Advent of Atrocities-Day 6: Larry Fessenden, Patron Saint of Horror

Let this post serve as an informal award for the most underappreciated Master of Horror: Larry Fessenden. When I was making my list of films to include in my Advent of Atrocities, films either directed by or starring Larry Fessenden were taking up a lot of real estate. It was damned nigh impossible to choose between them, so I decided to lump them all together. So here's you're gift for the 6th day of Christmas: the magesty that is Larry Fessenden.

When you think of the Masters of Horror, the names that come up might include John Carpenter, Dario Argento, Mario Bava, Wes Craven, or one of the new school masters Ti West, Jim Mickle, or Eli Roth. But very little noise seems to have been made for Larry Fessenden. Chances are, most people know him as this guy:

That's right, he's the sleazy neighbor who gets killed at the beginning of You're Next!

But Dear Gods if that all you know him as, you're missing out. Let's go through a brief list of Fessenden's horror credentials.

He has directed:

Habit (1995)

Wendigo (2001) 

The Last Winter (2006)

Beneath (2013)

ABCs of Death - N is for Nexus (2014)

Okay. so admittedly, there's not anything you'd consider a classic on the list. But here's sampling of films he's produced:

Zombie Honeymoon (2004)

The Off Season (2004)

The Roost (2005)

Sisters (2006)

Trigger Man (2007)

I Sell the Dead (2008)

House of the Devil (2009)

Bitter Feast (2010)

Satan Hates You (2010)

Stake Land (2010)

Hypothermia (2010)

The Innkeepers (2011)

Late Phases (201)

This is why I call him the patron Saint of Horror. He's produced most of Ti West's best work, Jim Mickle's best film to date, and a slew of other horror titles that proves his dedication to the genre. The actual list is much longer, but I only included the horror titles. He also produces all kinds of indie films, Wendy and Lucy particularly stands out. The point is: this man is knee-deep in blood and guts, yet he's not a big name.

Fessenden in Bitter Feast.

Perhaps that is by design. As the founder of Glass Eye Pix, his philosophy of filmmaking is that you don't need a massive budget or big star to make a great film. Since 1985, Glass Eye Pix has been producing great indie flicks by auteur directors, especially young horror directors. In short, Larry Fessenden is doing God's Work.

Beyond that, Larry Fessenden is a kick-ass character actor. Here's a brief list of his horror-related roles:

The Strain (2014)

Jug Face (2013)

We Are What We Are (2013)

The Battery (2012)

Hellbenders (2012)

Silver Bullets (2011)

Vanishing on 7th Street (2010)

Cabin Fever 2 (2009)

I Sell the Dead (2008)

Mulberry Street (2006)

I could go on, but you get the point. This man is essential to modern horror.

Although none of his directorial efforts has reached classic status yet, let me highlight a few of them, because each and every one (that  I've seen) is a standout.

Habit (1995)

Behold a young Larry Fessenden at a Halloween party dressed as Cyrano de Bergerac. If he looks drunk, it's only beacuse he's drunk.

Here's Larry on his way to the Halloween party. Yes, he's got a drinking problem. His father has recently passed away, and he's taking it a bit hard. Not only that, he's got to give an acceptance speech for an award his father won, but didn't live to receive. The beauty of Habit is that it is so character-driven that the horror element is almost unnecessary. To me, that's the mark of a well-crafted horror film. Are the characters compelling enough that you could take away the horror element and you'd still have enough to base a movie on.

Habit is a story of newfound love in a particularly difficult time in one man's life. It's also a vampire movie. I can't say that the vampire element is necessarily used to explore a larger theme, but it's a hell of a great vampire film. And it's one of the rare instances in which Fessenden plays the lead character. And he's great. He's got a slovenly charm about him that makes you understand why the vampire character is fascinated by him. Watching Habit, it's difficult to understand why he didn't become a more prominent actor. Dude's got the goods.

Wendigo (2001) 

I don't know about you, but I've always been fascinated by the legend of the Wendigo. It's a dark spirit that was said by the Algonquians to represent the balance of nature, and to induce a madness in people that led to them indulging in cannibalism.

Like Habit, Wendigo is a character-driven tale with a family at its heart. Kim and George and their son Miles take a trip out to an isolated cabin belonging to a family friend. On the way there, they hit a deer with their car. A group of hunters springs out of the woods, angry because they'd been tracking the wounded animal for hours, and further angered by the fact the the impact of the crash has cracked one of the antlers, making it less valuable.

The family's weekend is marked by aggression from the psycho hunters, and by something darker in the woods. Wendigo is a micro-budget masterpiece by a filmmaker unconcerned with fame and money. This is a labor of love, and it shows.

The Last Winter (2006)

Larry seems to have thing for snowy environments. Wendigo, The Last Winter, and Beneath all take place in cold climes. But The Last Winter is where the weather acts as a major character. The film concerns a group of oil scouts in Alaska who have been forced to take on an environmental scientist who must assess possible environmental impacts of their operation.

