Are you looking for genuinely terrifying movies to keep you up? Well, you’re in luck. This list features horror recommendations that are sure to give you a scare. Regardless of your sub-genre preference, there is something on the list for everyone on multiple streaming services.
Hell House LLC (2015)
Clowns. Found footage. Something moved. Or did it? I was pleasantly surprised that this movie terrified me. And it has two sequels and a prequel that are just as scary. In fact, the prequel is probably the scariest of them all. Streaming on Shudder.
The Conjuring (2013)
Haunted house movies are nothing new. However, the tricks played on the kid, and the manifestation of evil towards the end, is truly terrifying. I regularly rewatch this one. Streaming on Max.
Evil Things (2011)
This one is a hidden gem. A low-budget, found-footage movie that follows a bunch of young Americans who head out to a cabin for the weekend only to discover they are being watched. Available to rent, buy, or stream via subscription on Google Play Movies, Amazon Video, Tubi TV, YouTube, The Roku Channel, and Apple iTunes.
Insidious Franchise
These movies will forever be disturbing. A kid who has the ability to travel in his dreams steps into a hellish dimension and is unable to escape. This is the start of a very successful (and scary) series of movies. Streaming on various platforms from Netflix, Max, and Apple TV, to Amazon Prime.
Halloween (1978)
We can't leave out a horror classic. The original babysitter movie that invigorated the horror genre. Streaming on AMC, Shudder, and more.
Watcher (2022)
A young girl follows her partner to a foreign country, only to encounter a stranger seemingly stalking her. This one was raw and insanely unnerving. The language barrier. The hysterical woman no one would believe. The eerie man who seemed to be everywhere she was. Streaming on Hulu, Prime, and Shudder.
Quarantine (2008)
A zombie-like virus plagues a bunch of apartment residents as they are quarantined, ultimately trapping them inside with the infected. Jennifer Carpenter leads this disturbing movie. (Streaming on Max) Did I miss any truly terrifying movies? Feel free to comment and I will give it a watch. And if it gives me goosebumps, I will add it to the list. Shark Week is almost over! But it is never too late to chomp into some meaty shark movies. So, hunt away... 🦈Deep Blue Sea (1999) A classic. This movie will remain in the Shark Film Hall of Fame. Scientists with good intentions make sharks smarter, leading to chaos and lots of comedy and suspense. Available on HBO and Hulu. 🦈Jaws (1975) A shark list of any kind would not be complete without the OG killer shark movie which sparked the surgence of this horror sub-genre and made people think twice before getting in the water. And one of the most famous quotes of all time: "You're gonna need a bigger boat." Streaming on Peacock. 🦈Meg (2018) What's more terrifying than a megladon (a gargantuan shark bigger than buildings)? Few things. Jason Straham takes on one of nature's largest predators that has decided to swim out of seclusion and chew on some tasty humans. Streaming on HBO Max and Hulu. 🦈Open Water (2004) This one digs into a fear you never realized you had. A scuba expedition on vacation goes awry when the boat leaves you behind. And there are ravenous predators in the water... streaming on Amazon Prime. 🦈The Shallows (2015) Blake Lively leads this movie about a medical student who gets stranded 200 yards from shore when surfing. And guess what? Something is in the water stopping her from swimming back. She has to use her wits and take on this mighty sea monster. Available to rent on Redbox. 🦈47 Meters Down (2017) Two sisters are invited to cage dive while on holiday in Mexico. What could possibly go wrong? The winch system holding the cage breaks and they both plummet to the ocean floor. They have limited oxygen. But the more pressing issue is a great white lurking nearby. Streaming on Hulu and Amazon Prime. TIP: Don't forget to check out the sequel, where a bunch of young girls get caught in a cave with ancient sharks... 🦈Bait (2012) Who'd have thought a trip to the grocery store could end so badly? A Tsunami traps survivors in a submerged grocery store with a very large creature swimming in the water... Available to rent on Redbox. 🦈Shark Night (2011) A weekend at a lake house in the Louisiana Gulf turns into a nightmare for seven vacationers who come under repeated shark attacks. Streaming on HBO Max and Hulu. 🦈Sharknado franchise Okay, okay. Love them or hate them, these movies revolving around an actual tornado of sharks are very popular. Some deem them silly, others love them. If you haven't seen any of these hilarious movies, just dip your toe in and see what you think. Streaming on YouTube Premium. Well, that's your lot (for now). If you are a scientist, don't mess around with shark brains. Chink. Chink. Chink. They were insistent. They were loud. They were obnoxious. To every other neighbour, they were a colossal nuisance. To Blake, who shot up, rigid in bed, pulsing with worry, he now had a new outlook on those wind chimes and what they signify: monsters. He was hazy on the specifics, whether physical demons from the darker reaches of his night terrors, or ghouls, invisible to the naked eye. Either way, they wouldn’t be glittery fairies fluttery with sweet giggles. They’d be monstrous entities seeking death and destruction. Without thought or delay, Blake jumped into a pair of shoes and a navy jacket. With his mother home, he couldn’t storm through the house and burst out the patio. He’d have to slink around until he got outside, then