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 II: A Second Helping Chapter Fourteen

No Gein II: A Second Helping

Part Fourteen: Three on a Meat Hook

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

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

“Why do you say that?” Kristina asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who are you?” Kristina asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Gein II: A Second Helping Chapter Thirteen

No Gein II: A Second Helping

Chapter Thirteen: Bloody Reunions

Pine Grove, Wisconsin. December 8th, 1954.

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

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

Plainfield Wisconsin, September 2003

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, officer.” The young woman nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d like to see it.”

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

“We’ll go with you.” Henry said.

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

Pine Grove Wisconsin, December 8th, 1954.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Gein II: A Second Helping Part Twelve

Chapter Twelve. Campfire Stories

Carcasses of their victims hung from a spit over the fire as the family camped out in a secluded area of forest just off the highway. Milton was grateful his mother packed bread in their cooler so he could made himself a nice little sandwich. “Oh my god, this is the best meal I’ve had in years!” he said, taking a bite of the freshly cooked flesh packed between the two wheat slices. Looking at his niece he said through a mouth full of food, “I’m telling you; don’t you ever go to prison. The food there is awful!”

“Don’t worry Uncle Milton,” Clarice giggled while using her fingers to eat a piece of meat off a paper plate, “they’ll never take me alive!”

“They’d better not. By the time you’d get out I’d be dead.” Clarice’s grandmother cackled.

“You’ll be dead a lot sooner if you don’t stop using so much salt!” Clarice’s grandfather said as he ate his freshly made stew.

“Whitman, I’ve been making it that way since before I even met you and don’t you forget it.” Milton’s mother Emily barked back.

“Wait,” Clarice said, “I thought the family recipe was from Grandpa’s side?”

Pointing to the old metal pot in which chunks of flesh from their latest victims floated, Emily, explained, “The meat stew is from Whitman’s side.” Then, holding up her own sandwich she said, “I’ve been eating this since the Great Depression.” Watching the flames dance around the remains of their victims she recalled. “Daddy went and died, and mom and I were barely surviving on the farm in Oklahoma. I remember being so hungry, so hungry it brought me to tears. Must have drove my poor mother mad, how I couldn’t stop crying.” Her voice shook from the sting of that pain she still felt decades later. “All we had a loaf of bread, not even one lousy vegetable to put between two slices. One night, a straggler came by, tried to take advantage of my mom. Well, she killed the bastard dead.” Emily had the full attention of her audience as she finished her tale. “We were starving, but, next thing you know,” Her face changed from an expression of sorrow to one of triumph as she proudly held up her sandwich and proclaimed, “Bon appetite!” 

“Wow.” Clarice marveled at the story. “So, did you introduce the appetite to grandpa?”

“No, I already had it.” Whitman answered his niece’s question. “In fact, when we first met, we both kept it secre!”

“How did you find out then?” Clarice asked.

“He caught me!” Emily laughed. “One day he was away on business, and I was at home starving. We had plenty of food mind you, but the appetite was overpowering. I went and out and got somebody tasty, but loe and behold he came home early, I thought I might have to kill him!”

“I almost killed you when I saw how much salt you were using!” Whitman reminisced.

Looking at his niece, Milton laughed, “They’ve been fighting about that all my life.”

“Aww,” Clarice fawned, “the appetite kept you together. That’s so sweet.” 

“Yeah, my first wife couldn’t take the heat,” Whitman recalled. “so she got out of the kitchen so to speak.” he said laughing.

“Wait” Clarice was shocked at this truth her grandfather just dropped. “You had another wife?”

“Yeah, her name was Mary, tough old broad, just like your grandmother, but she didn’t like our family’s peculiar, uh appetite, as we say.” Grandpa explained before eating another mouthful of his stew. 

“What happened to her? Clarice asked.

“Actually, this is why we’re heading out west.” Whitman revealed. “I had this old set of jewelry; it belonged my mother, bunch of diamonds and shit. That bitch took it all along with some cash and took off. Never saw Mary again.”

“Wait,” Clarice asked, “so did you just find her?” 

“Well someone did!” Emily laughed. “You see the news about those bodies that turned up in the plain states?

“No, really?” Clarice answered.

“Too busy on that internet shit!” Her grandmother complained.

“Hey,” Clarice protested, “rotten.com is an awesome site! I’m telling you, you’d love it.”

“Look I don’t give a dam about gotten.com or whatever the fuck you’re talking about!” Clarice’s grandfather said. “Those jewels belonged to my mother, and I always wanted to kill that bitch for running off with them. Well, it turned out some Psycho beat me to it like 50 years ago. Apparently she had a home out in Wisconsin.”

“And you think you’re going to find these jewels 50 years later?” Clarice wondered out loud. “She probably pawned them off.”

“Maybe, but I just gotta know. Mary always hid shit in that space under the floorboards some old houses had.” Grandfather laughed as he recalled. “Actually, Mary saved my ass one time during a police raid. If her old house is still standing. I bet that at least some of that shit is still in there.”

“And if there’s any people in that house?” Clarice asked out loud, knowing full well it was a rhetorical question.

Grandmother ate the last bit of her sandwich before answering. “Well, we’ll get hungry again I’m sure!”

The family then proceeded to finish their meal. Finishing her food, Clarice thought over all the things that were just revealed to her. Then, she wondered aloud, “How did you get the appetite Grandpa?”

“It was the war.” Whitman remembered. “We were on a fishing boat off the coast of Iceland. One night a German U-boat took us out. Our boat was partially afloat, and me and a few other guys clung to the wreckage.” Clarice listened intently as she loved stories about the war “Some bodies floated by, and I remember one in particular. The chest was blown off, and the heat from the explosion burnt some of the flesh. We could all smell the meat mixed with the smell of the ocean. I’m sure we were all thinking it, but I was the first one to say it out loud. Of course, the other survivors thought I was mad.”

Grandfather finished off his meal as he came to the conclusion of his story. “As the night passed, one by one the other survivors faded. By the time the sun came up the next morning, I was the only one left, all the others sank into the sea. I could feel something, something in my whole body. I can’t describe it, but it was almost like I could feel my soul about to leave. As the sun was coming up, I looked out at the surface of the water kissing the horizon, and I could see my parents. They were at their old home in the highlands, sitting on the porch waiting for me. I knew what was about to happen, but I didn’t want to go yet. I turned away to see one of the bodies floating past me, big burly guy, his frame could have filled up a whole doorway. His arm was blown off from the night’s explosion, and parts of his flesh looked like they were partially cooked. Looking down at the flesh, I bit in, and I stayed alive.”