Needless to say, weird stuff starts happening. One of the young crew members goes missing, and leaves behind a video of him talking crazy and venturing naked out into the arctic landscape. On the tape are mysterious shape that can't be explained.

The Last Winter is, as far as I know, the first environmental horror movie. It tackles the question (as does Wendigo, to a lesser extent) how does nature fight back when humans violate its balance?

Full disclosure: I haven't yet seen Fessenden's two newest movies. But I would heartily recommend each of the films highlighted here, plus Bitter Feast (a tale of a celebrity chef seeking revenge on his fiercest critic) and You're Next! (If you haven't seen this, don't call yourself a horror fan until the situation is remedied).

And on one last note, if you're still unconvinced of Larry Fessenden's awesomeness, he also produces a web-based horror-themed radio drama series named Tales From Beyond the Pale. If any of you are into Arch Oboler's Lights Out or the old Rod Serling radio plays, Fessenden is the man bring that stuff back. Each episode boasts a celebrity cast and a name author. Sir Lawrence, you just put everyone else to shame.

Your assignment: Watch a Larry Fessenden flick, then tell me how right I am in the comments. Go!

Advent of Atrocities-Day 5: Dark Touch (2013)

Dir. Marina de Van

I've spent the last 5 months trying to figure out how to write this review, and I've finally come up with an angle. I ain't telling you shit about this movie. Here's why: It's one of those movies where the less you know going in, the better. There's a first act reveal that just nauseated me (meaning I loved it) and I don't want to rob you of that experience.

Watching the beginning of Dark Touch, you get little hints that arouse your suspicions and your unease continues to build as you think, "Don't let what I think is happening be happening." And then it is. And then you emotionally puke a little. That's not to say that the movie peaks in the first act, just that it needs to unfold exactly as it does to be most effective. So if you know nothing about this movie, don't look it up. Don't read the synopsis, and please don't read anyone's comments on it. Just go straight to Netflix and stream it (Yes, it's available right now! You can't wait to see it on my recommendation, right?).

Oh, and don't be put off by the cover image, as I initially was.

This cover looks, to me, like another knock-off Japanese creepy ghost girl flick, which I am so SO not into.

So if I'm not telling you shit about the film, what can we talk about here? Let's start with Marina de Van. Burn that name into your memory banks right now (MARINA DE VAN, MARINA DE VAN, MARINA DE VAN, MARINA DE VAN, etc,) because she is the next phase of horror filmmaking. I believe Dark Touch is her 3rd feature. Her first was In My Skin (not to be confused with the fifty other films with "skin" and "in" in the titles), a disturbing body horror meditation that she also stars in. I'd have a hard time choosing which film was better.

In Dark Touch, the divine Ms. de Van tackles some serious real world horror using the supernatural as a parable, and does so with maturity and intelligence. The most frequent complaint I've seen from reviewers is that Dark Touch is lacking in the story department. In my humble opinion, these reviewers are severely lacking in the cognitive skills department. The story is all there, spelled out coherently, but subtly. She expects her audience to be paying attention to the emotional beats instead of shoving popcorn into their faces. The story is told, not in broad strokes, but in subtle looks and silences. It also features a woman getting furniture screws through her neck and chin, so it's not all Howard's End; there's some Carrie in there as well.

This cover probably captures the feel of the film best.

The performances are just uniformly perfect. Missy Keating as the girl Niamh (pronounced Neve, bloody Irish and their Gaelic spelling) gives a standout performance and would definitely have been on my best actresses list for 2013 if I'd seen it that year. Then there's Marcella Plunkett as her foster mother, who in addition to being a fantastic actress, has a hugely compelling face. I'm not kidding, you just stare at it and marvel about its complexity. It's a face that tells stories without saying a word.

Lastly, there's Charlotte Flyvholm, who plays Niamh's school psychologist. She's the single most appealing character in the film. She's a good-hearted person doing the best she can to help a severely traumatized child, and she's so warm and charming that you just want to curl up in her lap and let her stroke your head. My only complaint about the film is that her storyline is dropped before the climax, a loose end that is never followed up.

Finally, just let me mention the ending. After a relatively slow-burn of a movie, things go very bad very quickly. While I'm tempted to relate how sick and twisted the finale is, I'm afraid I'd be building it up too much. On the spectrum of sick and twisted, we've all seen worse, but it still manages to jar you. And in the context of the whole film and its themes, it's the perfect way to end things: the continuation of a cycle.

Anyhow, now that I've spent 7 paragraphs not telling you about the movie, go stream it. I'll expect a full report in the morning.

P.S. I've seen from my stats that there are only 5 people reading this regularly. Identify yourselves in the comments and let me lavish you with praise for your impeccable taste in blogs.