he could release the brakes. So, in the style of a cat, he crept down the hall and swerved left towards the patio door. With a flick of his wrist, he unlocked it and delicately slid it open. The early morning frost came in heavy, catching his breath. It instantly walloped his face and compelled him to hunch. He snuck onto the deck and gently closed the patio. He didn’t have time to dwell on the chill. He galloped over the stiff lawn and broke into the brush of McCaw’s property. Unlike last time, no light came from the shed. The light came from the house. The front room, off to the right of the main door, splashed orange onto the weathered, wooden porch, sneaking through murk trapped in the window. The jangling was almost deafening as they swung madly, almost unhooking themselves from their nails. Dozens of them whipped back and forth, tormented by the... Blake paused at the porch steps. His goose-pimpled flesh told him it was cold. However, he detected no wind. Thinking of a movie he’d seen, he coated the tip of an index finger in saliva and held it out. No wind. His gaze fell to the many nearby trees, barely stirring. To move chimes would take more effort than limp branches holding feather-light leaves. This spoke volumes. This was what Lady McCaw had informed him of earlier in the week: they’re coming. He bolted up the steps. They objected to the speed and weight, only accustomed to a frail old woman moving at a snail’s pace. He kicked up soot and such in his rush to the door, heart thumping in his chest. Worry for Lady McCaw put the pep in his step. The door flew open with the slightest touch of the handle. Light bashed into him, pouring from floor lamps and a ceiling light. A wooden floor lay at his feet. To his left, stood a staircase, a few doors running along a wall behind it. On his right, was the living room. Black sofas, a mahogany coffee table with matching side tables, and magazine racks. An old box TV draped in dust sat in the corner, suffering neglect. Off from the open-plan living room, aside the staircase, stood Lady McCaw. Trembles ran through her. She held a dreamcatcher with fierceness, aimed towards the door. Despite Blake’s entrance, her eyes were locked on the threshold, unmoving. She hadn’t registered her youthful guest, more concerned about the dangerous soon-to-be intruder. "Miss McCaw?" Blake asked with a soft voice. She didn’t move a muscle, with the exception of the quivers. He inched closer, as if approaching a suicide bomber with his finger hovering above the trigger. "Miss McCaw? It’s me, Blake." He held out each hand, smoothing the air before him, paving the way to move closer still. "McCaw?" Blake resorted to waving his hands, now only a couple of steps from her. Her aged face didn’t acknowledge the waving. Though her dark ensemble did dance with the nervousness wiggling through her. Each eye didn’t move from the doorway, honing on what lay outside, what might come barging in. Could she see something I couldn’t? Could she see evil spirits? Was something behind me right now? A shiver ran down Blake’s neck, spilling onto his back. He turned. Beyond the doorway stood a lawn against an evening backdrop. Nothing. Nothing unusual or worrying. Nothing he saw anyway. He brought middle fingers to rest on his thumbs and rubbed them fast, releasing two sharp clicks. Simultaneously, he again repeated her name. This time, she blinked. Recognition set in. Her sight wavered from the threshold to Blake. "Blake?" She checked, voice croaky. "Yes, it’s me. Are you okay?" "Get a dreamcatcher off a wall. Now!" She ordered, gesturing to the wealth of them nailed to the walls and doors. Somehow, they’d blended into his periphery when he entered. Not anymore. They consumed the place, like decorations at Christmas adorning a home in tinsel and garland madness. He snatched one off the staircase wall, holding it with uncertainty, not unlike a wizard wielding a wand for the first spell. "What do I do now?" "Come stand by me and hold it out like I am," she instructed, directing her gaze back to the open door. Why hadn’t I closed it? Although, from her reaction, I doubt a closed – or even locked – door would hold these things back. Blake stood by her side, mimicking her pose. He squeezed the wood of the dreamcatcher. "Now?" "Wait. They are coming." She warned. All business. No frills. Blake quaked in his white shoes. He had no idea what to expect. What would come soaring through that doorway? A howling banshee? Murderous ghoul? A ravenous entity hungry for souls? His mind was carried away, until a rumble brought him back to the here and now. "What’s that?" Blake asked, his chest tight. "One of them. Hold your catcher tight, and whatever you do, don’t drop it!" The wind chimes continued to sing, serving as a constant reminder of the pending evils in flight, headed to Blake and his old companion. Blake squinted, focusing on Lady McCaw’s front lawn, anticipating these creepsters. Darkness lay beyond the threshold. Shadows sprang from trees, tossed across the lawn by an eerie moon. The grass seldom moved, scared stiff by the upcoming predator. House lights hung in the distance were far and few between, dotting the horizon through the bushes and various green life. Sound was also scarce. A quiet buzz travelled from lamp posts. Mr. Owl occasionally cooed into the tension. The porch moaned, also anxious about the visitors. Their joints continued to squeak without the aid of wind. "Can we see them come?" Blake whispered, his eyes unlatching from the lawn. "No, they are invisible," she whispered. Blake couldn’t decide which was worse: not seeing the predators in all their ghastly