No Gein II: A Second Helping Part Eleven

No Gein II: A Second Helping

Chapter Eleven: Road Trip From Hell

Milton missed driving. When they first embarked on their journey his parents insisted on taking the wheel, as Milton couldn’t even remember the last time he drove. His folks were getting up there in age though, and he could tell they were getting tired; so after some persuading, he at long last had his own foot on the gas.

After living in a box for so long Milton was now On the Road with the whole country an open atlas spread out before him. He felt like Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady, zig zagging around the country with no end in sight. He wasn’t sure where they were going, but they weren’t going to stop until they got there. Milton always appreciated America’s heartland. New Jersey, in the shadow of the Big Apple, was so cramped and crowded, but once they got past Chicago, they entered that realm where you could see for miles. Far off in the distance, the sun was setting in the prairie fields. It looked so far away that Milton pondered how he was probably watching the sun set in the next time zone.

The blare of the semi-truck’s horn shook Milton out of his daze, where he had unknowingly drifted ever so slightly into the next lane. “Watch the road moron!” His father shouted as Milton yanked the van back.

“Watch your speed too.” His mother nagged. 

“I’m not speeding!” Milton insisted as he glanced at the speedometer.

“I know, but we’re coming up on the spot.” his mother said.

Milton had forgotten, but his memory jogged once he saw the road sign his mother told him to look for. Hitchhikers were common out here. Dangerous thing that is, especially for a young girl, a young girl like the one who waited there before him. Her golden locks bounced in the setting sun as her thumb pointed in the air. Her sexy midriff was bare and exposed like Shania Twain, and she was decked out in cut off jean shorts and cowboy boots. To top it all off was her sign. Plastered across it were a pair of thick red lips from which a tongue sensually slithered out, a drop of saliva fell from the tip. Above it read, “Head for Food.”

Milton’s heavy foot pounded the breaks hard. The van door swiftly slid open as the woman stood there grinning. “Young girl like you shouldn’t be out here hitchhiking,” Milton heard his mother say, “could be dangerous you know.” 

“Dangerous for who?” The woman mischievously asked. 

“Get in here.” Milton’s mother took the hitchhiker by the arm and pulled her into the van. The young girl cried out one word as her arms wrapped around the elderly woman. “Grandma!”

Milton’s father turned around from the passenger seat and patted her on the head saying. “Good to see you, Clarice.”

Confused for a moment, Clarice asked “Wait, then who’s driving?”

Milton gave a polite little wave as he pulled back onto the road. Clarice beamed like a child on Christmas morning as she saw the scarred face in the driver’s mirror. “Oh my god, Uncle Milton!” From behind she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on his scarred cheek. “They finally let you out!”

Milton patted her niece’s hand as he continued driving. “That’s right baby, I’m finally out.” Looking at her reflection in the rear view, a flood of memories came rushing back to him. Taking a deep breath, before setting his eyes back on the road he said, “You look just like your father.”

“Awww.” Tears welled up in Clarice’s eyes as she again kissed her Uncle on the cheek. “That’s so sweet.”

“Just keep your eyes on the road!” His mother interjected as the van got back on the highway.

Darkness well over the plain states while the white can continued down the road. In this part of the country the highways were almost barren. Only a few lights here and there lit the road, their surroundings otherwise covered by forest. Far ahead Milton noticed a pair of yellow lights blinking. Driving further forward, everyone in the van could see a car sitting on the side of the road. An older man was inspecting a flat tire, and it looked like two other people were inside the car. Milton’s blood rushed through his body, his breathing grew heavy and sweat began to form on his forehead as the possibilities illuminated his mind. He only had one question. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Whose hungry?” his mother cackled at the rhetorical question. 

The van pulled up to the parked car, and the door slid open. “Need some help?” Milton asked as he stepped out of the van and shined his Mag flightlight on the man inspecting his tire. 

“I could sure use your light if you don’t mind.” The man said, not noticing Milton’s scarred face in the dark. “I can change the tire, but I can hardly see out here.”

“At least someone knows how to change the tire.” A woman, Milton presumed to be the man’s wife, said while puffing a cigarette. She stood on the other side of the car and nodded her head towards her vehicle. A faint light glowed from inside, and for just a moment, a pimply faced teenager turned his eyes away from the screen of his Game Boy Advance. Looking out the window with a dazed look on his face, he asked, “What happened?”

Milton’s hands trembled ever so slightly as he held the torch like Mag light in his hand. Here were two potential victims right before him, but he knew the dangers of tied being greedy. Someone else could have the punk in the car, but once he took out the parents, he would have tied Jason’s record. As the flat tire was finally released, Milton saw Clarice creeping toward the car. He was a little nervous for her, but was excited too. This would be the first time they would have some action together. He laughed as she got that teenage dork’s attention. His mouth fell agape as she pulled up her shirt, teasing a flash of her tits. Her hand let go of her shirt before the full reveal as she then made a motion mimicking fellatio while nodding her head towards the woods. The Game Boy instantly fell to the floor as the car door quickly opened and the boy almost fell out of the vehicle.

“Where are you going?” His mom asked, not noticing the girl who already pranced off into the nearby forest.

“Uh, I’m just going to stretch my legs.” He nervously answered.

“Ok, well don’t go too far.” his mom said, but the boy already bolted off into the woods.

Milton was so proud of his niece; he could already tell this wasn’t her first rodeo. With that nerd out of the way, he raised the flashlight higher in the air. Just as he was about to bring it crashing down, he spotted his father who had gotten out of the van. He motioned with his hands indicating he wanted Milton to wait.

The few minutes it took for the spare tire to get on the vehicle felt like an eternity, but finally it was done. “Thanks for your help.” the man said. Milton only nodded in affirmation. It was then he heard the whistling. In the moonlight they could all see the female form of Clarice skipping towards the two vehicles whistling along the way, not another soul in sight. She was carrying something in his hands.

“Where’s Troy?” The mother asked, stomping out her cigarette.

Upon hearing that, Clarice shouted, “Heads up!” before swinging her arm into the air. An object released from her hand, spinning like a basketball as it flew through the sky. It was a perfect shot, crashing into the windshield cracking the glass. Both parents screamed as they saw the decapitated head of their son bouncing off the hood of the car.

