library. I hear you’re a voracious reader.”

2003

“Anyway, it was a nice little trip.” Emily said. “We thought on on the way back that would have been your first.”

“What do you mean.” Clarice had forgotten all about it, but as her grandmother started talking about it, she remembered.

1993

Clarice’s hands shook as she held the blade up. All she had to do was swing, just swing it down in one swift motion and it will be all over; but she couldn’t stop looking at his eyes. Those eyes widened in horror, pleading to her for mercy. Her grandparents subdued the hitchhiker they picked up on the way home and tied him up for easy pickings; but as Clarice stood over him in the empty field just off the road, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.  

“Come on honey, make us proud. Make Uncle Milton proud.” Her grandmother prompted. Clarice wanted to, she wanted so desperately to please her family, but something was stopping her. Some invisible force she couldn’t comprehend seemed to lock her arms in place, almost as if she couldn’t move. “Come on,” her grandmother taunted, “kill this bastard!” Clarice closed her eyes tight, her hands gripped the handle of the knife as hard as they could while she took one last deep breath.

She jumped back and screamed as the blood splattered. There was not only blood, but bits of bone and flesh as grandpa’s sledgehammer bashed the skull of the hapless victim. Seeing the graphic site before her, Clarice dropped the knife and fell into the arms of her grandmother. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” she cried, feeling deep shame in not living up to the family name.

“It’s okay dear.” Clarice felt her grandmother’s gentle hand stroking her back. “It was hard for me the first time too.”

“It’s either you or them.” Grandfather said as he took out his bag of tools with which he intended to prepare the fresh carcass. “You gotta understand that.” Hearing her continued to sob he added, “Clarice, your grandmother and I love you, but this is the way of our family. One of these days, your going to have to bring home dinner.”

No Gein: Leftovers. Clarice, the First Taste Part Two

Milton remembered that day Clarice came to visit him in prison. Waiting for her in the visiting room, he saw Dr. Pleasance. She looked good with her red curly hair that fell down to her shoulders, and that British accent turned him on something fierce. She was here to see the inmate who did those Baby-Sitter Murders a few years back. Milton didn’t get why she bothered, that freak never said a word, but at least Milton had something to look at while waiting for his family.

Then she walked in. Milton couldn’t believe how tall she’d become. No longer the little tom-boyish rugrat who visited not that long ago, Clarice was becoming a woman. All the other inmates as well as some of the guards watched her figure approach his table. Milton knew full well what they were thinking, and he wanted to rip their spleens out for it.

Milton’s parents came in behind her. It was always a relief to see them. They both looked well, but Milton could see they were getting up there in age. After talking for a while about how everyone in the family was doing and the usual small talk, Clarice handed Milton a book. In a way, Milton was relieved to see at least one thing about Clarice hadn’t changed. He was also excited to receive Clarice’s book, being a longtime fan of Robert Bloch who was disappointed the library didn’t stock the latest novel. After thumping through its pages he asked, “How did you like it?” safely betting she’d already read it.

“Brett Eliss’s book was better.” was Clarice’s answer.

“You just liked that one because of all the gore.” Whitman chimed in. Milton laughed in agreement.

“Really, you think I’m that shallow.” Clarice replied to her family with utter seriousness. “Bloch’s character is simply a lonely motel owner with mommy issues. American Psycho is an exploration of the dehumanizing effects of capitalism.” Continuing her impromptu dissertation on the two novels, Clarice gave an analysis of each book’s main character. “Patrick’s descent into madness is caused by his view of everything and everyone around him to be seen as a commodity, to be bought, used, and disposed of.”

As Clarice rattled of her thesis, Milton beamed with pride. “Damn this girl is smart.” He thought to himself. He knew it ran in the family, as much as smarts could run in this family he supposed.

“You can see why she’s so popular with the boys.” Whitman joked,

“Grandpa!” She objected.

Noticing the other adults in the room occasionally glancing at his niece’s legs, Milton asked “Speaking of which, any boys caught your eye.”

“Oh, yeah, tell him about Darryl.” Emily excitedly butted in.

Clarice’s face immediately turned red in embarrassment as Milton asked, “Oh, who’s Darryl?”

Later, Milton would remember this moment as the only time he ever saw his niece being meek, as she explained, “He’s just a boy from school. He’s really cool.”

“Yeah, she was all disappointed when she had to postpone because we were coming here first.” Whitman said.