Advent of Atrocities-Day 4: The Battery (2012)

The Battery isn't so much a horror movie as it is a zombie-themed art-house indie road movie. And by the way, that's a good thing. I imagine most of you are pretty burned out on zombies, and I'm with you on that. Remember the good old days when Romero's Dawn of the Dead was the end-all, be-all of zombie films and only you and your horror nerd friends had actually watched it? Twenty years after it was made, it was still edgy and fairly underground. These days you can't walk into the kids' department at K-Mart without tripping over a box of cutesified zombie jammies. Also, remember K-Mart. I'm old.

The point of this rambling zombie nostalgia is that after the bombast and spectacle of the multi-million dollar zombie flick World War Z, a small, intimate zombie movie like The Battery is the only thing that can bring this genre back from the dead. The Battery is essentially a 2-man show. Ben and Mickey live in the now too familiar post-zombie-apocalypse America, wandering through the woods and looting houses to get by. The film's title, by the way, does not refer to a car battery, as I was certain would be the case. It is actually a baseball term I was unfamiliar with, meaning the catcher and the pitcher, which is exactly what Ben and Mickey were, pre-ZA. Aside from the fact they were on the same baseball team, the two have little in common and have vastly different coping strategies for dealing with the new world order. Ben embraces the brutal, nomadic lifestyle of this new world, relishing the freedom it affords. Mickey wants nothing more than to hole up in a house or find some other trace of civilization.

The zombie action is kept to a minimum, with the focal point of the film being the relationship between the two leads. If you like your horror films fast and ferocious, The Battery may put you to sleep. What the film does instead is to simulate the feeling of what life would be like after most of the population is dead or zombified. In a word: boredom. Director (and the dude who plays Ben) Jeremy Gardner isn't afraid of long, lingering shots in which very little happens. The movie opens with a full two minutes of Mickey smoking and changing the batteries in his Discman. There's also a toothbrushing scene that goes on well over a minute. Writing this, it sounds awful. But within the context of the movie, it works. Just be warned that The Battery requires a high tolerance for art-house pacing.

While the movie is slow, the interaction between the two leads is highly entertaining and often hilarious. Ben's kind of an asshole, but not the worst person to be stuck with. And that's kind of the point of the movie. Two guys who don't really like each other that much come to depend on one another and eventually form a bond deeper than either is aware of. Plus Mickey masturbates to zomboobies! Just thought I'd throw that in there.

I won't spoil any more of what happens, but I do need to mention the greatness of the music. I'm so pissed that there's no soundtrack available, because every song that plays in the movie is pure gold. No wonder Mickey's got headphones on all the time.

Now that I'm at the end of this review, I realize that I haven't made much of a case for why this movie is so good. And I still can't figure out how to express it. But trust me, if you're sick of the whole mass media zombie-bombardment of the last several years, don't let that put you off from seeing it. The Battery is the anti-World War Z.

Advent of Atrocities - Day 3: Nurse (2013)

So, at the end of Nurse, we find out that Abbie the killer nurse is actually Sarah Price, who had been living under a fake identity after escaping the mental hospital she'd been committed to after killing her father as an 8-year old.

That's right. I just spoiled the whole plot in the first sentence. I did this because:
A) I'm an asshole, and
B) To make the point that the film's plot is entirely beside the point.

This "twist" is just tacked on to make it seem like Nurse is telling an actual story. But the glory of Nurse is that it manages to be a great time despite lacking such fundamental things as story and character development. Further, it creates a new horror icon for the ages. Abbie Russell stands tall among some of the most sinister villains in the genre. And to think, I fully intended to skip this one.

I never wanted to see Nurse. It looked like nothing more than a cheesy, money-grabbing excuse to show boobies in 3-D. And it kinda is. But in a good way. The narration is sharp and funny, delivered in Paz de la Huerta's drawn-out monotone that kills every one-liner the script throws at her. At one point, she has just offed her therapist by seducing him in his car, shooting him up with a paralytic, then letting the car roll backward into traffic where it promptly gets totalled by a semi. As the victim's bloody corpse smashes through the windshield, she narrates, "Larry made me come after all."

Half the reason Nurse didn't initially appeal to me was that I never thought too much of Paz de la Huerta. Maybe she's pretty, but not in a way that appeals to me, and I figured she was cast because of her willingness to take her clothes off (SPOILER: She does.), but aside from the killer script, she's the reason Nurse is so much fun.

Her part is written so she doesn't really have to act. She just has to vamp like crazy. But somehow she ends up being a totally compelling character and hilarious to boot. Her every line is simultaneously overplayed and underplayed, if that makes any sense.

