Tyler Mane, born December 8, 1966 in Saskatchewan, Canada, played Sabretooth in the first X-Men movie. The incredibly handsome actor has also played Mike Myers in the rebooted Halloween series of movies.
Showing posts with label Halloween. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Halloween. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 8, 2020
Tuesday, October 27, 2020
"It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!" premieres 1966
It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown made its television debut October 27, 1966. It is perennial Halloween watching for those of us who grew up with Charlie Brown and the gang. While everyone is out trick-or-treating, Linus sits in a pumpkin patch to wait for the Great Pumpkin.
It was nominated for three Primetime Emmy Awards: Outstanding Children's Program, Special Classifications of Individual Achievements for director Bill Melendez and writer Charles Schulz.
It lost the Children's Program award to Jack and the Beanstalk. Anyone remember that one?
Wednesday, October 31, 2018
Scooby Doo, Where Are You? episode "Don t Fool with a Phantom" airs 1970
Episode 8, Season 2 Don't Fool With a Phantom of Scooby Doo, Where Are You? aired Halloween night 1970. Scooby and the gang investigate the disappearance of a radio station manager and the appearance of a Wax Phantom.
The chase song Pretty Mary Sunlite was performed by Austin Roberts.
Thursday, October 25, 2018
"Ghost Ship" released 2002
I'm not one for supernatural thrillers but this one I enjoyed. Ghost Ship was released October 25, 2002 just in time for Halloween, but I didn't see until much later. With a cast like Gabriel Byrne, Julianna Margulies and Karl Urban, I was sold. Emily Browning, who played the ghost of the young girl, went on to appear with Kristen Chenoweth in American Gods.
The opening scene is rather gruesome and I learned that it had been changed from a even more gory beginning to tone it down. Ick. My first thought was that the ship contained a design flaw that would have been caught before the ship was completely built.
Beyond that, the movie is exciting and contains a lot of chills. The supernatural connection isn't revealed until the end, and it has sort of a happily ever after finale. Until Margulies' character is in the back of the ambulance...
That's the only spoiler you get.
Saturday, October 20, 2018
Bobby Pickett "Monster Mash" reaches #1 1962
Bobby "Boris" Pickett's Monster Mash reached #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 October 20, 1962. Released August 25, it has become an annual favorite for Halloween ever since. Pickett had been performing with his band the Cordials and did an impression of Boris Karloff one night during a performance. The audience loved it and band members encouraged him to do more with it. Thus, Monster Mash was born.
Thursday, October 27, 2016
Star Trek (TOS) episode "Catspaw" airs 1967
Just in time for Halloween, CBS aired the Star Trek episode Catspaw October 27, 1967. True to the mood of the season, this episode includes witches, a spooky castle, wizards and a gigantic black cat.
Sylvia and Korob are aliens who try to "connect" with humans via some sort of telepathy but only manage to tap into the subconscious where humans keep their superstitions and stuff of nightmares. Thus, they think this spooky mumbo-jumbo is normal.
The worst thing about Sylvia is her appalling sense of style. Talk about the stuff of nightmares.
Thursday, October 20, 2016
Sounds of the Season! Pointer Sisters "Back In My Arms"
Okay, this isn't really a Halloween song or pumpkin carol, but this album came out in July 1985 and I listened to it all through that fall into the Christmas season. So I always associate Contact with autumn.
Back in My Arms has been growing on me forever and I enjoy it more and more each year. Ruth Pointer sings her heart and soul out and it's one of the few songs that can bring me to tears.
Love you, Ruth!!
Friday, October 7, 2016
Sounds of the Season! "Mummy Walk" from Mannheim Steamroller
Friday, September 23, 2016
Mannheim Steamroller releases "Halloween" 2003
Mannheim Steamroller released their first album of Halloween music, Halloween September 23, 2003. True to the Mannheim sound, this album does for Halloween what it did for Christmas!
Listen to "Toccata in De Mole", a pumped up version of Bach's Toccata and Fugue in Bb minor.
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
Mannheim Steamroller releases "Halloween Monster Mix" 2004
Mannheim Steamroller released its second album of spooky holiday music, Halloween Monster Mix, September 21, 2004. It contains some eerie arrangements of classic music pieces such as In the Hall of the Mountain King, Night on Bald Mountain and my favorite, The Sorcerer's Apprentice (listen below). It also features Crystal from Fresh Aire IV.
Halloween Monster Mix was released just two days shy of the anniversary of the first album of spooky favorites, Halloween, which was released in 2003.
Monday, November 2, 2015
Lahoma, OK mayor's husband dresses as KKK to be 'funny' - WTF?
The husband of the mayor of this tiny town west of Enid, Oklahoma and his friends dressed up as member of the Ku Klux Klan "because they believed the prank would be funny."
No one is laughing.
Cary Sharp, the mayor's husband said "no harm was meant."
“This is ridiculous, really,” Cary Sharp said. “It was a Halloween night.”
Does that make it all right, Cary? No, it's insensitive and racist. What happens next year? Are you going to wear a German WWII uniform with a swastika? That must have been some powerful weed you were smoking.