“No, I wasn’t, I couldn’t wait to see you Uncle Milton.” Clarice said, taking her Uncle’s hand. “When I get back, Darryl and I are going to see the new Friday the 13^th movie.”

“Still watching that crap.“ Milton jested. Letting go of her hand, he leaned back and said, “I suppose that’s one good thing about being incarcerated, zero exposure to junk movies.” Milton laughed.

“Yeah, I know it’s not as good as Halloween.” Milton was shocked hearing this, because Clarice never complimented that movie. However, Milton then registered her sarcasm as her eyes widened and she leaned forward to say, “NOT!!!!”

Milton laughed, saying, “I’m sure you’ll give me a detailed thesis next time I see you.”

“Oh my god!” Clarice suddenly looked away from her Uncle. Something evidently caught her eye got her excited. Milton turned to see Dr. Pleasance walking away. He got a nice view of her tits as they bounced with each stride of her long slender legs. Milton saw his father licking his lips as the Dr. passed, her hand covering her face which held a look of despair. Then, Milton noticed Clarice had her eye on something else. His niece watched two gaurds escort the large prisoner away whom Dr. Pleasaance had come to see. While the corerctional officers seemed uneasy and even a little scared of the prisoner, Milton’s niece looked on in awe. The family caught a brief glimpse of the infamous inmate’s face before he exited the visiting room and was escorted back to the bloc. “Is that the guy from the Baby-Sitter Murders?” Everyone in the visitor’s room looked her way as Clarice asked loudly.

Milton put his finger over his lips indicating for her to hush before nodding his head to answer yes.

“Wow, he’s awesome!” Clarice said, not lowering her voice.

“Do you know what he did?” Milton asked in concern.

“Hell yeah, I know what he did! Killed five bitches in Bethlehem Pennsylvania in 1988.” she said excitedly. “I’m his number one fan.” “Hey,” she turned to her grandparents. “that’s not too far from here, could we stop on the way back?”

“Honey, we got a long drive ahead of us.” Emily reminded her granddaughter. “We don’t have time to make too many stops.” 

“Yeah,” Milton said, “besides, don’t you want to get back to your date?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Clarice answered disappointedly, but her face brightened again at her next thought. “Do you think next time I could visit him?” referring to the culprit of the infamous Bethlehem murders.

“They don’t let random people visit inmates here.” Milton cautioned.

“Well, couldn’t you do something to…”

“Look, Clarice,” Milton was now getting impatient. “we don’t have a lot of time left. I really don’t want to argue about this.”

“Oh, Clarice,” Milton’s mother Emily interjected, “wasn’t there something else you wanted to ask your Uncle?”

“Great” Milton thought to himself, bracing for whatever she might ask of him next. Clarice didn’t understand that Milton’s notoriety in fact did not do him any favors in the big house. What she was about to say, however, would change his whole frame of mind.

“Milton,” she asked, “do you remember when you were a kid and you saw Ed?”

The sound of that name brought Milton’s mind back to a time when he barely came up to his daddy’s waist. Back then he hoped to be big and strong like daddy. He remembered one day, when daddy was handing his “special business.” Daddy always took the sledgehammer for his “special business.” Milton was no dummy, he knew that meant daddy was hurting bad people. He just wished the bad people didn’t scream so loud. It didn’t matter so much. Sometimes when it was time for daddy to grab the sledgehammer, Ed would come and play with him.

The young Milton imagined many different friends; space adventurer Flash Gordon, wrestling champion Lou Thez, the Lone Ranger, and so many more. He ventured off with them on amazing adventures. Even as a child, Milton always knew these incredible escapades merely took place in his own mind, but Ed was different. Ed came to him. He wasn’t exciting and adventurous like the others. He wasn’t dashing either, he had this weird fleshy lump below his one eye and an odd lopsided grin, but he liked to play with Milton. They would go outside and play catch, or they’d watch football games and movies together, things normal people did. In his own special way, Ed was fun.

Sometimes Ed even came to dinner, especially when Mom made that special meal to feed “the appetite” as his parents called it. Ed would take imaginary hamburgers over the special meal, and even as a youth, Milton felt funny about his parent’s secret recipes. His wariness over this was strengthened when Ed discouraged him from eating them. Milton loved his mommy and daddy, but they would get real mad when Milton wouldn’t eat the special food; and insisted that Ed was no more real than Flash Gordon of the Lone Ranger.