glory, able to surprise them. Or, seeing every detail of their nightmarish form. "There, it’s here!" Lady McCaw shot out a finger and pointed ahead. Blake struggled to land on the identifying noise or sight that gave away their existence. "Where?" Blake asked, his voice wrangled in befuddlement and fear. "The bush moved a lot and..." Cutting her off, a wind chime flew from its hook and clanked on the porch. The porch? Only a few steps away… Blake wasn’t given the luxury of finishing his thought before resistance came to his catcher. He yelped. "Guffahavvv," Blake mumbled, clamping both hands around the catcher in the same manner as a fisherman who’d snagged a big one. Only this was far more petrifying. He hadn’t predicted such strength from something he couldn’t even see. The criss-crossed ropes throbbed, yanking him back and forth and nudging him from side to side. He was caught in a violent storm. A growl came from nearby, thundering into the house. Blake would have been scared had he not been preoccupied. The front door crashed into a wall with enviable force. The porch groaned louder now, disturbed by the unseeable beings invading their residence. Blake glanced aside for the briefest of moments to see Lady McCaw in a similar predicament, being tugged side to side, face creased, and gasping for breath. Hair was blasted behind her, thriving like a litter of snakes on her skull. Veins protruded at her wrists, journeying up her arms and under baggy sleeves that bopped amidst her attempt to gain control of the catcher. The same prominent veins lined her neck, zigzagging beneath a clenched jaw and wobbly jowls. "How...much…longer…" Blake cried out and was brought to his knees. "Soon," she spat out, thrashed against the side of the stairs. Her arms had bent, the net looming closer to her face. She grunted through yellow teeth, putting the catcher at arm’s length. Blake’s triceps burned. His knees screamed out on the wood floor. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on. Until his arms shot up, the resistance vanished. No more. He barked once the pressure had loosened, as if the force had supressed not only him but a scratchy cough. Lady McCaw bashed into the banister, arms flopping to her sides. Deep breathing racked her entire torso as she hunched over, each hand finding her knobbly knees hidden under her flowy, loose dress. Blake plummeted to the floor; arms spread out as if ready to make a snow angel. The catcher rested on his chest, exhausted from sucking in the evil spirit. His respiring echoed as the usual sounds came back into full swing. A breeze purred in through the still-open door, tossing coolness onto Blake’s beet-red face, glossed in sweat. The owl cooed without hindrance. Crickets chirped, now unafraid to make their presence known. Normality had fallen upon the aftermath of a supernatural encounter. "Oh…my…" Blake panted, struggling to locate the motivation to stand, or even sit up. "Yup…" Lady McCaw replied, also taming her breath. "That was…. Christ. How do you…?" Blake gulped. "I mean, because that was…" "That… was nothing." Lady McCaw slumped to the floor, her catcher following her, slipping from her hold and thudding against the wood. "Miss McCaw?" Let's honor some of the most terrifying horror movie mothers of all time. Huesera: The Bone Woman A woman pregnant with her first child soon realizes a curse has befallen her. The only chance of survival is by recruiting the help of a coven of witches. Trailer: www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jna8Q1AXt4Q Goodnight Mommy 2022 This movie explores a mother who becomes emotionless after having plastic surgery. The tension escalates as her two boys begin to suspect something is very off with their mother, and even question if it is actually their mother. Naomi Watts stars. Trailer: www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lKm2Vct3x4 Carrie 2013 Let's look at a truly sadistic, religious mother who shelters her daughter to the point of abuse. Starring Chloe Moretz and Julianne Moore. Trailer: www.youtube.com/watch?v=qSn7JyijA8k Friday 13th 1980 This list wouldn't be complete without the mother of all mothers, Mrs. Vorhees. The queen of all psychotic mothers. Trailer: www.youtube.com/watch?v=aDrOvFtzyPQ Evil Dead Rise 2023 Now this mother is taken over by an evil spirit and triggers some major mommy issues. And this is a brand new release! Trailer: www.youtube.com/watch?v=smTK_AeAPHs Mother's Day 2010 Rebecca De Mornay leads the way as a murderous, abusive maniac who still manages to somehow remain poised in this home invasion film. Trailer: www.youtube.com/watch?v=aTaXBnHhrDs Psycho 1960 Let's not forget an OG serial killer with major mother issues in this black and white classic! Trailer: www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wz719b9QUqY Ma 2019 Who'd have thought Octavia Spencer would reign as a mentally unstable mother who develops innappropriate friendships with a group of highschoolers. Note to self, don't bully anyone. They could come back with a vengeance. Trailer: www.youtube.com/watch?v=eIvbEC8N3cA Serial Mom 1994 On the surface, Beverly is the typical suburban mother. However, behind that pristine facade, this mum loves to indulge in her favourite passtime: killing people who bring the community down to a standard she will simply not tolerate. Trailer: www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ut9GvlhB9f4 All in all, don't mess around with horror movie mothers; they will happily slaughter you with a smile on their face. Christmas is upon us, and what better way to get into the season, than with some Christmas horror movies?