Their screams were mixed with howls of laughter from Milton and his family. “That’s my girl!” Grandpa boasted.

Beaming with pride, Milton forgot anyone else was even around him. Only the howls of his father snapped him out of it. ‘Oh yeah,” Milton thought to himself as he grabbed the father from behind. Milton allowed him to struggle a bit; he enjoyed letting his victim think he had a fighting chance as Milton released one of his arms to grab his small blade. His body felt that incredible rush of adrenaline as he held the blade up in the evening air. Once he couldn’t withhold his urges any longer, Milton plunged the blade into the man’s throat, letting the blood wash over his hands in the warm night. Another body for the count. One more, and he would tie Jason’s record.

Milton lustfully looked at the newly made widow as her breasts heaved with her deep breaths of terror. “One more.” he thought to himself. Clarice’s laughter was only matched by the screaming mother running down the road. Milton immediately followed. He didn’t chance throwing the blade. It had been too long since he’d thrown a blade, and if he missed then the blade would easily be lost in this darkness.

In prison he did exercise, hitting the weights and walking the track, but he hadn’t run like this since he was young. His chest heaved heavily as his thick legs pounded the macadam trying to catch up to his prey. She wouldn’t get away. She couldn’t get away. He had to get her, he had to tie Jason. Thoughts of murderous glory propelled him faster down the deserted highway, allowing him to close the distance between him and his victim. She was so close he could taste her fear. He was about to pounce. Now he would have her, soon he and Jason would be equals. 

There was a popping sound just before blood squirted from her head. The next sound was the woman’s body hitting the ground, and then there was that distinct smell, an aroma he hadn’t experienced behind bars. He turned back to see Clarice standing in the moonlight, a whiff of smoke rising through the air from her pistol.

“Dammit Clarice, I almost had her!” Milton protested.

“Bullshit, your old ass wasn’t getting any of that!” Clarice mocked.

“Well, since when do we use guns anyway?”

“Come on Milton, it’s not the 70’s anymore. We gotta keep up with the times! “

To Milton, this was blasphemy. “Keeping up with the times isn’t our modus operandi!” he complained.

“Well this is mine.” Clarice explained, twirling the pistol on her finger like a gunfighter of the old west. “I’ll have you know this gun was a gift given to me when I was but 13 years old. The motherfuckers who had it before me were the ones who killed my daddy!”

Milton was struck dumb by this truth. He couldn’t possibly respond. All anger about his would be victim had perished. Now he could only stand there, he could only stand there and remember his brother, this wonderful girl’s father. As he reflected, he became bathed in the glow from the headlights of the family van, through which he could see Clarice walking away from him. He also saw his mother poking her head out the window shouting, “Will you two stop fighting and get these bodies off the road! I’m starving!”

No Gein II: A Second Helping Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten: On Set

On the back lot of Enterprise Pictures, September 1rst, 2003

“Cut!”

At that command the cameras stopped rolling while Dan, George’s old friend from film school, removed his Norma Bates wig. Looking down at his “victim,” Dan teased, “Anyone ever tell you; you scream like a girl?” 

Relishing being covered in fake blood, the director of Psycho II popped back up to his feet to reply, “Anyone ever tell you dress like one?”  

Flipping through the pictures on the dresser. Dan teased his friend saying, “Dude, your sister’s hot!” knowing the woman in the prop photo wasn’t really Helen, but a random model they’d cast. 

“I know right?” George agreed. “Even she were my sister, I’d still wanna fuck her!”

“You sick bastard!” Dan laughed at the director’s morbid humor as he handed George a towel. “Here, wipe that shit off you.”

“Who does this makeup anyway?” George asked while entering the house’s working bathroom. This was a rhetorical question, as Dan was the makeup supervisor for this movie. Cleaning off the fake blood and splashing some water splashed on his face George asked his longtime friend, “Haven’t had a chance to chat with you lately. How is Vicki?”

“She’s great!” Dan wasn’t sure if he wanted to share the news yet or not, but since George asked, he figured he might as well. “Actually, I wasn’t sure if I should bring it up now, but, well we’re expecting.”

George’s face lit up like a child’s. “Wait, you two are gonna have a baby?”

“Yeah.” Dan said with a nervous smile. “We’d been trying for a while, and it’s finally happening.”

“Shit, that’s awesome! Congrats man!” Dan received a high five from his friend who continued, “We gotta go out and celebrate!”

“Uh, Mr. Kohler?” A production assistant interrupted.

“What’s up?”

“That news reporter is on set.”

“Ah shit!” George exclaimed. “Hey man, I gotta step out a minute, but we’ll talk about this later. Proud of you man, awesome news!”

“Thanks.” Dan said. As George walked away, Dan thought to himself that he was proud of his friend as well. Even back in film school, Dan knew George had the talent to really make it in this business. More importantly to Dan, he was also proud that his friend scaled back that grating ego he was infamous for. Hollywood success seemed to have had the opposite effect on George than it has on most people. Actually, as Dan thought about it, George actually seemed to have a change in attitude pre-fame. 

Way back in the early 90’s he ran into him at a horror convention, where he seemed to be the same self-centered nerd, but maybe a year later George called him out of the blue. Dan was surprised to hear from him, but as they talked on the phone, George asked how he and Vicki were doing, and they had a good hour-long conversation. When Dan hung up the phone, he told his then fiancé Vicki that George seemed really different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “What was it?” She asked.

It took a minute for it to finally register with Dan before he answered. “He actually asked how you and I were doing.” 

“So?” 

“He never does that. Back in school whenever he’d call me it was either to brag or complain about something.”

As time went on George and Dan rekindled their friendship, which had been strained due to George suddenly taking a sabbatical from school just before they were to do a project together. Years later, George apologized for that incident, another act of humility that surprised Dan. There was something else too.

While Dan never pressed the issue, he got the feeling something happened to George. He didn’t know what it was, but George very suddenly had a shift in his attitude. In fact, sometimes it seemed like something really rattled him, but George never divulged what it might have been, and Dan never asked.

Outside the Psycho House, George grabbed a special item he saved for moments like this. He didn’t like interruptions while he was working, and he didn’t know how this nosy reporter got on set, but he was tired of her mess. There she stood with her cameraman anxiously awaiting him.