The fun part of Nurse is watching Abbie gleefully (yes, she remains stone-faced, but the glee is implied) dismantles her new coworker, Dani's entire life, all the while justifying it to herself. When Dani graduates from nursing school, Abbie takes her out on the town, drugs her drink, sets her up with a 3-way, and takes photos to use against her. None of this is out of spite, by the way; Abbie has quite the thing for Dani. But Dani's got a boyfriend she needs to get rid of. Everything Abbie does is completely malevolent, but she still sees herself as the hero of her own story.

The violence in Nurse is pretty strong throughout, but the last 15 minutes becomes a pretty decent bloodbath, The gore isn't stomach-turning, but the blood does flow freely. Nurse isn't a pull-the-covers-over-your-head-and-sleep-with-all-the-lights-on horror movie. It's a wicked, mindless hoot for a drunken Saturday night. So there's your weekend. You're welcome.

Advent of Atrocities-Day 2: Stage Fright (2014)

If you're of the opinion that the concept of a Horror Musical is just too goofy to work, you're absolutely right. The genres are too at odds to play together and create anything but an unwatchable mess. But throw in a 3rd genre, and you're on to something.

Stage Fright is a Horror-Comedy-Musical that works precisely because the horror is dialed down to the point where it's not actually a horror film, but a horror-themed musical comedy. While there's nothing scary about Stage Fright, there is some pretty decent gore that will keep the sickos among us happy.

What's most surprising about Stage Fright is how well is holds up as a musical. The songs are insidious ear-worms that get lodged in your brain for weeks at a time. I've spent the last five days spontaneously bursting into the refrain, "I'm gay, I'm gay, but not in that way." And the film's lead, Allie MacDonald sings the living shit out of her songs. Stage Fright even boasts an opening starring the all-singing, all-acting Minnie Driver, who suffers a wonderfully horrible murder in her dressing room.

Stage Fright takes place at a youth theater camp called Center Stage that is run by Meat Loaf Aday, which is, of course, the mark of quality. Theater geeks should be just as into this movie as horror geeks, because it directly caters to them. Center Stage is populated by theater-geek caricatures who have found their refuge, a place where they are free to express their innermost selves without fear of abuse from peers and parents. Then, of course, the fear begins.

One of the movie's cleverest gags is that whenever the killer sings, he does so in an over-the-top metal wail, backed by searing doom-metal guitars.* When he delivers his pre-kill one-liners, he does so in that same ridiculous voice. The one-liners are all theater-related cliches so awful that they become highest art. And please do yourself a favor and listen to the closing credits medley with every song performed by this same metal band. It's a trancendant experience.

For a movie about the brutal murder of teenagers, Stage Fright is a fun, light-hearted romp that will keep you laughing until ear-worms make your brain explode.

*Full disclosure: I don't know Deathklock from Mastodon, so I'm pretty sure I've mislabeled the metal sub-genre.

Advent of Atrocities - Day1: Found. (2014)

"My brother keeps a human head in his closet."

Now that's my kind of opening line! But I didn't appreciate it right away. I knew the concept behind Found: What if a 12-year old horror movie fanatic found out his brother was a brutal, slasher-style serial killer? I was kind of disappointed that there was no build-up to his discovery. No emotion. Just a monotone stating of the facts.

My disappointment was misplaced. Found knows what the hell it is doing.

There's a blurb on the DVD cover from Elvira, Mistress of the Dark that describes the film, "As horror as horror can get." This 6-word summary pretty much renders my review unnecessary, but then, I never claimed to be necessary.

At it's heart, Found is a family drama with a focus on characters and relationships, a rare enough commodity in horror, almost unheard of for a slasher. One could argue that Found isn't really a slasher at all, since it bucks most of the genre's conventions. The body count is low, we don't actually see the majority of the murders, and the masked killer is revealed, maskless, at the beginning of the film. So if Found is not formally a slasher film, it at least was conceived and executed by filmmakers with a deep and abiding love for the genre.

I found out about Found at Beyond Hollywood, a movie site dedicated to highlighting foreign and genre films. It's based on a novel by the site's editor, Todd Rigney, who I've been reading for years. And let me tell you, the man has impeccable taste in movies. And he's done what I've only dreamed of: taking his expertise in cinema and creating his own movie. And a hell of a great one at that.

Found is the hardcore horror hound's horror film. Set somewhere in the late '80s/early '90s, the movie will give viewers of my generation the added treat of nostalgia for making the trip out to an honest-to-gods video store, complete with the lurid VHS covers in the horror section, situated right next to the becurtained adults-only closet of mysteries.

The most slasher-like part of Found is the movie-within-a-movie, Headless, which looks and feels like a genuine late 70's exploitation film that was slightly too underground to make it to the shelves of your local Blockbuster.