Gremlins (HBO MAX) This one goes without saying. A classic. Just don't get them wet! Black Christmas (1974) - (Shudder) A sorority house. Christmas break. Predator making disturbing calls. How festive! Krampus (2015) (Peacock, Redbox) This is a good one to show the kids. If you misbehave at Christmas, Krampus will get you. P2 (Hoopla - Free App with your Local Library, Redbox Ads) A personal favourite. A businesswoman locked in a parking garage with an unstable security guard on Christmas Eve. Silent Night, Deadly Night (Redbox) Billy witnesses his parents brutal murder by Santa. Years later, when he has to fill in for an absent in-store Santa Claus, his childhood trauma haunts him. The Lodge (Hulu) A soon-to-be stepmom is snowed in with her fiancé’s two children at a remote holiday village. Just as relations begin to thaw between the trio, some strange and frightening events take place. Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale (Hulu, Hoopla) Young Pietari lives with his reindeer-herding father in arctic Finland. On the eve of Christmas, a nearby excavation makes a frightening discovery and an evil Santa Claus is unleashed… The Thing (1982) - (Rent or buy only) In remote Antarctica, a group of American research scientists are disturbed at their base camp by a helicopter shooting at a sled dog. When they take in the dog, it brutally attacks both human beings and canines in the camp and they discover that the beast can assume the shape of its victims. A resourceful helicopter pilot and the camp doctor lead the camp crew in a desperate, gory battle against the vicious creature before it picks them all off, one by one. Jack Frost (1997) - (Peacock, Hoopla, Amazon Prime) A psychopath snowman at Christmas. What could go wrong? Better Watch Out (2016) - (Peacock, Hoopla, Shudder) A babysitter and a cute kid and his friend. Don't be deceived. This movie is not as it seems. Anna & the Apocalpyse (Hoopla, Shudder) A zombie horde threatens the sleepy town of Little Haven – at Christmas – forcing Anna and her friends to fight, slash and sing their way to survival. Hosts (Shudder, Redbox Ads) On Christmas Eve, an innocent couple become hosts to a malicious entity. Throughout the night they terrorise a family of five in unimaginably violent and disturbing ways. There you have it! Merry Christmas! Well, this final installment has become quite the hot topic among horror fans alike. Some love it for its originality, while others hate it for messing with a predetermined format that suited the other installments fine. This film explores Laurie Strode (Jamie-Lee Curtis) four years later, having survived yet another attack from Michael Myers. She is attempting to move on, but not move away. After witnessing the turmoil and suicide that Michael drove the town of Haddonfield to, she decided to stick around. Allyson (Andi Matichak), Laurie's granddaughter, lives with Laurie. While working as a nurse, striving for a promotion, she is introduced to Corey (Rohan Campbell). No stranger to tragedy and the torch-wielding townsfolk, he becomes protective of Allyson. During a scuffle with local kids, Corey comes into contact with a weak, and defeated, Michael Myers. It's clear he has been recovering from a town bashing from years prior. In an entrancing moment, it becomes obvious that Michael's evil spirit, is passed on to Corey. A large chunk of the movie digs into the psyche of Corey. The blame his neighbours have for an incident where a child was accidentally killed while playing a prank on Corey. As the movie rolls on, evil takes hold of this young man. He goes on a vengeance kick, killing those who've wronged him, along with an accomplice, the original Boogeyman. Why the controversy? While not the usual structure of a Halloween movie, I found this intriguing. I would have loved to have seen more of Laurie Strode but this was a new direction that I admired the writers and director for taking. And ultimately, we still got an epic showdown that was promised, between Laurie and Michael. Clearly, living a life of normality - not shutting herself off living in isolation - didn't mean she lost her skills of self-preservation. So, that's the movie, in a nutshell. Let's dig a little deeper. But wait, there's more! The reason a few moviegoers didn't care for this movie was undoubtedly the fact that we focus on Corey's fall to the dark side, and not as much on the final girl herself. Why is that? The actor did a remarkable job. We got to explore Laurie's current living situation, mourning the death of her daughter, caring for her granddaughter, writing