“Mr. Kohler, did you believe the stories of your Aunt Sally to be true?” George furiously pumped the shotgun like device he carried in his arms. Showing no fear, she continued “Do you have any comment on the mass grave found near Plainfield Wisconsin, near what was believed to be the property of a Mr. Geaaaghhh!!!!”

Vanita gagged on the blast of water erupting from George’s high powered water gun. “Eat it bitch!” he yelled as the water continued to hit her in the face causing her to fall to one knee. He then aimed the stream of water directly at the camera.

The camera man backed away as he protested, “Shit, you got my camera!” 

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!” Vanita protested as her and her camera man stormed off as George and others on the crew howled in laughter.

Once that little show was over, a production assistant informed George that there was yet another visitor on the set. His father was here to see him.

Walking towards the facade of stone steps leading up to the Norman Bates house, he saw his father pacing outside. Eyeing some of the fake blood that still remained on George’s clothing, Henry asked “What happened to you?” 

“I just died on screen.” 

“What are you trying to be like Hitchcock, appearing in all your movies?” 

“Look at you taking a shot!” George said laughing.

From a distance Henry saw that reporter and her cameraman leaving the set. “Eying her legs as she ran off Henry said, “That’s that bitch that was just on TV. I would have liked to have a shot at her.”

“Don’t let Franki hear you say that.” George smirked. Then he realized what his father just said. “Wait, you just saw her on TV?”

“Yeah,” Henry said. “Son, we gotta talk.”

Back at the trailer, Henry revealed to his son how the now wet reporter dug up information on their family, and how that mass grave had been dug up in Wisconsin was, as they feared, near the former property of one Ed Gein. That was a name neither of them wanted to hear again.

“I can’t show my face there.” George said after thinking about it for a while. “I’ll draw too much attention.”

“Since when did you not want to draw attention?” His sister Helen playfully jabbed him.

“I was thinking,” Henry explained, “maybe Franki and I will go. We could stay at my property out there and scope things out for a day or two.” Since George made it in Hollywood, he bought his dad a house where he was born in Amherst Wisconsin. The last few years Henry had gone back and forth from there and his other home in Bethlehem PA while reconnecting with the few distant relatives he had left.

“We’ll go out with you too.” Helen said, referring to herself and her husband.

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea.” her husband Chuck added.

“You’ll like Roger.” Henry said to his son in law, referring to a fellow Wisconsinite in Plainfield he’d formed a friendship with a few years back.

And with that it was decided. The Kohler family, save George, was going back to their homeland, back to a place where a long-buried horror awaited.

No Gein II: A Second Helping Chapter Nine

 Chapter Nine: Counterfeit Sympathy

Hollywood California, Enterprise Pictures back lot, September 1rst 2003

After a post lunch meditation Franki remained in the lotus position while sipping her herbal tea. While she had no care for the glitz and glam of Hollywood, California itself was growing on her, with its various locations for spiritual retreats and yoga sessions.

A now familiar cracking sound of air rushing out of an aluminum can pierced Franki’s ears. Her husband Henry walked back from the fridge with a cold one in his hands. It wasn’t her beverage of choice, but she loved her husband just the way he was.

“So, you don’t want any tea?” Franki asked rhetorically.

She blushed as he answered. “I think the universe wants me to have a beer.” 

Chuck, who also joined their meditation exercise along with his wife Helen, laughed at his father in law’s joke. “I wish I’d thought of that.” he jested, sipping on his own tea. Franki could tell by Chuck’s facial expression he didn’t care for the taste.

“I don’t think Buddha had beer in mind when he talked about enlightenment.” Helen said jokingly.

Henry then walked over to the small television that sat in the trailer. “That’s enough Nirvana for me, let’s see what’s on TV.” he joked as he turned it on.

Franki never cared much for world affairs, so she went to the extra room she used for a little studio. While her husband and the other’s watched the news about Iraq she continued working on one of her paintings.

Normally she could zone out the television, but something caught her ear that brought her back out to the room. Her husband didn’t notice her coming out as he watched the TV intently.

“Now for some breaking news.” The small TV announced. “An employee of the Mendota Mental Health Care Institute in Madison Wisconsin has come forward claiming he treated Sally Kohler, who allegedly encountered a killer in the town of Plainfield Wisconsin in the late 1950’s. Ms. Kohler committed suicide in the institution in 1975. She was the aunt of controversial film director George Kohler, whose latest film, a remake of Texas Chainsaw Massacre, has been heavily criticized over its alleged influence from the Jeffrey Dhamer murders. This controversy has not hurt its box office, as the film has now grossed….”

Franki recognized the female reporter on the TV from their night at Mann’s theater. She didn’t recognize the man whom she was interviewing, and her gut told her neither did Henry. “I always believed her,” an older man said into the microphone, “even when no one else did.” Franki watched Henry’s face fill with disgust as the man on the television shed crocodile tears. “Sally was a beautiful young girl, so full of life. One night she was driving through Plainfield and ran out of gas. She went to get help, but what she found was a true house of horrors. When I think about the things she saw there.” He wiped the tears off his face while Vanita looked on with expressed concern, “Oh my god, it’s just too horrible, there were bodies everywhere. She encountered a man, well, God, he wasn’t really a man, he was more like a monster.” Franki placed her hand on Henry’s shoulder, who seethed at this bastard milking it for all it was worth. “She just barely fought him off and managed to escape the house, but she couldn’t escape that nightmare. No one ever believed her, no one believed her but me.” 

The man sobbed openly as the camera panned to the attractive reporter, her hair still in perfect place, her makeup untouched by this outpouring of emotion. “This is Vanita Williams signing off.”

“That son of a bitch!” Franki was startled as Henry’s beer bottle struck the TV.

“Oh, hon don’t let this get to you.” Franki said. “He’s probably just looking for attention.”

“We should sue him.” His brother-in-law Chuck said. His wife, Henry’s daughter, agreed. 

“Somebody better tell George.” Chuck suggested.

“I’ll tell him.” Henry left the trailer and walked towards the movie set on the lot of Enterprise Pictures. “I wonder where Talbot is?” He thought to himself as he didn’t see the security guy at his usual post. No matter. Henry began the long climb up the facade of stone steps toward that solitary house which sat up on a hill. The crew designed it to be a spooky old mansion, in the style of Second Empire Victorian. That’s where his son was. As long as Henry could remember, his son loved scary movies. Despite the horrors his own family faced, Henry was proud of his son for doing what he loved. Inside that house, Henry knew that George was in heaven. 