I'm the world's biggest sucker for coming-of-age stories, even the sweet ones. But throw in a macabre element and I'm in Heaven. Stand By Me, comes to mind, along with Hearts in Atlantis and Joyland. But honestly, Stephen King has never made anything this dark and outright disturbing. There's always an element of heartbreak in coming-of-age stories, and Found taps into that sadness expertly. Marty, the film's narrator and protagonist is in fifth grade and struggling to reconcile his adoration of his older brother Steve with his newfound knowledge that Steve is a serial murderer. To complicate things, both Marty and Steve are huge horror fans whose shared love of horror films is their one real point of bonding. So when Marty finds out that his brother's life is basically a horror movie, he can relate on some level. The thought of turning him in to the police never crosses his mind, even though he is a caring and sympathetic kid. As he's holding one of his brother's severed heads in his hands (he's not bad, just fascinated by death), he thinks, "At one point, it had thoughts and feelings, and it kissed somebody it loved. Now it's just a bloody head in a bowling ball bag."

The two brothers' relationship is central to the film, and while we're obviously supposed to sympathize with Marty, the movie goes out of its way to also paint Steve in a somewhat sympathetic light. We know from the film's first line that he's a psycho killer, but he's no faceless Michael Myers. No embodiment of pure evil. He's crazy, for sure, but capable of caring about people. Half the film's tension comes from wondering how far his love for Marty extends and whether he'd ever intentionally hurt him.

Now is the time to warn you that Found is extremely low-budget, which shows from time to time in the props and the performances. Look past it. There are no out-and-out bad performances in Found, just the air of inexperience surrounding some of the actors. Ethan Philbeck as Steve, for instance, has no other acting credits to his name (at least according to IMDB) and his inexperience shows. But that doesn't stop him from being super-creepy in most scenes and downright terrifying in the end.

The end. What can I say to express the sheer horror of this film's ending? You know, right from the opening moments, that this is a story that can't end well. The majority of the film's run time is spent making sure you care about the characters, and then... fan, meet shit. I must applaud Found's use of male nudity to amp up the ickyness factor sevenfold, as well as its determination to make the viewer do all the nasty work of imagining what we're not seeing. Then the final shot... FUCK. Just FUCK.

So if you don't mind your horror low-budget and you love it degenerate, soul-crushing, and nasty, go tell your boss you're sick ('cuz I know you're reading this at work), go home, and stream this from Amazon ASAP. Better yet, order the DVD because it's less than 8 bucks, and it comes with the full, uncut versions of two of the movies-within-a-movie featured in the film.

When you're done, come back and thank me profusely in the comments.

Advent of Atrocities Challenge

I don’t have to tell my frustrated followers that I don’t write enough. My output for the last 2 years has been nothing short of pathetic. Meanwhile, my list of kick ass horror movies that I’m just dying to tell people about grows ever longer. Here’s the problem: I always feel like my blog entries have to be grandiose, well thought out, and contain tons of screen caps that take hours to get. By these standards, blogging becomes too daunting, and I throw on a flick instead.

Which is why I’ve cleverly chosen the busiest time of year to set a challenge for myself: An Advent Calendar of Atrocities. Each day in December, leading up to Christmas, I will post a blog entry on a great horror movie I’d like to share with you fine folks. Some days they might be a paragraph recommending something. Other days I might run off at the fingertips, gushing for 2000 words about some flick that has captured my imagination.

That’s 24 days of tiny, bite-sized gifts for you. And if any of y’all are feeling the spirit of the season, I challenge you to create a blogging advent calendar of your own, and we can totally cross-linkify.

Should I fail this challenge, may the Krampus roast my chestnuts on an open fire. Now let the holiday giving begin!

Marvin Out

Canary - A MMM Original Short Story

It's been ages since I tried my hand at fiction, but when the challenge came, the possibilities were just too enticing to pass up. The challenge came from Chuck Wendig at his blog Terrible Minds. Participants were asked to post a story of 1,000 words or less. The story was to be a superhero story mashed up with another subgenre of your choice. First on the list was Splatterpunk Horror. How could I resist?

Let me know what you think in the comments. Unless, you know, you didn't like it.

Canary
by Marvin the Macabre

I write this as an act of desperation, aware it is probably my death warrant. But the world must know. After all, that’s what he really wanted me for: A witness. Why else would the world’s most mysterious, solitary crimefighter sign up for the sidekick mentoring program? And why are my duties limited to carrying his gear and cleaning up blood? I was at the top of my class at Sidekick Academy for fuck’s sake! Voted most likely to graduate directly to the rank of crimefighter! But no, I wanted to do things the right way; to learn from a legend. When The Jaguar choose me, I almost wept with joy.

Then I met him. There was something wholly unnerving about his gaze. Like he was looking down on some lesser being. I chalked it up to the refined art of intimidation. The beaten, bloodied criminals he took down never failed to mention those eyes.