a memoir, and trying to rekindle a romance with a certain law enforcement professional. We even get to see Laurie witness the turning of Corey from a sweet young man who is blamed for an accident, into a limitless psychopath hellbent on revenge. Boy, that was gory! Let's look at the kills. Regardless of your opinion on where the movie took us, you cannot disagree that those kills were brutal. From burning, tongue-chopping, head-stomping, to neck-snapping. We got it all, including Michael's very own demise which was... crunchy. But why Allyson? We might question Allyson's sanity at ignoring the red flags, right? How could she not see Corey's blatant psychotic growth? His violent outbursts. His shift from nice guy to dark and deadly predator. Let's remember, Allyson has suffered unthinkable trauma. Her father butchered. And the same night, her mother, savagely killed. Both by the same demon who stole decades of her grandma's live, after trying to kill her too. That's a lot to process for someone so young. Not to mention, she was known in town. The relative of a nut job, or "freakshow" as others call it. Years later and the stigma hasn't gone. She is done with this town, even if it means leaving Laurie. She just happens to fall for the exact wrong guy. However, when it counted, it took her a moment, but she did see the light and rescue her grandma. The OG warrior. While she frustrated the heck outta me at many points in the movie, when you consider the psychological elements, it all adds up. And she got to have a redeeming moment and show true strength. The suicide fakeout Wait, what? Laurie, no. You've made it this far. Don't give up. Don't go down without even trying. This is the reason we love you. You're a fighter. You don't give up. You have Allyson, and your story needs to be told. She lines the gun up to her head and bam. Brain splatters on the wall. No! This is how she goes out? This can't be? And then Michael 2.0 (Corey) opens the door further and there she is, gun held out, guts of a pumpkin splattered on the floor, not brain. She psyched him out. Again. This was one of my fave moments. The Smackdown Well folks, this is what we waited for. The final battle between predator and prey. Halloween 1978, Laurie was the victim who survived Michael through tenacity. Halloween 2018, she becomes a prepper, ready and waiting, until he escapes a mental asylum, and she manages to trap him. Halloween Kills, he escapes said trap, almost dying at the hands of pissed off townspeople before he miraculously escapes. And now, Halloween Ends, he is weakened, having not killed for a while, which we found out in Halloween Kills, is how he becomes unkillable. Laurie finally stands a chance to take this killer out and get payback for all those innocent lives he's taken, including her own daughter. I don't know about you guys, but I was coursing with electricity when Laurie noticed the house door was open. She'd taken out Myers 2.0, now it was time for the real thing. Clever. Ruthless. Never far away from a plan. She was still ready. On some level, she knew he'd come back. Through a visceral fight scene, with blows and stabs and slices, she manages to pin him down, literally. Only, when we think she has triumphed, he grabs her throat. This is it. We are fooled into believing he is finally going to kill his prey. The flashbacks of her life. The music. And then, Allyson to the rescue, breaking his arm. That was it. His final chance. Now, Laurie was going to slice into him, spilling blood. But that's not enough, oh no. The police and detectives break the rules. They tie this monster to the car and ride him to the scrapyard, where Laurie rolls him into a grinder. And there's no way he is coming back from that. Closure, finally, after all these decades living in fear. Happy Ending? Well, it certainly seems that way. Allyson is finally getting out of Haddonfield. Laurie is taking a vacation with Frank (Will Patton). Michael has been crushed to death. Corey is also not waking up, with bullet wounds and a snapped neck, by Michael himself. But, as Laurie herself says, evil never dies, it simply changes form. What do we think? More Halloween movies on the horizon? While I loved David Gordon Green's franchise, I do hope they'll come back in a few years and bring a fresh concept to the legacy that is Halloween. A huge thanks to Blumhouse Productions, and all the other producers, including the man himself, John Carpenter. Anyone else overwhelmed with all the horror goodies coming out this Halloween season, and where they will be streaming, and when?