Theresa Sharp, mayor of Lahoma, was in another part of town (what, two or three blocks away?), trick-or-treating with their son. She has criticized his actions.
Unfortunately, no arrests were made since Sharp and fellow idiots had not actually broken any laws. Just exhibited extremely poor taste.
Back to zero days since Oklahoma has been an embarrassment to the world.
http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/okla-mayor-husband-dresses-kkk-member-halloween-article-1.2420665
http://www.enidnews.com/news/updated-halloween-prank-with-kkk-robes-bonfire-reported-near-lahoma/article_45d5903c-80c4-11e5-aee5-1b97257e8c1b.html?mode=print
Saturday, October 31, 2015
Sounds of the Seasons! Michael Jackson's "Thriller"
Michael Jackson's "Thriller" - the second official song of Halloween!
Friday, October 30, 2015
Thursday, October 29, 2015
Sounds of the Season! "This Is Halloween" from "The Nightmare Before Christmas"
The opening number from the movie sung by the citizens of Halloweentown.
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Monday, October 26, 2015
Sounds of the Season! The Raven by The Alan Parsons Project
A little music for the Halloween holiday!
The second track from their debut album, Tales of Mystery and Imagination in 1976, the song is based on Edgar Allan Poe's poem of the same name.
This video used the remixed version from 1987.
The second track from their debut album, Tales of Mystery and Imagination in 1976, the song is based on Edgar Allan Poe's poem of the same name.
This video used the remixed version from 1987.
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
Halloween released by Mannheim Steamroller in 2003
Mannheim Steamroller's Halloween album released today in 2003! It's the first of three Halloween albums they released. I couldn't find any original videos from this album other than composites like the one below.
"Sorcerer's Apprentice" is the best track!
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Ouija Bored by Alex Morgan - Happy Halloween!
Happy Halloween! Here is a comedy tale for your Halloween reading pleasure!
(Note: To my fellow Baltimore Ravens fans. This was written several years ago so that explains the reference to a dismal football season.)
OUIJA BORED
The cold, biting wind rattled the windows of the small townhouse and added a sense of macabre to the last night of October. Rain threatened from the heavy clouds, aglow from the lights of Washington, DC below. However, the unseasonably cool weather did little to subdue the enthusiasm of the millions of trick-or-treaters infesting the neighborhoods in search of sugary rewards.
Inside the townhouse only a few miles south of the Pentagon, four writers sat in a dimly lit room among countless empty bottles of beer, rum, whiskey and gin and boxes of pizza strewn about. At this late hour of the night, no ideas for stories had been developed and the constructive suggestion to run naked up I-395 toward DC had been soundly defeated.
“We have to stick with our original plan” was the consensus of the foursome.
“That’s the only way we’re going to cure our collective writers’ block,” insisted Red, as lucid as he could for someone with a blood alcohol level that would pickle a full-grown horse.
“Yes,” Nomar added emphatically. “We agreed we’re going to use the Wheezy board…”
“Ouija board.”
“Whatever. To contact the spirits of our favorite dead authors to help us out,” he tried to focus on the bottle in his hand. “I’d like to start with Glen Moray.”
“He’s not even a real person, Nomar,” Alex said waving another empty bottle. “He’s a brand of Scotch. Not like Captain Morgan! Let’s try him.”
“Come on, guys,” Bran urged, as the voice of reason that had been dipped repeatedly in Crown Royal and coke. “It’s almost midnight. We gotta get the Squeegee board…”
“Ouija board.”
“Whatever. Before then,” he finished.
“Got it right here!” Red shouted, digging through a pile of Coors Light cans, Doritos sacks and crumpled up papers. He pulled a box out from underneath the garbage and with a sweep of his hand knocked everything off the coffee table to make room. He laid out the board with the planchette while Alex doused the remaining lights and lit a few candles.
“All right! Let’s get to it. Who wants to go first?” Red asked.
“I do!” Bran said with excitement. “I would like to summon…what’s that smell?”
“It’s from the candles,” Alex replied. “I have Cinnamon, Fall Harvest and Holly Berry.”
“You’re not supposed to use scented candles at a séance!” Red snapped.
“Tough shit! Besides, they’re all I have so we’ll just have to make do.”
Sighing in annoyance, Red turned back to the board. “Who are we bugging tonight, Bran?”
“Stephen King.”
“Um, Bran. Stephen King isn’t dead yet,” Nomar reminded him.
“I know,” Bran said unperturbed. “But I don’t think that he is going to allow a little thing like not being dead stop him from chatting with us.”
“Good point.”
The men concentrated on the board and the planchette began to move.
“Look!”
“Shh!” Red warned. “Is that Stephen King?”
NO. The planchette indicated.
“Who is this then?” Bran asked the air above the board.
HIS TWILIGHT PHONE
“Twilight phone? You mean like the Twilight Zone?” Red asked.
YES
“But that’s Rod Stewart, isn’t it?” Bran sounded dazed and confused.
“No, that was Rod Steiger.” Alex interjected.
“It was something like ‘surly’,” Nomar put in.