No Gein II: An Alternate Horror Part Eight

Chapter Eight: Blood Ties

Small town Indiana, summer 1976

“Now let’s approach this cautiously,” William suggested, “let me do the talking.” Marilyn understood her husband’s concern. Rumors went that this family was mixed up with the mob, so when she insisted on coming out here to see if they knew anything, he refused to let her come out alone. After leaving their daughter with William’s mother, they drove to this little town that was the end of this trail Marilyn had been following for years. Hopefully, this would be the end of the journey.

William knocked on the door. There was no answer so he knocked again. Mariyln grew anxious and called out, “Is anybody home?” Her heart sank as it appeared the house was empty. Just as they were about to leave the door flew open. The older man looked like he was in a rush as he breathed heavily while sweat hung from his brow.

“Whatever you got we ain’t interested!” The man shouted immediately.

“Sir, we’re not selling anything.” William responded. “We just want to talk.”

“So, you’re one of those religious assholes. You can go straight to hell!” 

William answered “No sir we just..”

Then, an old woman’s voice cackled from inside. “Get them outta here we got business to take care of!” 

As the door began to close on them Marilyn quickly stated, “We’re here about Mary Hogan!”

The door stopped, then slowly turned back as the old man looked them over for a minute. She noticed the small birthmark around his lip as he said, “Well come on in.” 

A distinct aroma hung in the air that they couldn’t quite place as they entered the immaculate home. Fine china sat in display cases and Norman Rockwell paintings hung on the wall making this home a diorama of American life. “You can call me Whitman,” the old man said after William and Marilyn introduced themselves. “Uh, Emily, we got some company!” The old man announced.

“Now’s not a time for company.” The older female voice answered. “Besides, I only got so much meat here!”

“It’s OK, we don’t need to eat,” William said politely, “we just….”

“Oh, but I insist.” Whitman said as they walked into a living room. “My wife’s making her specialty, secret recipe from her family, kept them alive during the depression!” he explained with a gleam in his eye.

Marilyn then smiled as she heard the cooing of an infant. Before them on the couch, sat a young well dressed man holding an infant. “Oh, what a cute baby!” Marilyn observed. “Is that yours?”

“Uh, yes, yes it is. This is Clarice.” The man said. “You can call me Frost. Come on, sit down and have a look.” As she sat down Frost held the baby up and asked, “Would you like to hold her?” 

Marilyn reached her arms out toward the baby. Embracing the infant, she remembered when her own little girl was just a baby. Her and William had talked about having another one, but he wasn’t so sure. She could tell by the look on her husband’s face that he also wasn’t sure about this situation. Something wasn’t quite right, and she didn’t like whatever that smell was from the kitchen. Still standing, William asked “Uh, may I use your restroom.”

“Oh it’s down this hallway,” Frost said as he stood up. “I’ll show you.”

Frost and William walked away while Marilyn played with the baby. She was always good with kids, but this baby got irritable as soon as she held it. Marilyn presumed the infant wasn’t used to strangers yet. Glancing around the room, it seemed from the nearby bookshelf this family was well read. She spied books by Shakespeare, Chaucer, and all manner of authors. It appeared this baby would grow up in a cultured home.

Cultured or not, babies still spit up sometimes. Marilyn thought nothing of it as as an older woman emerged from the kitchen with a few napkins and put the baby in her nearby high chair.

Before going back into the kitchen, Whitman introduced the older woman as his wife Emily. While Marilyn wiped herself off, Whitman seemed anxious himself as he asked, “So where is old Bloody Mary now?”

Marilyn never heard that nickname before, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know how this person that might have been her mother got it. “Well actually I was hoping you could…”

Her answer was interrupted by the sound of a struggle. Frost and a much larger man each had an arm of her husband as they drug him into the living room. Williams nose had been bleeding and it was evident that there had been a brief moment of fisticuffs.

“I knew you were a snitch!” Frost shouted as Marilyn gasped.

“I told you not to let those assholes in!” Emily said in an ‘I told you so’ manner as she returned to the living room, meat cleaver in hand. Gesturing to the couch she ordered, “Sit that sack a shit down here. Looks like we’ll have some more meat after all!” she said with a wicked smile.

“And look what Milton found!” Frost held up William’s pistol as they shoved William onto the couch next to his wife.

“Frost’s intuition is never wrong.” the larger man observed. “Who sent you?” 

Whitman grabbed Marilyn by the hair shouting, “Never mind that! Where is that Mary bitch! What did she do with the family jewels?”

Marilyn burst into tears pleading “I don’t know anything about it! Please, just let us go.”

“Boys, go down to the basement and bring the meat up.” Whitman ordered the two men who evidently were his sons while Emily held the meat cleaver to William’s throat. “Show them what happened to the last one that tried messing with our family!”

As Marilyn recounted the story to her now adult daughter, she remembered those heavy footsteps descending down to the basement, then those same footsteps ascending back up. ”I think your father and I knew what was coming, but when they wheeled it in, and your father saw it, he just screamed. He screamed like I never heard a person scream before. I don’t even remember screaming myself.” she said with a sob. “I think he screamed for the both of us.”

“What was it?” Kristina asked.

Marilyn was now crying in the present as she remembered those tears shed so far back in the past. “I’m sorry, it was just, it was so long ago. That poor man, his head was bashed in.” She went on to explain, “His face was completely gone, part of his jaw was still dangling, I could see his teeth while they were hanging upside down facing us.”

“This little bastard tried to swindle us!” Marilyn remembered Frost screaming. “Our family was trying to get into legitimate business.” He then pointed to the larger handsome man continuing, “My brother Milton here is gonna be a movie star someday, so we thought we’d invest our hard-earned money into one of those horror shows, but this crooked Hollywood son of a bitch cheated us! You probably came to check on him didn’t you!”

“No, no, please just let us go!” Marilyn cried desperately. “We don’t know anything about this, we’ll never tell anyone we promise!” 

Whitman had walked out of the room while the sons loomed over her. Whitman’s voice taunted “Oh, we know you won’t talk.” Whitman said as he returned with a bloody sledgehammer, bits of bone and flesh still dripping off it. “I’ll see to that!”

“Wait, you said I get the next one!” Milton whined.