Look no further! I've done the leg work so you don't have to! Here's a list of horror movies, where to find them, and their release dates. Let's get to it! (Bookmark this page so you can work your way down the list) Interview with a Vampire (AMC+) October 2nd Come on, we all know about this movie-to-TV adaptation. It looks amazing! Run, Sweetheart, Run (Amazon Prime) Streaming now A cat and mouse thriller! American Horror Story: NYC (FX/Hulu) October 19th Ryan Murphy is back with another addition to the acclaimed series. The Watcher (Netflix) October 13th A married couple moving into their dream home is being threatened by terrifying letters from a stalker, signed- "The Watcher". Hocus Pocus 2 (Disney+) Sept 30th The much anticipated sequel witnessing the return of the Sanderson sisters! Speak No Evil (In Select Theatres) Out Now! A Danish family visits a Dutch family they met on a holiday. What was supposed to be an idyllic weekend slowly starts unravelling as the Danes try to stay polite in the face of unpleasantness. Devil in Ohio (Netflix) OUT NOW! Based on a book, a chilling story of a girl who escaped a religious cult! Terror Train (remake - Tubi) October 21st A remake of the original movie which starred Jamie-Lee Curtis. Midnight Club (Netflix) October 7th Sound familiar? Christopher Pike? Based on the book. The Jeffrey Dahmer Tapes (Netflix) October 7th A documentary about the infamous serial killer. Prey for the Devil (In Theatres only) October 28th A possession themed horror flick. My Best Friend’s Exorcism (Amazon Prime) September 30th Based on the book by Grady Hendrix. Sure to be a wild ride! Mr. Harrigan's Phone (Netflix) October 5th Based on the novella of the same name, a creepy old rich man and a phone, death, and unsettling events. Hellraiser (HULU) October 7th Reboot of the Clive Barker classic. Halloween Ends (In Theatres & Peacock) October 14th Supposedly, the final Halloween movie that Jamie-Lee will star in, which features the ultimate face-off between Laurie Strode and Michael Myers, to the death! Barbarian (In Theatres) Out Now A woman staying at an Airbnb discovers that the house she has rented is not what it seems. Dark Harvest (In Theatres) September 9th A legendary monster called October Boy terrorizes residents in a small Midwestern town when he rises from the cornfields every Halloween with his butcher knife and makes his way toward those who are brave enough to confront him. Goodnight Mommy (Amazon Prime Video) September 16 This is a psychologically lucid exploration of mental stability, trust, and family. Pearl (Theaters) September 16 Set in 1918 during the era of the Spanish Flu pandemic and World War I, the film explores the origins of Pearl, the villainous character from X. The events take place prior to that previous film and explore how the cabin, where the "massacre of X" takes place, was once used as a boarding house during the war. Trapped on her family's isolated farm, Pearl must tend to her ailing father under the bitter and overbearing watch of her devout mother. Lusting for a glamorous life like she's seen in the movies, Pearl finds her ambitions, temptations, and repressions all colliding in this stunning, technicolor-inspired origin story of X's iconic villain. Jeepers Creepers: Reborn (In Theatres) September 19th The horror continues in the latest addition to the franchise. Don't Worry Darling (In Theatres) September 23rd A thriller about a 1950s housewife whose reality begins to crack, revealing a disturbing truth underneath. Smile (In Theatres) September 30th After witnessing a bizarre, traumatic incident involving a patient, a doctor starts experiencing frightening occurrences. Grimcutty (Hulu) October 10th Follows a suburban teen girl and her little brother who must stop a terrifying internet meme brought to life by the hysteria of their parents. Terrifier 2 (AMC Theatres) October 6th The clown sequel we've been waiting for. Extra, while not technically a movie, the CHUCKY series comes back for season 2 October 5th on USA TODAY and Sci-Fi! Happy hunting, guys! (Don't forget to bookmark the page!) No more mindlessly scrolling through endless horror movies unsure which to invest your time in! This list has something for everyone! Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning Can you really go wrong with a slasher based on the true story of a bunch of hillbilly cannibals? There’s a reason there are so many sequels and remakes! You can practically hear that chainsaw revving right…. Now! I Know What You Did Last Summer Stemming from the novel by Lois Duncan of the same name, comes this classic slasher telling the story of a car crash killing a fisherman, only for the teens involved in the coverup to receive threats one year later. Is the fisherman really dead? Is a family member pissed? A true slasher with many iconic scenes. Chances are you’ve seen this but it always deserves a rewatch (especially if you look into the movie trivia beforehand!). Scary Stories to tell in the Dark A newer release that is a mixture of Urban Legends and Goosebumps as a bunch of kids stumble upon a book that can dictate reality! Fun and quirky. Anaconda In the mood for a creature feature? Let J Lo take you down a treacherous river with an anaconda hot on their tails, and he’s hungry! With other noticeable faces, this movie hits all the sweet spots for fans of this sometimes-overlooked sub-genre. Pst, the sequel Anaconda: Hunt for the Blood Orchid is a great sequel also worth watching! Final Destination 3 Possibly the best of the series, with the epic opening theme park scene? This franchise has become wildly popular (and is still alive and kicking with a reboot in the works, reportedly!) A series of movies that each start with a young