IT’S ROD SERLING, EINSTEINS
“Wow! How did we end up with you instead of Stephen King, Mr. Serling?” Red asked the board.
HE FORWARDED HIS SUMMONS UNTIL HE IS DEAD
“Well, that just blows!” Bran said in disgust and tossed back a shot of Crown Royal.
“Let’s try someone else,” Red suggested. “Nomar, who do you want to try?”
“I like Edgar Allan Poe.”
“Great! Perfect for a spooky Halloween night! Everybody, focus on Poe,” Red instructed.
Soon the planchette began to move again.
“Is that Edgar Allan Poe?” Nomar whispered with the fumes of an expensive, single malt Scotch riding on his breath.
YES
“Cool! I have a question about inspiration for writing horror.”
DROP DEAD
“How rude!”
Nomar, too drunk to be offended, pressed on. “How did you deal with writer’s block?”
BITE ME
“Man, he’s kinda cranky tonight,” Alex noted.
“Mr. Poe, why are you so angry?” Nomar asked.
RAVENS WENT 3 AND 13 LAST SEASON
“But they picked up a quarterback in the draft this year,” Alex responded.
BIG DEAL. OFFENSE STILL SUCKS
“He’s got a point, you know.” Alex swirled his rum punch thoughtfully.
“OK, enough of that,” Red said. “Alex! Your turn!”
“Thanks, Red. I want to contact Agatha Christie. I think she’s been through a séance or two herself.”
“Cool! Agatha it is.”
The planchette did not move.
“What do we do now?” Bran asked in a hushed voice. “Open a bottle of poisoned wine?”
“Hey, Brits like gin!” Nomar remembered.
"I'm on it, Nomar." Alex opened a bottle of Beefeaters and waved it around the room, allowing the vapors to call the otherworld.
“Look! The planchette’s moving!” Red said.
“Is this Dame Christie?” Alex’s voice was stilted and automatic.
NO
“Then who are you?”
I AM THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS YET TO COME
“Damn! We got the wrong number!”
“Christmas is two months away!”
“Wait!” Alex shouted. “While we’ve got him on the line, ask him what the NFL playoff picture will look like then.”
DONT KNOW. DONT CARE
“Why not?”
IM BRITISH, YOU WANKERS.
“How rude!”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Alex said, nearly spilling his drink as a memory shoved its way through the rum-soaked bog of his mind. “Amanda wanted us to contact someone for her if we did this.”
“How did being insulted by a ghost remind you of that?” Nomar asked.
“She’s British and she thinks he’s a wanker,” Red replied matter-of-factly.
“Gotcha.”
“Who does she want us to find?” asked Bran.
“Erma Bombeck, the greatest female comedy writer of all time,” Alex answered.
“Groovy! Let’s see if we can get it right this time,” Red turned back to the board. The planchette began to move at once.
W U
“Huh?” Red was surprised. “What does that mean?”
HOW R U 2DAY
“What? She’s texting?” Bran was as shocked as the other three.
YES :)
Alex recovered from his surprise. “Ms. Bombeck, our friend Amanda wants to know what your secret is to becoming a great comedy writer.”
OMG LIKE IDK, MY NEW BFFS.
“You know that Amanda’s never going to believe this,” Alex looked up from the board.
“Maybe she will. This seems to be Erma’s brand of humor,” Bran said. Alex nodded.
Without warning, the planchette moved again.
BEWARE
The four men were stunned into silence.
“Beware of what? Of who?” Red asked in an excited whisper.
“Shouldn’t that be ‘of whom’?”
“Fuck you.”
“Now we know why all the spirits have been in bad moods tonight.”
BEWARE OF ALEX
“Me?” Alex was bewildered and dumbfounded as Bran, Nomar and Red looked at him.
“I don’t think this is Erma Bombeck any more,” Nomar stated with hesitance.
“Why should we beware of Alex?” Red’s eyebrows knitted together in concern.
HE IS A CRAZY BASTARD
“Yes, and?”
HE IS A TWISTED SONOFABITCH
“And?”
KINKY AND PERVERTED
“Like duh.”
“That’s old news.”
“Tell us something we don’t know.”
HE IS STALKING ALL OF YOU
“We know that, too!”
“OK, Grandma! That’s enough,” Alex found his voice.
ALL RIGHT DEAR. JUST LOOKING OUT FOR YOU
“Thanks, Grandma. Love you! Say hi to Grandpa for me.”
WILL DO. LOVE YOU TOO. BYE.
The planchette came to a stop.
“Well, that was awkward,” Alex said, feeling his face heat up. No one spoke. He jumped to his feet. “So who’s up for running naked along I-395?”
“I am!”
“Me, too!”
“Count me in!”
(c) 2008 Alex Morgan
(Note: To my fellow Baltimore Ravens fans. This was written several years ago so that explains the reference to a dismal football season.)
OUIJA BORED
The cold, biting wind rattled the windows of the small townhouse and added a sense of macabre to the last night of October. Rain threatened from the heavy clouds, aglow from the lights of Washington, DC below. However, the unseasonably cool weather did little to subdue the enthusiasm of the millions of trick-or-treaters infesting the neighborhoods in search of sugary rewards.