“I get the next one!” Frost argued back to his brother. A morbid sibling rivalry unfolded before the two hapless victims. Baby Clarice then started crying, and Whitman ordered Frost to pick up the baby. Frost took her out of her highchair, which seemingly ended the argument as Milton exited the living room.

“What were they going to do?” Kristina asked. 

“I couldn’t imagine,” her mother answered, “but I would find out soon enough.”

The house then filled with the roar of a motor. Smoke poured into the room as Milton emerged with a chainsaw. The baby giggled and Marilyn screamed while Whitman again grabbed her by the hair, “I’m gonna give you one more chance you fucking bitch!, Where are those god damned diamonds!?!”

“I don’t know!” Marilyn wailed. 

“Talk bitch!” Whitman yelled uncontrollably as the young couple froze with fear. Marilyn eyes avoided the sawblade as it inched closer and closer. Her gaze instead fell on the hapless unknown victim before her, his head smashed beyond recognition. Only one horrifying thought hovered in her mind.

“Oh my god, is that what you did to my mom?”

Instantly, Marilyn felt the grip in her hair lessen, and a different expression emerged on Whitman’s face, as if all the violence wiped away from his eyes. His old, calloused fingers brushed her cheek, and for a moment, he looked like a different person. His face turned back to anger when Marilyn, sensing her chance, rose towards him. She pushed the sledgehammer back, which by a stroke of luck struck the running chainsaw. Sparks of metal flew before the saw bounced back, the tip of which struck Milton in the face. The would-be chainsaw murderer squealed in pain as William bit into Emily’s arm and pushed the old woman down. 

“RUN!” Marilyn shouted as her and her husband bolted out the door towards their car. Whitman followed in pursuit, but he wasn’t fast enough to catch up to them. Now outside, Frost grabbed the sledgehammer off of his father and drew it back, about to throw it like a javelin of death. 

“No, wait!” Whitman said, yanking his son’s arm back which interfered with his throw. The sledgehammer still made it into the air, but its aim was off. In its landing, the steel hammer grazed Marilyn’s hip as she cried out in shock and pain, causing her to fall into the passenger’s seat before the door closed behind her. William rapidly turned the car’ s ignition, and a cloud of dust soon lay between them and the madhouse of death.

“What the hell was that!” Marilyn thought out loud William sped down the freeway.

There was no time to process their horrific experience as the sound of metal on metal shrieked in the air. Sparks flew from the car as a chainsaw struck the roof. Marilyn looked in horror to see Frost driving a pickup truck next to him. Milton was in the truck’s cab, blood splattered over his face as he swung his chainsaw.

Even more horrifying was the sight of Frost drawing a pistol. “Haha, you fucking bitch!” she heard him laugh as she ducked instinctively.

“He’s got your gun!” Marilyn cried out. In the chaos she didn’t even hear the shot fire, but she saw the blood squirt from her husband’s neck as his body slumped over, causing their station wagon to crash into the barricade. The pickup sped ahead before she heard the squealing of its breaks. Her hip throbbed horrible dull pain as she crawled over on the lap of her husband’s still warm corpse. There was no time to mourn, only time to survive as her two stalkers approached on foot. Luckily, the car was still drivable as she shifted gears pulling it to reverse. The maniacs laughed as she shifted back into drive and with a scream of pain and anger slammed her foot on the gas.

Frost fired the gun again, sending another bullet through the windshield. The hot metal passed harmlessly through the rear glass pane as Marilyn pointed the wagon directly towards her husband’s assailant. Her scream was now pure rage as she could see the killers laughing face. His body soon slammed into the car and Marilyn could hear the squishing sound of Frost’s head under the tires and the sound of the chainsaw making one last desperate strike at the passenger side door. Soon the lone brother was but an image in Marilyn’s rear view mirror as she sped away in terror and exhaustion.

Back in the present, Kristina was astonished by the tale she’d just heard. “My god,” she asked, “Didn’t you call the cops?”

“I couldn’t think straight. What happened was so crazy I didn’t think anyone would believe me. I didn’t think you would believe me.”

“What did you do then?”

“I just kept driving.” Marilyn cried again. “Once I was sure they were gone, I took the car into a wooded area and made it look like we slammed into a tree. When your father got shot the bullet went straight through his neck, so as far as anyone knew it was an accident. I’m so sorry honey.” Kristina embraced her mom. She couldn’t begin to understand the impossible burden that had just been lifted from her shoulders. What she did understand was that she had to find out more about what happened to Mary.

On a long and lonesome Illinois Highway, 1976 

George sat in the back seat reading his Spiderman comic while his sister read some book. It was called “Who’s there,” or something like that. Even the title sounded boring. Not as boring as this long drive was though. It felt like it was taking forever to get to their new home.

“What’s that?” He heard his mom say as their car slowed down. 

“Looks like there’s been some accident.” his dad said. When George looked up from his comic he saw a pickup truck on the side of the road. Didn’t look like it crashed, but behind it was some debris and a black mark on the barricade. “Maybe it was a hit and run.” his dad said. 

“Just keep driving.” His mom insisted. George knew his dad probably wanted to stop and help, but George felt the same way his mom did. They didn’t have time, it was still a long way to Bethlehem Pennsylvania and their new home.  

Looking back, his eyes couldn’t believe what they saw. Beside the pickup truck was a large man with a face that was covered in blood. He had a big chainsaw and was waving it through the air like a maniac. George stood up in the back seat and excitedly exclaimed. “Saw-man!” believing he’d just seen the character from that Texas movie that came out a few years ago.

“George get your ass back in the seat!” his father scolded. It took just a moment for that sight to leave his vision, but the image of a man dancing by the side of the road swinging a chainsaw would forever be burned in the mind of this future film director. 

No Gein II: A Second Helping Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: Psycho II

Hollywood, California. September 1rst, 2003

George was very impressed with Lloyd, the set designer he hired to work on his new movie. Norman Bates’s house looked exactly as it did from the first Psycho, from the creaky wooden steps to the outdated antique furniture. Even the cobwebs and dust were present, granting the home that vintage and long lived in feeling. The ringtone from his phone brought George back to modernity. Flipping the phone open he gave his usual snarky greeting. “House of pain, you kill em, we grill em.” 