My first days at Rothman Estate (did I mention his secret identity is Elias Rothman, spoiled rotten heir to the Rothman biogenetic fortune?) were a lesson in humiliation. The first thing he did was strip me of my name. Inspired by Jaguar, I had cultivated an identity that bespoke power and tapped into that archetypal energy. I was the mighty Kodiak.

“You ain’t no Kodiak,” he mocked, “not even a cub. You want an animal name? Fine. You’re Canary.” Even as my stomach revolted, I made no outward sign of my displeasure. I assumed he was breaking me down to build me up again. I knew I’d been getting an ego at academy. Excelling at everything and outperforming your peers by a factor of three will do that. So I accepted his training methods as painful, but necessary. Thing is, after five years he hasn’t even attempted to teach me anything.

I think Ubermensch is on to him, at least a little. There’s little trust and no love between them. As for Mr. Mind, he’s a complete fraud. I stood not five feet away from him, my mind screaming RESCUE ME! and he just walked away with a tiny nod and an oblivious grin. Mostly Jaguar keeps me away from the other supers. He’ll see one coming and order me to some menial task a safe distance away. He refuses to join the Crimefighters Coalition for obvious reasons.

I’ve known for years that Jaguar had crossed a line, but I thought I could tough it until the end of my apprenticeship. That all changed last night. In the past, it’s always been criminals. Filthy fucking murderers and rapists so reprehensible that a court of law almost seems too good for them. Almost. But last night when I saw that glint in his eye and his teeth-bearing half-smirk, I knew it would end badly.

As usual, we were parked in the Jag-Car listening to the police band radio when he heard about a noise complaint at a frat party. “Three blocks away,” he said, “Let’s roll.”

As he stomped his accelerator to the floor, I objected, “It’s a noise complaint Eli, shouldn’t we wait for…”

“Not while I’m in costume!” he barked.

“Fine. Jaguar, for Christ’s sake.”

He slammed to a screeching, smoking halt. “Take the Lord’s name in vain again and I will fucking END YOU!” he shrieked, so completely unhinged that I couldn’t even stammer out a “Yes Sir.” After glaring at me for a good 30 seconds, he pulled the car to the curb and turned off the headlights.

“There it is.” He pointed to a white two-story half a block away. “We’ll wait until the police have come and gone.”

“Couldn’t we just leave it to the police?” I asked, the timidity in my own voice disgusting me. He responded with an elbow to the teeth. We waited. I bled.

As soon as the responding officer left, we walked in the open door. Jaguar was careful to shut it behind him. Inside, the music was back to blaring. It was one of those Heaven and Hell parties. The upstairs was decked out in billowing white sheets and feathers, while cleavage-bearing angels served crystalline liquors from sparkling shot glasses. The basement would be a red-lit S&M den with sorority girls in leather domination suits slinging Hellfire shots from between their breasts.

Jaguar flung a throwing claw into the stereo, reducing the pounding dubstep beat to a sparking electric white-noise drone. After a collective “What the fuck, bro?” the place fell silent under Jaguar’s bestial presence.

“There’s drugs here,” he announced. “You’ve got one chance to turn them over.” He stared them down, his gaze so commanding that those nearest instinctively emptied their pockets, producing near-empty bags of herb, pipes, and a tiny vial of blow. Jaguar extended his clawed hand as if to accept the contraband, then lashed out with a roundhouse kick to the face. The scrawny stoner stayed down, so Jaguar headbutted the next in line. Blood exploded from the jock’s nose, covering Jaguar’s mask with a red mist. He grinned. His glare penetrated deeper into the crowd. “There’s more,” he demanded.

No one dared come forward. All were silent save the tearful pleading of some hipster with a Jew-fro. It was nonsense. The standard ”Don’t hurt me I’ll do anything you ask” gibberish.

“Cut yourself,” said Jaguar.

“What?”

Jaguar tossed a blade at his feet. “Cut yourself,” he repeated. The hipster hesitated. “Pick it up,” demanded Jaguar. He did as he was told, raking the blade haltingly across his forearm. “Not there,” said Jaguar, “your throat.”

“What?”

At this, Jaguar unleashed an ungodly howl and slashed with his claws, tearing half the boy’s throat out. His head lolled forward as the arterial spray doused a dozen partygoers. Jew-fro slumped to the floor, his head offset from his neck at a sickening angle. Screaming erupted and the stampede began. Jaguar bellowed above the din, “Do you WANT another noise complaint?”

Some people think Jaguar’s claws are fake, something he fashioned himself. They’re half-right. The claws are real, but he also made them. Biogenetics empire, remember? Eli began his career with clawed gloves, but they didn’t satisfy him. He wanted to feel the muscles tear beneath his fingers. He wanted to kill, not with tools and gadgets, but with his own body penetrating the flesh. His kills used to be quick and efficient, but tonight he toyed with his victims like a housecat.