Inside the townhouse only a few miles south of the Pentagon, four writers sat in a dimly lit room among countless empty bottles of beer, rum, whiskey and gin and boxes of pizza strewn about. At this late hour of the night, no ideas for stories had been developed and the constructive suggestion to run naked up I-395 toward DC had been soundly defeated.
“We have to stick with our original plan” was the consensus of the foursome.
“That’s the only way we’re going to cure our collective writers’ block,” insisted Red, as lucid as he could for someone with a blood alcohol level that would pickle a full-grown horse.
“Yes,” Nomar added emphatically. “We agreed we’re going to use the Wheezy board…”
“Ouija board.”
“Whatever. To contact the spirits of our favorite dead authors to help us out,” he tried to focus on the bottle in his hand. “I’d like to start with Glen Moray.”
“He’s not even a real person, Nomar,” Alex said waving another empty bottle. “He’s a brand of Scotch. Not like Captain Morgan! Let’s try him.”
“Come on, guys,” Bran urged, as the voice of reason that had been dipped repeatedly in Crown Royal and coke. “It’s almost midnight. We gotta get the Squeegee board…”
“Ouija board.”
“Whatever. Before then,” he finished.
“Got it right here!” Red shouted, digging through a pile of Coors Light cans, Doritos sacks and crumpled up papers. He pulled a box out from underneath the garbage and with a sweep of his hand knocked everything off the coffee table to make room. He laid out the board with the planchette while Alex doused the remaining lights and lit a few candles.
“All right! Let’s get to it. Who wants to go first?” Red asked.
“I do!” Bran said with excitement. “I would like to summon…what’s that smell?”
“It’s from the candles,” Alex replied. “I have Cinnamon, Fall Harvest and Holly Berry.”
“You’re not supposed to use scented candles at a séance!” Red snapped.
“Tough shit! Besides, they’re all I have so we’ll just have to make do.”
Sighing in annoyance, Red turned back to the board. “Who are we bugging tonight, Bran?”
“Stephen King.”
“Um, Bran. Stephen King isn’t dead yet,” Nomar reminded him.
“I know,” Bran said unperturbed. “But I don’t think that he is going to allow a little thing like not being dead stop him from chatting with us.”
“Good point.”
The men concentrated on the board and the planchette began to move.
“Look!”
“Shh!” Red warned. “Is that Stephen King?”
NO. The planchette indicated.
“Who is this then?” Bran asked the air above the board.
HIS TWILIGHT PHONE
“Twilight phone? You mean like the Twilight Zone?” Red asked.
YES
“But that’s Rod Stewart, isn’t it?” Bran sounded dazed and confused.
“No, that was Rod Steiger.” Alex interjected.
“It was something like ‘surly’,” Nomar put in.
IT’S ROD SERLING, EINSTEINS
“Wow! How did we end up with you instead of Stephen King, Mr. Serling?” Red asked the board.
HE FORWARDED HIS SUMMONS UNTIL HE IS DEAD
“Well, that just blows!” Bran said in disgust and tossed back a shot of Crown Royal.
“Let’s try someone else,” Red suggested. “Nomar, who do you want to try?”
“I like Edgar Allan Poe.”
“Great! Perfect for a spooky Halloween night! Everybody, focus on Poe,” Red instructed.
Soon the planchette began to move again.
“Is that Edgar Allan Poe?” Nomar whispered with the fumes of an expensive, single malt Scotch riding on his breath.
YES
“Cool! I have a question about inspiration for writing horror.”
DROP DEAD
“How rude!”
Nomar, too drunk to be offended, pressed on. “How did you deal with writer’s block?”
BITE ME
“Man, he’s kinda cranky tonight,” Alex noted.
“Mr. Poe, why are you so angry?” Nomar asked.
RAVENS WENT 3 AND 13 LAST SEASON
“But they picked up a quarterback in the draft this year,” Alex responded.
BIG DEAL. OFFENSE STILL SUCKS
“He’s got a point, you know.” Alex swirled his rum punch thoughtfully.
“OK, enough of that,” Red said. “Alex! Your turn!”
“Thanks, Red. I want to contact Agatha Christie. I think she’s been through a séance or two herself.”
“Cool! Agatha it is.”
The planchette did not move.
“What do we do now?” Bran asked in a hushed voice. “Open a bottle of poisoned wine?”
“Hey, Brits like gin!” Nomar remembered.
"I'm on it, Nomar." Alex opened a bottle of Beefeaters and waved it around the room, allowing the vapors to call the otherworld.
“Look! The planchette’s moving!” Red said.
“Is this Dame Christie?” Alex’s voice was stilted and automatic.
NO
“Then who are you?”
I AM THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS YET TO COME
“Damn! We got the wrong number!”
“Christmas is two months away!”
“Wait!” Alex shouted. “While we’ve got him on the line, ask him what the NFL playoff picture will look like then.”
DONT KNOW. DONT CARE
“Why not?”
IM BRITISH, YOU WANKERS.
