and the actress was forced to fling the dryer-hose tentacles about so they would appear animated.
Eventually she floundered and flopped until she’d succeeded in dragging the creature into the nearby lake, and then the scene cut to a sinking trash bag emitting bubbles.
It was Dempsey’s first project, “The Sickening.” He was not very proud of it, but everybody had a first time.
Snake tapped the crucible, sending a puff of gray wolfsbane smoke into the cramped room. Dempsey had a basement apartment, a little too small for taking over the world, but it would have to do. Once he released
The Halloweening
to worldwide acclaim, he’d get one of those cliff-side condos in Malibu.
“Dude, I think you need to fire up another bowl,” Snake said. “Some of that wizard lizard.”
“We need to focus,” Dempsey said. “Magick doesn’t work unless we’re all on the same page.”
“Don’t make me read any more dorky books,” Lacey said from the couch, arching one leg to show off her calf, or maybe her calfskin boot. “This is starting to sound like history class. More rules and stuff. Bo-o-o-ring.”
Willard waved a comic book, stirring the incense and herbal smoke. “Yeah, when do we get to the fun part?”
Dempsey let his eyebrows relax. “Our plan depends on not drawing any attention to the coven,” he said. “The movie needs to stand on its own artistic merits.”
“I’ve always wanted to get shot and die on screen,” Snake said. “Wanna see?”
Snake jumped up, clutched his chest, went wide-eyed, and let out a “
Yargh
“ that was loud enough to disturb the old biddy upstairs. After a dramatic three seconds of swaying and gasping, he slouched against the wall and slid down to a sitting position.
Dempsey applauded. He wouldn’t be surprised if Snake did the whole Charles Manson bit, carve a Nazi swastika between his eyes, and then wonder why he couldn’t get a job at Walmart. These clowns, as important as they were to his mission, had absolutely no subtlety.
“Watch and learn, my groovy little ghoulies,” Dempsey said.
On the TV screen, the trash-bag monster had gobbled another juicy girl in a bathing suit. Dempsey turned the sound up a little and a brass section punctuated the scene with abrasive and atonal
glissando
.
That was the trouble with the entire horror genre: no subtlety. It was so cheesy it couldn’t smell its own stink.
For about the tenth time since he’d entered this feels-so-good-to-be-bad phase of his life, Dempsey wished he’d applied for film school instead of necromancy, divination, and direct-to-video Armageddon.
But, he supposed, one spiritual path was as good as the next, as long as your heart was in the right place.
Plus, he had an
agent
.
“So when do we shoot?” Snake said. “I’m ready for a little action, not a bunch of sitting around and plotting.”
“If world domination were easy, everybody would be doing it,” Dempsey said.
“When do we get to sacrifice some small animals?” Snake asked, blinking rapidly.
“Remember what I said about unwanted attention,” Dempsey said. “Why go for the cheap thrills now when you can have
carte blanche
later? I’m talking a free pass to Sin City.”
“Cart what?” Lacey said, standing up and strutting for attention.
“Sit down, you’re blocking the picture,” Willard said, slurping the dregs of his Dr. Pepper.
“Right, kids, pay attention,” Dempsey said. “Here comes the cue.”
He grinned, wishing he’d sharpened his incisors, but none of the acolytes were looking at him anyway. He’d brainwashed them so effectively that they all stared wide-eyed at the screen, their jaws slack. Even Snake was alert, sitting up in the ragged Barcalounger and moving his right hand to his mouth as if munching invisible popcorn.
Here it comes, here it comes…
On the screen, the brick-chinned hero, packed into tight white trunks, waded into the lake with an air tank on his back. The shot had no
mise en
Eventually she floundered and flopped until she’d succeeded in dragging the creature into the nearby lake, and then the scene cut to a sinking trash bag emitting bubbles.
It was Dempsey’s first project, “The Sickening.” He was not very proud of it, but everybody had a first time.
Snake tapped the crucible, sending a puff of gray wolfsbane smoke into the cramped room. Dempsey had a basement apartment, a little too small for taking over the world, but it would have to do. Once he released
The Halloweening
to worldwide acclaim, he’d get one of those cliff-side condos in Malibu.
“Dude, I think you need to fire up another bowl,” Snake said. “Some of that wizard lizard.”
“We need to focus,” Dempsey said. “Magick doesn’t work unless we’re all on the same page.”
“Don’t make me read any more dorky books,” Lacey said from the couch, arching one leg to show off her calf, or maybe her calfskin boot. “This is starting to sound like history class. More rules and stuff. Bo-o-o-ring.”
Willard waved a comic book, stirring the incense and herbal smoke. “Yeah, when do we get to the fun part?”
Dempsey let his eyebrows relax. “Our plan depends on not drawing any attention to the coven,” he said. “The movie needs to stand on its own artistic merits.”
“I’ve always wanted to get shot and die on screen,” Snake said. “Wanna see?”
Snake jumped up, clutched his chest, went wide-eyed, and let out a “
Yargh
“ that was loud enough to disturb the old biddy upstairs. After a dramatic three seconds of swaying and gasping, he slouched against the wall and slid down to a sitting position.
Dempsey applauded. He wouldn’t be surprised if Snake did the whole Charles Manson bit, carve a Nazi swastika between his eyes, and then wonder why he couldn’t get a job at Walmart. These clowns, as important as they were to his mission, had absolutely no subtlety.
“Watch and learn, my groovy little ghoulies,” Dempsey said.
On the TV screen, the trash-bag monster had gobbled another juicy girl in a bathing suit. Dempsey turned the sound up a little and a brass section punctuated the scene with abrasive and atonal
glissando
.
That was the trouble with the entire horror genre: no subtlety. It was so cheesy it couldn’t smell its own stink.
For about the tenth time since he’d entered this feels-so-good-to-be-bad phase of his life, Dempsey wished he’d applied for film school instead of necromancy, divination, and direct-to-video Armageddon.
But, he supposed, one spiritual path was as good as the next, as long as your heart was in the right place.
Plus, he had an
agent
.
“So when do we shoot?” Snake said. “I’m ready for a little action, not a bunch of sitting around and plotting.”
“If world domination were easy, everybody would be doing it,” Dempsey said.
“When do we get to sacrifice some small animals?” Snake asked, blinking rapidly.
“Remember what I said about unwanted attention,” Dempsey said. “Why go for the cheap thrills now when you can have
carte blanche
later? I’m talking a free pass to Sin City.”
“Cart what?” Lacey said, standing up and strutting for attention.
“Sit down, you’re blocking the picture,” Willard said, slurping the dregs of his Dr. Pepper.
“Right, kids, pay attention,” Dempsey said. “Here comes the cue.”
He grinned, wishing he’d sharpened his incisors, but none of the acolytes were looking at him anyway. He’d brainwashed them so effectively that they all stared wide-eyed at the screen, their jaws slack. Even Snake was alert, sitting up in the ragged Barcalounger and moving his right hand to his mouth as if munching invisible popcorn.
Here it comes, here it comes…
On the screen, the brick-chinned hero, packed into tight white trunks, waded into the lake with an air tank on his back. The shot had no
mise en
Similar Books