“Not in the mood for your goofing off George.” It was Marty, the producer. Psycho II was getting a lot of heat which was making the brass nervous. 1998’s Psycho revived the slasher genre, and George’s recent Texas Chainsaw massacred the box office like no horror film had before, resulting in scores of obscure cult hits getting greenlit for the remake bandwagon. With that success came the seemingly once a decade national hand wringing about the dangers of violence in the mass media and its effects on our poor innocent youth, which gave Enterprise Studios a lot of unwanted attention.

“Are you sitting down?” His producer asked frantically.

“I am now Marty.” George reclined on an ancient looking sofa and was genuinely shocked at how comfortable it was. “Damn this seat is sweet. I gotta get one of these for my place!” the director thought out loud.

“This is no joke George,” Marty insisted. “I got really bad news.” 

“OK shoot.”

Marty then just cut to the chase. “Roy is dead.”

“What! Are you shitting me?” George about jumped out of his seat. Roy was the main screenwriter on Psycho II, who had also contributed to the Texas Chainsaw screenplay. Both he and George had been receiving death threats recently, which came from everyone from religous nutjobs to obsessive fans.

“I’m not joking, they found his body this morning. I’m down at the police station making a statement. They want to talk to you too.”

“OK, I’ll leave the set right now.” George started walking toward the door.

“Wait, Jesus George, you’re on the set?”

“Yeah, why?” George then stopped dead in his tracks.

“I ordered it closed down.” Marty revealed. “Someone was snooping around there last night.” 

“Who was it?”

“Don’t know, Talbot chased him off, but it’s too much of a coincidence. I ordered the whole area to be closed off. How did you get in there?”

“I didn’t see Talbot at the gate this morning,” George explained, “so I let myself in.” 

“Well get the hell out of there and come down here now!”

“Alright chill-ax I will.” George said before hanging up.

It was then that George heard the noise upstairs. “Hello,” George said, looking up the steps to the second floor of the ‘house. There was no answer. He then called out the for the security chief, “Talbot, is that you?” but there was still no answer.

Walking up the creaky steps, there was still no other sound. George thought maybe he just heard the wind. It was when he reached the top of the steps when he noticed the scent, that unmistakable smell that in this environment meant nothing but trouble. The wood still creaked as he went into the bedroom of Norman Bates. It was a simple, spartan like room. He admired the bookshelves on the wall. In the original Robert Bloch novel that was published about ten years back, Norman was a student of the occult, and the prop designer did a great job designing the mock editions of old spooky tomes. Per George’s request, there was even a pop book with Necronomicon scrawled on its spine. George knew Bloch would have appreciated that. He wished his old friend could have seen the prop Necronomicon; which was a nod to Bloch’s mentor H.P. Lovecraft, who frequently referenced the accursed book in his various weird tales about the Elder Gods and other unspeakable horrors. 

One of the horrors filmmakers wrestled with was the occasional parent group threatening boycotts and other shenanigans. Now, in the 21rst century, there was a new threat to filmmakers, not from people who hated them, but from those who loved them. George knew all too well the excesses of fandom. In his younger days he made a few regrettable online comments towards authors and directors. Now that he was on the other end of the business, he in turn received death threats regarding the next Psycho movie. Initially he dismissed this chatter, remembering his old days as an angry nerd, but now it was serious, someone was really dead. 

Then he spotted it. The manilla folder rested on the bookshelf. He wondered why this was there, definitely not wanting this oversight showing up on film. Upon closer look, the envelope had his name written on it in red ink; at least it looked like red ink. As he picked it up to take a closer look, it appeared his name had been written in blood. George’s hands trembled as he opened the folder, and what he found inside was even more disturbing. George now knew he officially had a stalker. Here were photos of himself at the beach with his girlfriend. What worried him even more was a picture of his sister Helen along with her husband Chuck.

George angrily threw the folder down and stormed into the next room. This was the bedroom of Norman’s mother, Norma Bates. There was a deep indenture in the bed as if someone had laid there an unnaturally long time. That distinct smell was stronger here. Seeing the metal shine from under the bed, he shuddered. When he reached down into the blackness under the bed and his hand felt cold steel. Kneeling down, he pulled out a can of kerosene. As soon as his knee hit the wooden floor, he could smell the fumes on the bed sheets. Someone planned to burn the entire set down.

“Who’s in here?” George now said more angrily. “You’re fucking with my movie, I’m gonna kill you!” Then there was the sound of a door creaking. He turned to see it was the door mother’s large walk-in closet. George shuddered as he could see a slender arm, dead still, laying on the closet floor. He rushed over to the closet, fearing the truth he already knew in his gut. Pushing the door open all the way he found the body of Talbot lying face down in a pool of blood. It looked like someone bashed his head with a blunt object like a tire iron.

George never saw the figure come behind him. He never saw that old dress flowing in the air as it entered the bedroom, or the hand within it that raised the blade in the air through the dress’s frilled sleeves. George yelled out as best as he could as the knife came down on his back. In his mind George could hear the violin music shrieking from the first film as the knife penetrated him again and again, leaving fountains of blood spraying as it went. George collapsed to the ground. As he looked across the room where the dead employee lay, his lips uttered one final word. 

No Gein II: A Second Helping Chapter Six

Chapter Six: Pit Stop

New Jersey, August 31 2003

Grease and red liquid splattered Milton’s jaw as he bit into the meat. His voice let out a near orgasmic “Oh my god,” as his lips smacked together, “this burger is absolutely delicious.” 

“Best in town.” his father said. “Your mother and I always ate here after we visited you. Sometimes your mom was more excited about the food than the visit!” 

“Hey, their milkshakes are to die for,” his mother laughed as she continued, “and they don’t massacre you on the prices either!” 

“Then why are you eating a salad ?” Milton asked, looking at her plate of greens.

“Gotta watch my health. I ain’t gettin any younger!” As his mother ate her greens Milton noticed two young guys eying them up. At first he thought the pigs were already on his case. One of them was thin, and wearing a beanie and a t-shirt that bore the image of a man with a flaming skull riding a motorcycle. The other was fat with a black t-shirt bearing a white skull logo, the teeth resembling clips of ammunition. The more Milton watched them out of the corner of his eye, the more he thought they were probably just a bunch of stoners. If they were undercover, they were pretty good actors.

“Anyway, Milton,” his father said as Milton continued feasting on his hamburger, “we got something to tell you.”

“Yeah?” Milton replied, taking another savory bite.

“We’re going go on a little road trip, you know, Kerouac style.” His father explained. “We’re heading way out west.”