“How rude!”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Alex said, nearly spilling his drink as a memory shoved its way through the rum-soaked bog of his mind. “Amanda wanted us to contact someone for her if we did this.”
“How did being insulted by a ghost remind you of that?” Nomar asked.
“She’s British and she thinks he’s a wanker,” Red replied matter-of-factly.
“Gotcha.”
“Who does she want us to find?” asked Bran.
“Erma Bombeck, the greatest female comedy writer of all time,” Alex answered.
“Groovy! Let’s see if we can get it right this time,” Red turned back to the board. The planchette began to move at once.
W U
“Huh?” Red was surprised. “What does that mean?”
HOW R U 2DAY
“What? She’s texting?” Bran was as shocked as the other three.
YES :)
Alex recovered from his surprise. “Ms. Bombeck, our friend Amanda wants to know what your secret is to becoming a great comedy writer.”
OMG LIKE IDK, MY NEW BFFS.
“You know that Amanda’s never going to believe this,” Alex looked up from the board.
“Maybe she will. This seems to be Erma’s brand of humor,” Bran said. Alex nodded.
Without warning, the planchette moved again.
BEWARE
The four men were stunned into silence.
“Beware of what? Of who?” Red asked in an excited whisper.
“Shouldn’t that be ‘of whom’?”
“Fuck you.”
“Now we know why all the spirits have been in bad moods tonight.”
BEWARE OF ALEX
“Me?” Alex was bewildered and dumbfounded as Bran, Nomar and Red looked at him.
“I don’t think this is Erma Bombeck any more,” Nomar stated with hesitance.
“Why should we beware of Alex?” Red’s eyebrows knitted together in concern.
HE IS A CRAZY BASTARD
“Yes, and?”
HE IS A TWISTED SONOFABITCH
“And?”
KINKY AND PERVERTED
“Like duh.”
“That’s old news.”
“Tell us something we don’t know.”
HE IS STALKING ALL OF YOU
“We know that, too!”
“OK, Grandma! That’s enough,” Alex found his voice.
ALL RIGHT DEAR. JUST LOOKING OUT FOR YOU
“Thanks, Grandma. Love you! Say hi to Grandpa for me.”
WILL DO. LOVE YOU TOO. BYE.
The planchette came to a stop.
“Well, that was awkward,” Alex said, feeling his face heat up. No one spoke. He jumped to his feet. “So who’s up for running naked along I-395?”
“I am!”
“Me, too!”
“Count me in!”
(c) 2008 Alex Morgan
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Escape Through Darkness by Nomar Knight - A Halloween short story
One of my favorites from Nomar! A little humor mixed with horror.
Escape through Darkness
Three men ran into the woods as twilight seeped through pockets of wilderness. A bald, Latino cut ahead, pushing branches aside as if he knew where he was headed. Following closely behind, a brown-haired, Caucasian, motivated by the metallic pistol the third man, a fat African-American, held at his side.
"Hernando, wait up!" The chunky hoodlum wore baggy jeans, untied Nike sneakers, and a Polo shirt that could probably cover a baseball diamond when it rained. His dread-locks swung as he huffed and coughed, worked up some saliva, and spat on the ground.
The lead runner, Hernando, eased up and nodded in disgust. "Come on, fat boy!"
Unlike the heavy man, the Latino was lean and muscular. He wore tight-fitted charcoal-gray jeans and a blue tank-top. His light, bronzed skin glowed with moisture.
"We lost them, man," the fat one said between breaths.
"Look, Andre, we have to keep moving. It's going to be dark soon and we only have one flashlight," Hernando said.
"Uh, excuse me, fellas, but I vote to get out of these woods and back out on the road."
"Shut up, white boy!" Andre pointed his gun at the nervous man.
"Aw, shit!" Hernando grimaced.
"What?"
"You told this fool our names."
"So did you."
"Uh, excuse me, but if it'll make any of you feel better, you can call me, Alex."
Alex's eyes opened wide when Andre walked over to him and pointed the gun at his head, "Who the hell gave you permission to speak." Andre raised the gun and made like if he was going to strike him, but didn't. Alex flinched, grateful for the lack of contact. Besides, he'd hate to get blood all over his pink Armani shirt.
"Come on, we have to keep moving," said Hernando.
"Nah, man, this is fine. We'll camp out here."
Branches rustled about nearby.
"Shush, did you hear that?" asked Hernando. They remained silent. They were surrounded by patches of greenery. The men stood on a clearing of dirt and scattered rocks, surrounded by thick trees. "If we keep moving, we'll find a way out of this dump."
"Screw that, man!" Andre leaned against a large tree. "I'm staying right here."
"Your friend is right, we should keep moving."
"When the fuck did I give you permission to speak?" Andre turned to Hernando and asked, "Do we need this sucker anymore?"
"He's our hostage. Hell yeah, we need him."
Once again, the men heard something that sounded like twigs snapping.
"I hope we don't run into it," Alex said.
"Run into what?" Hernando scanned his surroundings.
"The beast. They say it feeds at night, and only on living things."
Andre laughed, "Bullshit!"
Hernando joined him. Both men laughed while Alex hugged himself. Another twig snapped and Andre screamed. A huge snake hung from his backside.