One day his parents outsmarted him. They wouldn’t let him have any food until he tried the special meal. Eventually his tummy was rumbling, and even though Ed was so upset he was actually crying, Milton couldn’t resist anymore. He took a bite, and he loved it. Milton soon devoured all of it ike a rabid dog, and when he looked up from the dinner table, Ed was gone. He’d never see him again.

Milton didn’t say much when Clarice told him about seeing Ed again. He merely dismissed it as her imagination, just as he tried to convince himself about the nature of his boyhood visions. Soon the time was up, they said their goodbyes, and his family left.

Milton never told his family what happened after that visit. Later that day when working in the library he noticed the sign-up sheet. It was probably here every week, he just never took notice of it. However, on this day, he did see it. Milton put his name down for something he’d never been a part of before.

A few days later Milton was working in the library again when the guard came for him. After being escorted back to his cell block to check in for activities, he was then taken to a part of the prison he’d never been to before. At first, he’d forgotten all about what he signed up for. As soon as he walked in the room, he thought this was a bad idea. Fred was there. He didn’t like Fred. Milton did bad things in his life, but he never did anything like what Fred did. Fred laughed when he saw Milton walk in. A man whose frame filled the doorway wasn’t used to being laughed at. “What,” Fred asked mockingly, “are you a man of God now?”

No Gein: Leftovers. Clarice: The First Taste Part One

This story is a spin-off from No Gein II Part 12, in which Milton and his cannibalistic family sit around the campfire swapping stories after having just killed some random motorists. The opening line here is the last line from that chapter.

A secluded area off the interstate somewhere in the Mid-western United States. September 2003

“I bit in, and I stayed alive.” 

“You wanna hear about my first taste Uncle Milton?” Clarice asked, smacking her lips on her flesh sandwich.

“Let me guess.” Milton said after taking a bite of his own food. Looking up at the night as the fire crackled and the stars burned in the heavens. “It was that boy, what was his name,” his eyes searched the lights in the sky above until it came to him, “Darryl.”

“Oh my god, how did you know?” Clarice blushed with excitement, but when she looked at her Uncle Milton, just for a brief moment after that name escaped his lips, he looked a little sad. Clarice wondered why. Perhaps it was because he was coming to know she wasn’t a little girl anymore. Tonight was the first night he’d seen her in action, having helped hunt the three hapless travelers that were tonight’s dinner.

Light from the flames washed over the family while Milton answered, “I remember reading about it in the newspaper. I figured that was you.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Clarice smiled as she looked down and took another bite of her sandwich, glowing from the approval she’d received from her uncle. Looking back up, she noticed Milton was still looking at her. She squinted her eyes and wondered what he wanted.

“Well, let’s hear the story then!” Milton requested.

August 1993

“I’m gonna kill you, you fucking bitch!” The young teenager wasn’t playing around, and the crowd surrounding her knew it as she rubbed the other girls face in the dirt before slapping her. Other kids and even a few adults gathered around watching and cheering. Clarice couldn’t breathe as Diane’s hand wrapped furiously around her neck. As one of Diane’s hands went from Clarice’s neck to her smother her mouth, Clarice did the only thing she could think of.

“Ahh!” Diane jerked her hand back, pulling her flesh away from the grip of Clarice’s teeth. “Bitch just fucking bit me!” she cried.  Clarice then grabbed a stone and struck Diane in the side of the head, causing her to fall to the ground. The small audience cheered as Clarice rose to her feet. Diane was in shock as she wiped the blood from her forehead. Clarice wanted to pounce this girl and pound her face into the ground, but she was caught up in the moment. This was the first time in her life people were cheering for her. In reality, they probably didn’t give a damn about her, but in this moment, she was their champion. Shaking the the dust off she could see the faces screaming for blood, but then, there was another face, a face a face that wasn’t cheering, a face she hadn’t seen in a long time.

She didn’t see the fist flying her way, but she felt it land in her stomach before it sent her stumbling back. The crowd roared again as Diane was back on her feet. “Now you’re really fucking dead.” she grunted.

“Hey you kids, get the hell out of here or I’m gonna call the cops!” The crowd booed the owner of the local burger joint who stormed into the parking lot. ‘You heard me, beat it!” He shouted as the audience dispersed. Diane took off running without saying a word while Clarice gripped her side where she got hit. Watching all the people leave, she didn’t see that face anymore. It must have been just the heat of the moment, at least that’s what she told herself while she tried to catch her breath. Once she calmed down, she slowly walked away; the excitement of the moment had passed.