He grabbed one of the fleeing fratboys and shredded his neck lengthwise. He slashed at it over and over until the last threads of flesh tore free. He held the dripping head high, presenting it to the crowd. “DRUGS KILL!” he shrieked. Then he grabbed the nearest girl and slammed the severed head into her own repeatedly. The sound of bone fracturing quickly gave way to the wet slurp of blood and brain.

Even as he attacked, Jaguar expertly kept his body between the crowd and the exit. When they made for the back door, he commanded me to guard it. I made for the back of the house, if only to escape the carnage. People were trickling out onto the back porch, but in the madness of escape, it was becoming clogged with half-trampled bodies all clawing at one another to get to safety. I tried to keep order. I even broke out the back window for them, but only a few more escaped before the opening became a jammed-up writhing mess of panic.

Jaguar finished up in the front room and made his way to the back. He chuckled at the sight of the human traffic jam, then took a running start, and slammed his shoulder into them. Did I mention that Jaguar has superhuman strength? Nothing like Ubermensch, who can throw trains, but more like a gorilla. It was more than enough to snap ribs and crush internal organs. Injured bodies piled in front of the door, and Jaguar jumped up and down on them like it was some demented bouncy house. The blood and piss flowing from beneath the pile of bodies flooded the kitchen floor, nearly to the stairwell.

Oh shit the basement! The music was still pounding from below. They had no idea what was happening here in Heaven. While Jaguar was distracted, I searched for another staircase out of his sight. When I got to the main room, the sight dropped me and I puked onto the viscera-strewn carpet. But I picked myself up and soldiered on, stepping carefully around the still-twitching bodies. With each step, I could hear the squish of the blood-saturated carpet. It was already soaking into my shoes.

There was no second staircase, and Jaguar invaded Hell before I could warn them. Jaguar unseated the party’s “Satan” from his infernal throne and installed himself there. Anyone who tried to scramble up the stairs took a throwing claw in the back. Once Hell’s denizens knew they were trapped, the Underworld’s new king began his reign.

As much as I want to reveal this monster’s depravity to the world, I’m unable to detail the events that came after. Even now my mind attempts to erase them from memory, my sanity’s final effort to save itself. Suffice it to say that Jaguar commanded his subjects to inflict incomprehensible cruelty on one another, and not one of them left alive.

As per usual, Jaguar left a calling card indicating the slaughter took place at the hands of some super-villain. When the police arrived, he made a show of desperately searching for survivors. They always believe that schtick.

I wondered who he’d lay the blame on this time. Surely not one of his old stand-bys.  Mr. Twisted was in jail. Necro Joe has “thrown himself” off of a parking garage. None of the others would have been capable of the atrocities the police would discover. So he made up a new one. When the police arrived, they found, placed just outside the front door, a tiny wire cage containing a dead canary.

I can hear the steel-reinforced clunk of his boots on the floor above me. Oh God, I think he knows I tried to help them escape. I’ve written my confession, but how will it ever find its way out to the world? I only hope justice finds a way.

What's in Your Slasher Survival Kit?

My first thought, upon being contacted by Man Crates to dream up my ultimate horror crate was:

But that's not exactly what they were looking for. Man Crates is a company that puts together manly gift crates that must be opened with a crowbar. The themed crates range from customized bar sets to zombie apocalypse survival kits. They challenged me to concoct a crate specifically designed to help you survive a horror movie. They didn't offer me any kind of compensation in return, but I decided to go for it because A) They're a really cool company and I'd be super stoked to receive any one of their crates as a gift, and B) Because it sounded like fun.

The topic was really wide open, so to focus this post, I've given myself a few ground rules:

1) The crate will be specific to surviving a SLASHER flick--there are way too many horror subgenres to create an all-purpose kit, and I wouldn't have the first idea of what to put in a violent haunting kit.

2) No weapons--Sure, that would be the first thing you'd want, but it's too easy. Sure, I'll take a flamethrower, a Desert Eagle for each hand, and a box of grenades. Sorry, but the real horror movie survivor needs to improvise their own weapons.

3) I tried to make it plausible that Man Crates could actually put all these items in a crate. Therefore, no jetpacks, no crotch rockets, and no magic wands.

4) I wish to stress that because most slasher film survivors are female (final girls, if you will) please consider this a (Wo)Man Crate as well.

Without further ado, I Present the Montana Mancave Massacre Mancrate:

Item #1: LED Flashlight

So, this is a slasher movie--obviously it's going to be dark, most likely you'll be in the woods or at least an unfamiliar place. Sure, the dude coming at you with a branch saw is dangerous, but do you realize the amount of damage you can do to yourself bumbling around in the dark? A light source is a must.

But wait, there's more! If you've been keeping up with flashlight technology, you're probably aware that modern LED flashlights can pack a whole lot of blindness into a tiny, energy-efficient frame. Go with a flashlight of 2000 lumens or more and you'll blind that maniac, giving you a much-needed advantage. Seriously, shine this puppy directly in their eyes and they'll be seeing spots for a good 15 minutes.