"Get it off! Get it off!"
Hernando aimed his nine millimeter at Andre, "Hold still."
Andre's large brown eyes opened wide, "No! Get it off!"
Alex stood still enjoying the show. He hoped that one carjacker would shoot the other.
Andre managed to squeeze the snake so hard, that it loosened its grip. He threw it in disgust and it slithered away.
"This shit hurts, man! How bad is it?"
Hernando looked at the wound and cringed. Alex took a few steps closer, and glanced at the torn denim. All he could see was ripped jeans and some blood.
"What do we do now?" Andre's eyes watered.
Hernando shrugged, "Shit, how should I know?"
"Take off your pants," Alex said.
"What? Hell no!" Andre shook his head.
"I'm not too sure, but I think the snake was poisonous. If you want to live, do what I say."
Hernando nodded in agreement. Andre pulled down his pants.
"Take them off."
Hernando took off Andre's sneakers, and helped pull off the wide, baggy pants.
Twilight dwindled, and the night air brought a cool breeze. "Damn, I'm getting cold."
Alex crouched by Andre's back and examined the wound by sight. "Yep, it was poisonous."
"Shit, so suck it out!"
"Ha," Alex chuckled, and then he looked at his two kidnappers, "Oh, you're serious?"
Hernando aimed his gun at Alex's head, "Help my brother or I'll shoot you right here."
"Your brother?"
"We’re foster brothers. We grew up in a broken home. Judging by your Escalade, you wouldn't know anything about that."
Andre's lips were beginning to turn blue and he was soaked with perspiration.
Alex raised his arms slowly and faced Andre. "I've got good news, and I've got bad news. Which do you want first?"
"Give me the bad news."
"I can't suck out the poison, because then I'd be risking my life too."
"What's the good news?"
"There's a way to neutralize the poison."
"How?"
Alex unzipped his fly, pulled out his manhood, and said, "Get on all fours big boy, this will only take a minute."
"Damn, you're a faggot? We got us a fucking queer!"
Alex raised his right index finger in the air, "Wait a minute, yes, I'm gay, but you misunderstood my intentions. I need to piss on the wound."
"Hell no! No white fairy is going to piss on my ass."
The previous pockets of light vanished under a moonless night. The men could only see silhouettes of each other. Hernando put away his gun in favor of the flashlight.
"Alright, Andre," Alex sighed, "Die then."
Andre cried when he saw Alex tuck it back in and said, "Wait! Hernando, you do it, man."
"What?"
The breeze became a strong wind. The trees and branches bowed to the unseen forces of nature. Alex glanced at his surroundings, no longer concerned for the wounded brute that carjacked him. He sensed something out there in the woods, waiting, watching. "We have to hurry up, gentlemen. We have to get out of here."
Hernando saw the concern in Alex's dark eyes. He walked over to Andre and said, "Turn around and don't peek." He handed Alex the flashlight and muttered, "You too."
"I have seen one before, you know."
Hernando ignored Alex and urinated on Andre's wound. They gathered their composure, although, the hoodlums lost what dignity they had left. Alex led them through a trail, flashlight in hand. He paused and whispered, "Listen."
"To what? I don't hear anything," Hernando said.
"Exactly. How come we don't hear crickets, or frogs, or owls? The animals are quiet. There must be a predator on the loose."
"You mean like a wolf?" Andre's big eyes tried to focus behind the ominous shadows the flashlight cast.
"Worse." Alex smirked and continued his trek through familiar territory. He didn't volunteer that he and his dad used to hike in these woods. He knew that the trail would lead to a creek and his old cabin would still be there.
"Hey, white boy," Andre said.
"It's Alex, fat man."
"Whatever, what kind of a rich white man doesn't take care of a luxury vehicle?"
"My lover told me to get the alternator fixed, but I forgot."
Andre spat behind him in disgust. He held his ribs and said, "Hey, guys, give me a minute to catch my breath."
The two men didn't stop. They continued ahead without Andre.
"Alex," Hernando said in a low voice, "Thanks for saving my brother."
Alex smiled but since he was in front of Hernando, the Latino never saw it. He couldn't very well tell them that the snake wasn't poisonous. He was surprised that the boa attacked. They usually are afraid of humans. He almost chuckled, when all of a sudden, Andre screamed.
The two men froze. Hernando wanted to go back for Andre but Alex grabbed his shoulder. "Don't. He's dead."
"What? How do you know? We have to go back and see."
"We shouldn't. These woods are dangerous. The night creature roams."
Hernando pointed his gun at Alex, and ordered him to follow. They doubled back and found wet vegetation along their left side. A bloody Nike sneaker, still connected to an ankle, stood next to an arm torn from its socket.
"I don't care if you shoot me, but there's a cabin half a mile from here. There's a shotgun and we need it. Your damn pistol won't be enough. It didn't help your brother, so let's go."
Hernando shook but didn't argue. He dragged his feet until he managed to put his legs on automatic pilot. They sprinted through the darkness. Their hearts pounded as the wind picked up in intensity. Alex worried that it camouflaged the beast's movements.