guy or gal having a vision that saves multiple lives. Only, death (a force, not just our final ticket off earth) has a design and the vision kind of f*cked it up. So now all those survivors find themselves dropping off one by one. Can they stop death? The Lost Boys A cult classic explores the lives of a group of young vampires as they recruit their newest member, Michael. As Michael attempts to resist, their hold becomes that much stronger. This is a beloved classic vamp flick, up there with the likes of Fright Night and Vamp. Hey, in case you weren’t aware there have been talks of a spin-off series, keep your claws crossed! Eight Legged Freaks We all have the fear of mutant spiders ravaging a small town after toxic waste ends up in the wrong place, right? Well, that fear becomes reality in this hilarious movie starring the legendary David Arquette. There’s Someone Inside Your House One for the newer horror generation which has appeal for all horror fans. A slasher that wears the faces of their victims (creepy!). Some strong performances and brutal deaths make this a slasher that has to be devoured. The Babysitter This one is just plain fun! A kid wakes to discover his sweet and innocent babysitter is much more than she seems! Cannot recommend this one enough – so much comedy in-between some hysterical deaths. Thirteen Ghosts A supernatural horror as a poor family inherits a very modern mansion with nothing but glass walls and doors. But beggars can’t be choosers, right? The family soon finds out this glass mansion houses the ghosts of vicious serial killers. But ghosts can’t harm you, yeah? A staple of horror movies, starring the one and only Matthew Lillard, and if you are a guy or girl accustomed to boobies, Shannon Elizabeth! That should keep you busy! Until next time 😉 Can’t decide which horror show to watch? There seems to be so many on so many different streaming platforms – well, here are the ones you don’t wanna miss! Ash vs. The Evil Dead (Netflix) We finally got the spin-off we deserved! For fans of the Evil Dead franchise, you’ll love this. Bruce Campbell revives Ash in this hilarious, gross, and oddly compelling series. Bloody good fun! And you get 3 seasons to binge 😉 Dexter: New Blood (Showtime) After the disaster of a final season episode from the original run of the show, Dexter comes back for one do-over. Living in a remote village, repeatedly tempted to fall back into his evil ways, we watch as this off-grid living unknowingly homes the smartest serial killer that is just dying to go back to his old ways. Chilling. Bloody. And completely addictive. Rest assured, they more than made up for the final season’s ep of Dexter. Santa Clarita Diet (Netflix) This completely hilarious show of a parent (Drew Barrymore) who gets bitten and finds herself craving flesh… so disgusting yet hysterical. If you need a laugh (and a pool of blood and guts) you need to watch this show! Bates Motel (Netflix) With the exceptionally talented Vera Farmiga playing Norman Bates’ mother, this show is flawless. From stellar performances, a haunting storyline, and total insanity, you’ll wonder why you haven’t already seen this! Stranger Things (Netflix) Now, you’ve likely already seen this but on the off-chance that you haven’t, this show is the ultimate. Nostalgia hits you hard as a group of kids navigate a government conspiracy in a small town. Sounds basic? It’s not! Gearing up for another season, this is a Netflix hit and has a huge following! Hannibal (Amazon Prime) Yep, the Hannibal. Full of terrific performances as we explore the psyche of the infamous serial killer in this spin-off. American Horror Story (Netflix) This list wouldn’t be complete without the award-winning show by creative genius Ryan Murphy. With an all-star cast and chills beyond compare, each season starts anew with a new storyline and set of characters in this anthology show (that’s still on the air!). Haunted houses, demented circus, corrupt mental asylums, vampire hotels, and much much more. If somehow you’ve missed this show, get on that ASAP! The Haunting of Hill House (Netflix) From the mind of Mike Flannigan comes this insidious, and sinister tale of, you guessed it, a haunted house. But we get to explore the psyche of each child raised in this house as they struggle with adulthood. The Exorcist (Hulu) Geena Davis is exquisite in this spin-off of the movie as her child falls victim to possession. Some deeply unnerving moments! The Strain (Hulu) Vampirism treated like a global pandemic? I think we can all relate. But don’t worry. This show is heavily steeped in fiction (obviously). A well-produced show by Guillermo del Toro that starts with a flight that lands with all of the passengers dead. Thus begins a plague. Highly recommend! There you go; have at it! With so many horror movies out these days, it can be hard to find one that actually scares you. The movies on this list are sure to give you all kinds of scares. The Ring (2002) – Something will always be so unsettling about answering a call and then realizing you have seven days to live until a ghoulish, long-haired girl will come for you! (Currently streaming on Pluto TV) Prom Night (1980) – Starring the OG scream queen herself Jamie Lee Curtis, this cult classic is adored by horror fans and is so simplistic yet so chilling. (Streaming on Crackle, Peacock, Pluto TV, Tubi, Vudu) Black Christmas (1974) – Sorority sisters are hunted by a deranged murdered – another classic! (Streaming on Crackle, Pluto TV, Tubi, Vudu, YouTube) Wrong Turn (2003) – Something is so unnerving about cannibalistic hillbillies hunting down a bunch of young adults in the woods. Mostly because birth defects and cannibals are real elements of society and you COULD find yourself