“Oh my god, what happened honey?” Clarice’s grandmother Emily asked while wiping her granddaughter’s face with a wet towel.

With a smile that took away all her pain, Clarice answered. “A boy asked me out.”

“Wait, you mean a boy did this to you? Who is it?” Her Grandfather Whitman interrupted. Clarice had been raised by her grandparents as long as she could remember. Filling the role of the protective father, he picked up his sledgehammer and said in complete seriousness. “I’ll kill him.”

“No, no it wasn’t a boy.” Clarice rushed to explain. She knew full well it wouldn’t have been out of the question for her grandfather to actually bash someone’s skull over this. “I think it was his old girlfriend.”

“So, she was jealous huh?” her grandmother Emily said. “Well,” Emily looked over Clarice’s slim figure, donned in cut off jean shorts and a tank top. “you are turning into a real looker.”

“Guess that runs in the family huh?” Her Grandfather said, playfully patting his wife’s backside while asking, “So, who’s this boy?”

“His name is Darryl.” Clarice answered dreamily. “He goes to school with me. He asked me to the movies this weekend.”

Now it was Clarice who was worried. She didn’t know why her grandparents just gave each other that look. Was there some reason they weren’t going to let her go? Did they think she was too young to date? Then, as soon as her Grandmother spoke, Clarice realized she’d forgotten all about it.

“Honey, we’re going to see Uncle Milton this weekend.”

As exciting as the prospect of a first date was, she actually wasn’t disappointed at the news. It had been a while since she’s seen the man that was her Grandfather’s other son. “Uncle Milton!” Clarice exclaimed. “Oh my god, I forgot all about it!”

Her Grandfather said, “I was going to remind you to pack. Are you sure you’re not disappointed? We’ll just be gone for a week.”

“No, not at all.” Clarice assured them. “I’ll call Darryl and tell him.”

“Godless feeling in me

night after night

Godless feeling in me

Born of their lives”

Danzig III: How the God’s Kill spun in Clarice’s CD player while she was in her bedroom packing. Figuring she’d need some reading material for the road trip, she perused her overflowing bookshelf. Some Halloween novels caught her eye. Author Nicolas Grabowsky wrote a series of novels continuing the Michael Meyers story after Halloween II; unlike the film series which turned into an anthology. She realized she hadn’t read Halloween: Deadly Treats, which was a crossover novel featuring Chucky from Child’s Play, characters from the Demonic Toys films, and Brittany Lloyd, the psychotic child killer introduced in a previous Halloween novel. She grabbed this book off the shelf, figuring she would read it on the way back. She wanted to give a book to Uncle Milton, as the prison allowed visitors to bring one gift. However, Uncle Milton was more refined in his horror tastes and probably wouldn’t care for crossover stories. Then she saw it, it was Robert Bloch’s new novel. She knew her Uncle was always a fan of that author’s work, and it would also answer the question of what to read on the way out.

Finally, there was the question of what to wear for the big day. Looking through her closet of her wardrobe of mostly black outfits, she found just what she was looking for. She pulled out the Charles Manson which read, “Charlie Don’t Surf” in the back.

Manson’s eyes looked back from the reflection of the mirror as Clarice held the shirt up over her body. Through that mirror she could see her grandmother standing in the doorway. “Your father would have been so proud if he could see you now.” Emily said.

Looking at the reflection of her own face, Clarice brushed her own cheek with her free hand as she asked “Do I look like him, or do I look more like…” her grandparents talked a lot about her father, who died when Clarice was just a baby, but her mother was never really discussed.

“I can see bits of your father in you.” Emily answered. “Not so much in how you look, but how you are.” Playfully jabbing her on the arm, she said, “You’re definitely one of our family. From the time you were little you were spunky,” Emily’s eyes teared up as she remembered her long departed flesh and blood, “just like Frost was.”

Clarice teared up at the mention of her father. She hadn’t heard his name spoken in a long time. Giving her grandmother a hug, a strange question came to mind. 

“Grandma,” Clarice said, “do you remember Ed?”

“Ed who?” Emily asked, confused.

“When I was little.” Clarice recalled. “I had an imaginary friend named Ed.”

Clarice could see Emily’s eyes moving, thinking for a moment, trying to remember. “Oh yeah,” her grandmother said. “You used to go on all the time about him.”