When they reached the creek, Alex stopped and took in gobs of air, trying to catch his breath. Hernando did the same. A cabin stood a few yards away. The trees that surrounded it looked like the long talons of a creature of destruction. The more light hit the surrounding branches, the more the men noticed that the vegetation was dead.
"Death awaits," Alex muttered.
"What did you say?"
No sooner than Hernando asked the question, a shadow loomed across the field and stopped behind him. Blood squirted, spraying Alex across his face. Bone crunched under the grip of the beast, until Hernando collapsed in a heap.
He stood face to face with a black hairy creature, part man, part wolf. Its red pupils surrounded by yellow, adding to a menacing growl.
Alex took off his shirt which the wind carried away. The beast snarled. Alex removed his paints, his underwear, and his shoes. The lycanthrope calmed, its breathing more relaxed. It began to transform into a man before his eyes.
"Hello, father."
"I heard on the police scanner that you were carjacked."
"Yeah, I'm glad you put a cutoff switch in the Escalade. The dummies were easy prey."
"The fat one had enough meat to last me the night. This one's yours."
Naked, Alex began changing. He grunted as his pale skin filled with excess hair. His head contorted and his face widened. The clean-shaved image replaced by a rabid dog, complete with remarkable incisors. His arms elongated past his hairy knees, and sharp talons pushed through, replacing his nails.
At last, the dark beast stood over Hernando's corpse and tore off his head, holding it to the heavens like a trophy. Blood trickled down landing on his outstretched black tongue. His howls reminded the surrounding nocturnal creatures, that dangerous beasts lurked in the woods.
Escape through Darkness
Three men ran into the woods as twilight seeped through pockets of wilderness. A bald, Latino cut ahead, pushing branches aside as if he knew where he was headed. Following closely behind, a brown-haired, Caucasian, motivated by the metallic pistol the third man, a fat African-American, held at his side.
"Hernando, wait up!" The chunky hoodlum wore baggy jeans, untied Nike sneakers, and a Polo shirt that could probably cover a baseball diamond when it rained. His dread-locks swung as he huffed and coughed, worked up some saliva, and spat on the ground.
The lead runner, Hernando, eased up and nodded in disgust. "Come on, fat boy!"
Unlike the heavy man, the Latino was lean and muscular. He wore tight-fitted charcoal-gray jeans and a blue tank-top. His light, bronzed skin glowed with moisture.
"We lost them, man," the fat one said between breaths.
"Look, Andre, we have to keep moving. It's going to be dark soon and we only have one flashlight," Hernando said.
"Uh, excuse me, fellas, but I vote to get out of these woods and back out on the road."
"Shut up, white boy!" Andre pointed his gun at the nervous man.
"Aw, shit!" Hernando grimaced.
"What?"
"You told this fool our names."
"So did you."
"Uh, excuse me, but if it'll make any of you feel better, you can call me, Alex."
Alex's eyes opened wide when Andre walked over to him and pointed the gun at his head, "Who the hell gave you permission to speak." Andre raised the gun and made like if he was going to strike him, but didn't. Alex flinched, grateful for the lack of contact. Besides, he'd hate to get blood all over his pink Armani shirt.
"Come on, we have to keep moving," said Hernando.
"Nah, man, this is fine. We'll camp out here."
Branches rustled about nearby.
"Shush, did you hear that?" asked Hernando. They remained silent. They were surrounded by patches of greenery. The men stood on a clearing of dirt and scattered rocks, surrounded by thick trees. "If we keep moving, we'll find a way out of this dump."
"Screw that, man!" Andre leaned against a large tree. "I'm staying right here."
"Your friend is right, we should keep moving."
"When the fuck did I give you permission to speak?" Andre turned to Hernando and asked, "Do we need this sucker anymore?"
"He's our hostage. Hell yeah, we need him."
Once again, the men heard something that sounded like twigs snapping.
"I hope we don't run into it," Alex said.
"Run into what?" Hernando scanned his surroundings.
"The beast. They say it feeds at night, and only on living things."
Andre laughed, "Bullshit!"
Hernando joined him. Both men laughed while Alex hugged himself. Another twig snapped and Andre screamed. A huge snake hung from his backside.
"Get it off! Get it off!"
Hernando aimed his nine millimeter at Andre, "Hold still."
Andre's large brown eyes opened wide, "No! Get it off!"
Alex stood still enjoying the show. He hoped that one carjacker would shoot the other.
Andre managed to squeeze the snake so hard, that it loosened its grip. He threw it in disgust and it slithered away.
"This shit hurts, man! How bad is it?"
Hernando looked at the wound and cringed. Alex took a few steps closer, and glanced at the torn denim. All he could see was ripped jeans and some blood.
"What do we do now?" Andre's eyes watered.
Hernando shrugged, "Shit, how should I know?"
"Take off your pants," Alex said.
"What? Hell no!" Andre shook his head.
"I'm not too sure, but I think the snake was poisonous. If you want to live, do what I say."
Hernando nodded in agreement. Andre pulled down his pants.
"Take them off."
Hernando took off Andre's sneakers, and helped pull off the wide, baggy pants.