“And what is the purpose of this trip?” Milton asked.

“Just today on the way here to come get you,” Milton’s father explained, ” we heard some incredible news on the radio. Apparently…”

Then, before his father had a chance to detail their apparent upcoming journey, the young skinny stoner interrupted with a “Hey, what’s up man.”

“What is ‘up’ is we’re trying to masticate and you’re interrupting us.” Milton answered snarkily.

“Oh, sorry man, I didn’t mean to interrupt while you were masterba-haha, I mean…”

“Well spit it out kid!” Milton’s mother barked impatiently. “What do you want?”

“I, uh, me and Bob over there,” his friend Bob silently waved while they all looked, “we were just wondering um…”

“Get out of here kid we got business to conduct!” Milton’s father ordered as he finished his food.

“It’s OK dad.” Milton said. “The kid just wants to talk. What’s on your mind son?”

“Ok, yeah uh, so like, are the one they call Saw-man?”

“Can’t you see we’re trying to eat?” Milton’s father objected.

“I said it’s alright OK dad.” Milton then looked at the kid and smiled. “Yeah, that’s me.” 

“Awesome man!” The youth appeared as excited as someone who’d just met Jennifer Lopez or Eminem. “So, how are you? I heard you were in the big house!”

“Actually, I was just released, and so far, I’m having a splendid day. I reunited with my parents, I am eating this scrumptious meal, and now I got to meet a fine young gentleman such as yourself.”

“That’s great man. Bob and I, we’re big fans. Hey, I always wanted to ask you something. Is it true you’re the guy they based Texas Chainsaw Massacre off of?”

“Well, as much as I would love to take credit for that classic piece of American cinema,” Milton could see his sarcasm drift over the fan’s head like a cloud of smoke, “unfortunately, that movie preceded my incarceration, so that analogy was made post incarceration.”

“Oh, post incarnation.” the fan nodded his head pretending to understand. “OK, cool man. Hey, can we get our picture with you?”

“No pictures today bud,” Milton’s father objected. “We’re eating.”

‘Oh, oh, well can I get your autograph?”

“Listen buddy, “Milton answered, “how about we finish our meal, and you go over there with your friend and finish your meal.” Milton then pointed to his friend and asked, “He looks like he likes to eat. Am I right?”

“He sure does!” The youth said excitedly. “Bob can pack the burgers down.”

“Excellent, now maybe after the meal you would like to have a smoke.” Eying the kid’s clothes and his hemp necklace, Milton observed “You look like a man that enjoys a good smoke, am I right?”

“Oh, I sure do man, uh sir.”

“Well. I’ll tell you what then, see that alley across the street?” The young man nodded before Milton continued. “Let’s meet over there in, how do you young people say, four minutes and twenty seconds?”

“I hear you loud and clear sir!” the stoner enthusiastically responded.

“Great, so we will meet there, maybe have a smoke, and then we can talk about that autograph.”

“Sounds great man, we will be there!” The young man scurried back to his table. While asking the waitress for their check, Milton heard him boasting. “Oh shit, we’re gonna blaze it up with Saw-Man!” A smack echoed through the diner as the two stoners high fived each other.

The father looked at his newly freed son with a mischievous look and asked, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Not long after, the family pulled their van into the alley across the street. “I assume you want to do the honors?” Milton’s mother asked her boy.

“Absolutely.” Milton answered as she handed him a small object which he tucked in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. His hands trembled in anticipation.

Soon enough they saw the two stoners practically running across the street. A few cars beeped their horns and an obscenity or two was shouted as the two exuberantly crossed traffic without a care in the world.

“They’re lucky they survived crossing the street.” Milton’s father said with a smirk.

The two youths reached their destination and were met with akward high fives from the family. “So, you know I was just released right? I don’t have anything on me.” Milton explained as they all stood in the alley.

“Oh, we got the hookup Saw-man.” The skinny one pulled out a blunt that was almost wider than his own body.

“You go first.” Milton said, reaching into his pocket. “Let me light it for you.”

“It would be an honor sir.” the boy said with a smile.

With one hand Milton pushed the scrawny kid against the hard brick wall. In the past he would taunt and play with his prey, but he couldn’t stand waiting any longer. With his other hand he reached into his inside pocket to retrieve what his mother had given him. It was a sharp shiny knife, a little small for his tastes, but it did the trick. The boy’s eyes almost bulged out of his head as he heard the last words he’d ever hear. 

“Smoking’s hazardous to your health.” Milton finally plunged the hot hard steel into the young punk’s soft wet throat. The blade was now lubricated in blood as the steel plunged in an out while Milton released a satisfying groan. He felt so close to this sesation during his recent prison brawl, but it was well worth the wait. This was his first kill in a long time, and brought him one step closer to beating Jason’s record.

Mom had a tire iron tucked under her frilled sleeve that she struck Bob in the jaw with. The large man hit the ground, his lungs let out a painful groan but he could not scream for help as his jaw was busted. Milton heard the back door of the van slam shut as Milton’s father walked out with that special object in his hands; that near mythic tool he long had notoriety for in the underworld. The fat boy let out another indiscriminate wail as the old man approached him with a sledgehammer.

Milton would have liked to have killed them both, but he deferred to his father who held his weapon of choice up as high as he could. His elderly arms shook, no longer being able to hold it over his head like he used to, the steel hammer came clumsily crashing down towards its target.

Bob whimpered in terror as the head of the sledgehammer sat directly in front of his eyes. Milton never saw his father miss. In his glory days he was known for killing snitches and informants with one mighty swing, but those days were long behind him now. Milton desperately wanted to ask permission to finish this obese victim off, but he didn’t dare disrespect the family like that. “Come on dad, you can do it.”he yelled out in encouragement.

“Yeah, kill that fat fuck!” his mom added.

Dad raised the sledgehammer into the air again, this time not as high. This time he swung the metal tool with less strength but more accuracy, allowing gravity to bring the hammer down, bashing Bob’s skull open like a watermelon. “Hahaha you got em good dad!” Milton laughed with a childlike excitement as he stashed his own victim’s corpse into a nearby dumpster.

Together, Milton’s parents lifted the near-headless victim into the dumpster. His mom squeezed the belly fat on the fresh corpse saying, “Too bad we just ate.” Closing the dumpster lid she continued, “Just as well though. Gotta get back on the road, time to head west!”