Let's not stop there. The Cree flashlight pictured above also has a waterproof casing of aircraft-grade aluminum, 5 brightness modes, 4 metal spikes for self-defense, and an alarm to alert people to your location. Or if you want to get hardcore and go hands-free, you could always go with the 5000-lumen headlamp.

 

Item #2: Make sure to bring your CAT

That's Combat Application Tourniquet, and when the guy wearing your best friend's face as a speedo hacks half your hand off, you're going to want to stop the bleeding ASAP. Well friend, that's the magic of the CAT. It goes on quickly and you can do it with only one good hand.

You'll want to select a brand that goes on the same way for both arms and legs, because seriously, when you're bleeding to death, you're not going to remember two separate application techniques.

Also, in the spirit of improvised weapons, you could probably strangle someone with it.

That's all well and good for your extremities, but what if you get stabbed in the gut? That leads us to:

Item #3: Quick Clot

There's a good reason cops and soldiers carry this stuff on them at all times. It will save your freakin' life--simple as that. A roll of QuikClot gauze contains an inert mineral called kaolin that initiates blood clotting and can achieve hemostasis in as little as 3 minutes.

Do be aware that this is a temporary measure and you won't have all night to get to the hospital. It will save your life if you suffered your grievous wound while luring your pursuer into an industrial meat grinder. But if he's still giving chase after you've found time to apply QuikClot, you may not have much fight left in you.

Item #4: Cell phone signal booster

Want to avoid those deadly cat and mouse games altogether? Try packing one of these sweet babies.

We all know the killing won't start until you're safely within a cell phone dead zone. Here's where you turn the tables on your own personal Leslie Vernon. Sure he's planned your slaughter oh so carefully, mapping out the exact limits of the cellular reception in his killing grounds. But did he consider every angle? This might just give you the advantage you need to survive.

Call a tow truck and GTFO before he can even unsheath his elk-gutter.

Item #5: Survival Knife

Look, I know I said no weapons, so consider this a tool. 

What, are you going up against a machete-weilding ex-wrestler with this tiny pick-stick? Hells no. But might you use it to cut through your duct tape bonds? Certainly. Could you possibly sharpen a stick into a lethal spear with it? Why yes! There are literally millions of uses for a blade beyond driving it through your would-be killer's pig mask.

And as a bonus, you could also drive it through your would-be killer's pig mask.

This particular survival knife comes wrapped with a length of all-purpose paracord (another must) and a fire-starter tool.

Item #6: A good pair of gloves

Never underestimate the importance of your fingers. When all else fails, you may find yourself pummeling your assailant with only your fists. Your fingers will get bloodied, bruised, and possibly broken. And have you ever seen a horror movie survivor defeat the villain with punches? Never. You'll have plenty more escaping to do after the fisticuffs, and if your hands are through, so are you. I recommend finding yourself a good pair of tactical gloves with hard polymer knuckle plating and cushioned insides to keep your hand in one piece.

If you're not into fist fighting, you're still going to have to do some grabbing, grasping, and climbing on all sorts of unpleasant surfaces. And how many times have we seen someone grab the edge of a door only to have their hands slashed? Well wouldn't you know it, that's what steel mesh gloves are for! Okay, so actually their often used by butchers to avoid flaying themselves open, but if it's good enough for meat-cutting professionals, it should certainly work for you in a pinch.

But seriously, why mess around? Go whole hog and get yourself a nice pair of slash-proof sleeves. Remember, unprotected skin is a slasher's playground.

Item #7: Knee/Elbow pads

You may view these as inessential, but when you're doing a marine crawl through a tunnel filled with splinters of human bone and teeth, you'll thank me for it.

Item #8: Tactical goggles

The one piece of gear that is absolutely essential if you find yourself in a Lucio Fulci movie. Eye trauma was the man's bread and butter. They also protect your eyes from arterial spray should the person next to you have his throat slashed. Add a steel mesh face mask if you want to look super-intimidating (although I'm not sure Jason's going to be deterred).

Item #9: (Optional) Foldable Grappling Hook

Let's be honest, you've always wanted one of these daddies.

Batman's got one, you're gonna want one.

While this might not be the most useful item in your personal bug-out bag, it will be just the ticket when you are trapped in a pit and told to put the lotion in the basket. And as survivalists everywhere will tell you, it's better to have a grappling hook and not need it, than need one and not have it.

Item #10: (Extremely Optional) Autograph book

If you can survive a night with Michael Meyers AND manage to escape with his autograph, there's a horde of horror fans who would pay top dollar for it on Ebay. If you've got to go through Hell, you might as well make some scratch off it.

And there you have it. Now let's all sit back and pray that the good folks at Man Crates actually make this an official crate. And send me one.