The Light at the End by John Skipp, Craig Spector Page B
Authors: John Skipp, Craig Spector
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kind of thing. It wasn’t a story, but it could be turned into a great one, if only he could think of some way to tie all the pieces together.
By 10:30, Stephen Parrish was fast asleep in his bed. He decided that the story could wait until tomorrow. He was really, really tired.
It had been a long, hard day.
CHAPTER 7
By 10:30, Danny Young was munching popcorn in the front row of the St. Marks Cinema and waiting for Werner Herzog’s Nosferatu to start. It was only the tenth time he’d seen it, and he couldn’t wait. “Ah, this is gonna be great,” he said to no one in particular, and kicked his scrawny legs like a little kid on a swing.
The black couple on his right, busily rolling up joints for the performance, took one look at him and busted up laughing. He smiled back, ebullient, and did a series of elaborate dance steps from his seat.
“Wha’choo on , bro’?” the guy wanted to know, brandishing a fat joint of what looked to be high-grade Hawaiian. “It’s got to be better than this , thass all I got to say.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Danny answered. In truth, all he had was some mediocre Colombian. But, hey, why spoil the illusion? he thought. That’s what going to the movies is all about!
He didn’t notice the girl coming up on his left until she was almost next to him. He turned, going on the chronic movie-goer’s sixth sense; but when he saw her, something else went off in his mind.
I’ve seen her before , he thought. In my shop, maybe. Or maybe it was the last time I saw Nosferatu, with Jay and Brenda. I’m not sure. But I know that I’ve seen her before.
He certainly couldn’t forget that face: the large, dark eyes, surrounded by broad patches of black makeup in the shape of bats wings: the broad features, made almost gaunt by highlights and a thin layer of whiteface; the thick black hair, streaked with blue, styled like Magentas in The Rocky Horror Picture Show ; the gaudy purple of her full, arrogantly set lips. He certainly couldn’t forget this girl, perennially dressed in red and black flowing garments that only partially obscured her extravagant curves.
No, there’s no doubt about it , he mused, watching her approach. She’s the one . It suddenly occurred to him that there was only one empty seat in the front row, that it was currently occupied by his pack and denim jacket, and that she was going to ask if anyone was sitting there. He cleared his throat in advance and waited for her to reach him.
“Anyone sitting there?” she asked, pointing at his belongings.
“Not at all,” he said, piling his things quickly onto his lap. “Sit thee down.” Without a proper explanation, his heart was beginning to pound.
“Thanks,” she said, complying. While there wasn’t any gushing of eternal gratitude, he figured that she probably wasn’t pissed off at him, either. Maybe she’ll share a doobie with me, once the show gets going , he thought, checking in his pockets for the joints he knew were there with suddenly clammy hands. Quite involuntarily, the movie screen in his head started showing clips from a new art-porno film in which he and she were the stars. He closed his eyes and tried to stop the projector, but some pretty hard-core scenes played out before he achieved any measure of success.
Danny chanced a quick look over at her. She sat, eyes trained on the blank screen, expressionless. He assumed that she hadn’t read his mind and relaxed a little, but the sight of her hit him with a burst of renewed imagery.
You don’t get laid enough , he reminded himself sternly. That’s not good. Nonetheless, it is the way it is . He helplessly allowed one more seamy shot to flash before the shout went up from behind him and the lights began to fade…
“Alright!” he cried, as darkness enveloped the theatre.
And the horror began.
When the uptown RR pulled out of the 8 th Street station, there were only two people left on the platform: Louie, who was passed out
By 10:30, Stephen Parrish was fast asleep in his bed. He decided that the story could wait until tomorrow. He was really, really tired.
It had been a long, hard day.
CHAPTER 7
By 10:30, Danny Young was munching popcorn in the front row of the St. Marks Cinema and waiting for Werner Herzog’s Nosferatu to start. It was only the tenth time he’d seen it, and he couldn’t wait. “Ah, this is gonna be great,” he said to no one in particular, and kicked his scrawny legs like a little kid on a swing.
The black couple on his right, busily rolling up joints for the performance, took one look at him and busted up laughing. He smiled back, ebullient, and did a series of elaborate dance steps from his seat.
“Wha’choo on , bro’?” the guy wanted to know, brandishing a fat joint of what looked to be high-grade Hawaiian. “It’s got to be better than this , thass all I got to say.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Danny answered. In truth, all he had was some mediocre Colombian. But, hey, why spoil the illusion? he thought. That’s what going to the movies is all about!
He didn’t notice the girl coming up on his left until she was almost next to him. He turned, going on the chronic movie-goer’s sixth sense; but when he saw her, something else went off in his mind.
I’ve seen her before , he thought. In my shop, maybe. Or maybe it was the last time I saw Nosferatu, with Jay and Brenda. I’m not sure. But I know that I’ve seen her before.
He certainly couldn’t forget that face: the large, dark eyes, surrounded by broad patches of black makeup in the shape of bats wings: the broad features, made almost gaunt by highlights and a thin layer of whiteface; the thick black hair, streaked with blue, styled like Magentas in The Rocky Horror Picture Show ; the gaudy purple of her full, arrogantly set lips. He certainly couldn’t forget this girl, perennially dressed in red and black flowing garments that only partially obscured her extravagant curves.
No, there’s no doubt about it , he mused, watching her approach. She’s the one . It suddenly occurred to him that there was only one empty seat in the front row, that it was currently occupied by his pack and denim jacket, and that she was going to ask if anyone was sitting there. He cleared his throat in advance and waited for her to reach him.
“Anyone sitting there?” she asked, pointing at his belongings.
“Not at all,” he said, piling his things quickly onto his lap. “Sit thee down.” Without a proper explanation, his heart was beginning to pound.
“Thanks,” she said, complying. While there wasn’t any gushing of eternal gratitude, he figured that she probably wasn’t pissed off at him, either. Maybe she’ll share a doobie with me, once the show gets going , he thought, checking in his pockets for the joints he knew were there with suddenly clammy hands. Quite involuntarily, the movie screen in his head started showing clips from a new art-porno film in which he and she were the stars. He closed his eyes and tried to stop the projector, but some pretty hard-core scenes played out before he achieved any measure of success.
Danny chanced a quick look over at her. She sat, eyes trained on the blank screen, expressionless. He assumed that she hadn’t read his mind and relaxed a little, but the sight of her hit him with a burst of renewed imagery.
You don’t get laid enough , he reminded himself sternly. That’s not good. Nonetheless, it is the way it is . He helplessly allowed one more seamy shot to flash before the shout went up from behind him and the lights began to fade…
“Alright!” he cried, as darkness enveloped the theatre.
And the horror began.
When the uptown RR pulled out of the 8 th Street station, there were only two people left on the platform: Louie, who was passed out
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