Twilight dwindled, and the night air brought a cool breeze. "Damn, I'm getting cold."
Alex crouched by Andre's back and examined the wound by sight. "Yep, it was poisonous."
"Shit, so suck it out!"
"Ha," Alex chuckled, and then he looked at his two kidnappers, "Oh, you're serious?"
Hernando aimed his gun at Alex's head, "Help my brother or I'll shoot you right here."
"Your brother?"
"We’re foster brothers. We grew up in a broken home. Judging by your Escalade, you wouldn't know anything about that."
Andre's lips were beginning to turn blue and he was soaked with perspiration.
Alex raised his arms slowly and faced Andre. "I've got good news, and I've got bad news. Which do you want first?"
"Give me the bad news."
"I can't suck out the poison, because then I'd be risking my life too."
"What's the good news?"
"There's a way to neutralize the poison."
"How?"
Alex unzipped his fly, pulled out his manhood, and said, "Get on all fours big boy, this will only take a minute."
"Damn, you're a faggot? We got us a fucking queer!"
Alex raised his right index finger in the air, "Wait a minute, yes, I'm gay, but you misunderstood my intentions. I need to piss on the wound."
"Hell no! No white fairy is going to piss on my ass."
The previous pockets of light vanished under a moonless night. The men could only see silhouettes of each other. Hernando put away his gun in favor of the flashlight.
"Alright, Andre," Alex sighed, "Die then."
Andre cried when he saw Alex tuck it back in and said, "Wait! Hernando, you do it, man."
"What?"
The breeze became a strong wind. The trees and branches bowed to the unseen forces of nature. Alex glanced at his surroundings, no longer concerned for the wounded brute that carjacked him. He sensed something out there in the woods, waiting, watching. "We have to hurry up, gentlemen. We have to get out of here."
Hernando saw the concern in Alex's dark eyes. He walked over to Andre and said, "Turn around and don't peek." He handed Alex the flashlight and muttered, "You too."
"I have seen one before, you know."
Hernando ignored Alex and urinated on Andre's wound. They gathered their composure, although, the hoodlums lost what dignity they had left. Alex led them through a trail, flashlight in hand. He paused and whispered, "Listen."
"To what? I don't hear anything," Hernando said.
"Exactly. How come we don't hear crickets, or frogs, or owls? The animals are quiet. There must be a predator on the loose."
"You mean like a wolf?" Andre's big eyes tried to focus behind the ominous shadows the flashlight cast.
"Worse." Alex smirked and continued his trek through familiar territory. He didn't volunteer that he and his dad used to hike in these woods. He knew that the trail would lead to a creek and his old cabin would still be there.
"Hey, white boy," Andre said.
"It's Alex, fat man."
"Whatever, what kind of a rich white man doesn't take care of a luxury vehicle?"
"My lover told me to get the alternator fixed, but I forgot."
Andre spat behind him in disgust. He held his ribs and said, "Hey, guys, give me a minute to catch my breath."
The two men didn't stop. They continued ahead without Andre.
"Alex," Hernando said in a low voice, "Thanks for saving my brother."
Alex smiled but since he was in front of Hernando, the Latino never saw it. He couldn't very well tell them that the snake wasn't poisonous. He was surprised that the boa attacked. They usually are afraid of humans. He almost chuckled, when all of a sudden, Andre screamed.
The two men froze. Hernando wanted to go back for Andre but Alex grabbed his shoulder. "Don't. He's dead."
"What? How do you know? We have to go back and see."
"We shouldn't. These woods are dangerous. The night creature roams."
Hernando pointed his gun at Alex, and ordered him to follow. They doubled back and found wet vegetation along their left side. A bloody Nike sneaker, still connected to an ankle, stood next to an arm torn from its socket.
"I don't care if you shoot me, but there's a cabin half a mile from here. There's a shotgun and we need it. Your damn pistol won't be enough. It didn't help your brother, so let's go."
Hernando shook but didn't argue. He dragged his feet until he managed to put his legs on automatic pilot. They sprinted through the darkness. Their hearts pounded as the wind picked up in intensity. Alex worried that it camouflaged the beast's movements.
When they reached the creek, Alex stopped and took in gobs of air, trying to catch his breath. Hernando did the same. A cabin stood a few yards away. The trees that surrounded it looked like the long talons of a creature of destruction. The more light hit the surrounding branches, the more the men noticed that the vegetation was dead.
"Death awaits," Alex muttered.
"What did you say?"
No sooner than Hernando asked the question, a shadow loomed across the field and stopped behind him. Blood squirted, spraying Alex across his face. Bone crunched under the grip of the beast, until Hernando collapsed in a heap.
He stood face to face with a black hairy creature, part man, part wolf. Its red pupils surrounded by yellow, adding to a menacing growl.
Alex took off his shirt which the wind carried away. The beast snarled. Alex removed his paints, his underwear, and his shoes. The lycanthrope calmed, its breathing more relaxed. It began to transform into a man before his eyes.
"Hello, father."
"I heard on the police scanner that you were carjacked."
(c) 2008 by Nomar Knight
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