“Grandma,” she hesitated, but the words still came out of her mouth. “I saw him today.”

“What do you mean you saw him?” Now Emily’s eyes squinted at her granddaughter, and Clarice worried her grandmother wouldn’t believe her.

“When I had the fight.” Clarice said, “I hit that girl with a rock. She was down on the ground and everyone was cheering around me. I wanted to kill her grandma. I really did. But then I looked in the crowd and I saw Ed. He looked at me real sad, like he was disappointed.” Clarice stopped there, still trying to process what she’d seen, before finishing  “Then the owner came out and chased us off, and Ed was gone.”

“Oh I’m sure it was just the heat and the excitement honey.” her grandmother said, evidently not thinking much of what she’d just heard. “Probably just some dirty old man checking out your ass!” Emily jested, giving Clarice a smack on her bottom. “Don’t worry about it. You just finish packing.” she said while she turned away and walked to the bedroom door.

“Grandma?”

“Yes dear.” Emily responded, turning back to face Clarice.

“Didn’t Milton use to see Ed when he was a kid?”

“Now that you mention it,” Emily’s eyes again wandered, as she was again trying to remember moments from so long ago. “I think he did.”

The Midwestern United States, 2003

“I remember you talking about Ed.” Whitman said to his son Milton around the campfire. “It was like you understood how other imaginary friends were in your head, but you always insisted Ed was real.”

Milton simply nodded. He’d now finished his food, and stared blankly into the campfire.

“I remember that day, Clarice.” Grandma said. “I was so surprised. You hadn’t seen him since you were little.”

“Well, Milton doesn’t want to hear about your imaginary friends.” Walter interjected. “He wants to hear about your first taste!”

Clarice was about to resume her tale, but there was one chapter she would not reveal. Her grandmother didn’t realize it, but there was another time Clarice saw Ed. It was just a few years before that fight, she was eleven, and she was bleeding. Clarice panicked when she saw the blood on her hands, but her grandmother explained these things to her. That night, laying in her bed, the darkness around her felt alien. She still held on to her childhood teddy bear while she slipped into a new world she never asked to be in. Clarice hated the feeling of the material between her legs. It was both embarrassing and irritating, and she couldn’t accept what her grandmother explained to her, that this was going to be her normal life from here on out.

Her feeling of irritation faded as she felt a presence in the room. Her mood lifted when she saw that lopsided grin and saggy baggy eye. The thing was, he didn’t look happy. In fact, he looked like he was mad. He was just staring at her while he sat in the little wooden rocking chair near her bed. “What’s wrong Ed?” Clarice asked.

“That’s what’s wrong.” His body rocked back and forth while he angrily pointed to her crotch. “You’re becoming one of those dirty harlots!”

“I’m not dirty.” Her voice contained a mixture of fear and anger, with a dash of confusion. She’d never seen Ed upset like this before.

“Yes, you are. First, it’s that, next it will be short skirts and powders. You’re going to turn into one of those Jezebel’s my mother warned me about!”

“Don’t say that!” Clarice tightly clutched her teddy bear as Ed ‘s body rocked back and forth. His eyes were now closed, and his trembling voice recited.

“For the lips of an immoral woman drip honey.

Her mouth smooth like oil,

but in the end; she is bitter as wormwood

Sharp as a two edged sword,

her steps lay hold of hell.”

“What are you doing, Ed?” she asked. Clarice knew it sounded like something from the Bible. She remembered her grandparents reading the good book to her when she was little, but that seemed like a lifetime ago, and that other life was not her focus now.

Ed then rose up to his feet and loomed over her in her bed. His rough-skinned hands clutched hers with a grip that was scarily strong given the man’s small stature. “Promise me,” he snarled, “promise me you won’t contaminate men like those other wicked girls.”

“Stop it!” she exclaimed, trying to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her go.

Instead, his face drew closer. The brim of his hunter’s cap almost struck Clarice’s forehead as he shouted, “Promise me, you harlot, you dirty fallen creature!”

Clarice screamed hard until the lights came on. “Honey what’ the matter?” She turned to see her grandfather burst into the room. Her hands now felt free, and when she looked with her tear-filled eyes, Ed was gone.

Before she could say anything through her sobs her grandmother entered. “It’s OK honey,” she reassured her as she held Clarice tight. Probably just a bad dream.”