in that situation, especially when hiking in a remote location! (Streaming on Amazon Prime and Vudu) The Conjuring (2013) – A powerful haunting story. The typical trope of a family moving into a new house but with the magical hands of James Wan it is terrifying. Let’s not forget the witch on top of the closet moment or the horrifying transformation that occurs in the climax. If you missed this one, grab the popcorn! (Streaming on Netflix) The Conjuring 2 – Let’s not forget the exceptionally well-done sequel featuring a creepy old man and eerie nun as a British family back in the day are haunted by these ghouls. (Also streaming on Netflix) Sinister – New house. Graphic, violent tapes in the attic. Perfect ingredients for a nightmare-inducing horror film, right? (Streaming on Hulu) World War Z – Starring the OG hunk himself Brad Pitt, is one of the stronger zombie movies in a saturated sub-genre. Extremely tense and exciting. Definitely one to give you the ‘run bitch run’ vibes! (Streaming on Hulu) Paranormal Activity 3 – From one of the most successful ‘handycam horror’ franchise, comes the third instalment that brings us full circle as we go back to where Toby first started haunting these little girls. Absolutely horrifying. Chills. Jumps. It has everything! (Streaming on Hulu) Case 39 – With the award-winning actress Renee Zellweger, comes a story of a young girl who a social worker takes under her wing, seemingly protecting her from abusive parents. Little does the social worker know….. (Streaming on Hulu) Let’s face it, the last 2 years have been rough – but horror movies give us something to look forward to! So, here are the movies coming out this year to give us horror nerds something to keep us looking ahead. Scream – now, technically this has already been released but it had to make the list (and those who have seen it will agree it was an amazing addition to the franchise). The OG cast returns plus a new generation as they tackle the most insidious Ghostface yet! In theatres now. Halloween Ends – Since David Gordon Green brought back the famous franchise starring the OG scream queen herself Jamie Lee Curtis, it has exploded! Both Halloween 2018 and Halloween Kills were big box office hits. Set to hit our theatres October 15th. How will it all end? Will they finally kill Michael Myers? Texas Chainsaw Massacre – a popular franchise releasing another instalment courtesy of Netflix. The slasher is based on an original story and is out this month (February) streaming on the one and only, Netflix! Firestarter – Blumhouse is taking the reins and rebooting the 1984 movie of the same name from the dark mind of Mr King himself. Starring the heartthrob Zac Efron as his character Andy must make some hard choices when his daughter develops pyrokinesis. No firm release date on this yet but it is sure to be 2022! The Northman – from the director of The Witch comes an epic historical thriller concerning a Viking’s hunt for revenge when his father is murdered. The hunky Alexander Skarsgard (True Blood, Tarzan) stars in what is sure to be a thrilling ride. Jeepers Creepers Reborn – after the controversy surrounding the director of the third instalment, it is safe to say they made a wise decision hiring a new director. This film is set to hit later this year! Hellraiser – another reboot coming direct to a streaming platform. This will be a new take on the classic horror cult fave by sensationally talented Clive Barker. Hitting Hulu later this year! Nope – the latest creation from horror mastermind Jordan Peele. The plot is still unknown but I am confident Peele will create another hit! Hitting theatres July 2022. Black Phone – Bringing back Ethan Hawk (The Purge, Sinister) to lead this story of a young boy who is kidnapped by a deranged serial killer. Out this month! Don’t Worry Darling – Starring Florence Pugh (Midsommar) and Harry Styles (yes, the One Direction kid) a 1950s housewife becomes suspicious of her husband’s extracurricular activities. Out September 2022! Looks like a good lineup to us! LET'S PLUNGE IN! It has been 11 years since Scream 4 and 25 years since the original Scream hit our screens and it is safe to say the franchise is still alive and kicking! So I guess is a 'requel'? Reboot and sequel to please the OG fans with legacy characters and to bring in the next generation too. Boy did it achieve this! Let's get into the guts of this movie. NOSTALGIA A huge slice of the audience are the OG fans, a mix of boomers and Millenials. However, there are bound to be Gen-Z in attendance, so the writers had to approach this installment with delicacy. As someone who is in their 30's, I was looking for the easter eggs and references from the other movies. Did you catch the Elm Street reference? (One of Craven's well-known franchises). Not to mention how fantastic it was seeing Sydney, Gale, and Dewey, grace our screens once more. If nostalgia is your reason for seeing this hit, you'll be happy. The director even goes as far as to joke about the disaster that is Gale's hair in Scream 3! Not to mention, it ends where it all began. The chills running through my body when Sydney and Gale once again visit the house where the original massacre took place were electric! I love how there is a progression throughout the franchise with Sydney's reaction to 'it's happening again'. This time she has kids and is pro-actively seeking the killer out so she can rest at night knowing her children are safe. She also states, "I've seen this movie" and "I've been through this... a lot." I found both statements comical. As the teens say, 'it's funny coz it's true'. Would I have liked to see more of Sydney's life with her family, and Gale's life in New York? Absolutely! But this is their farewell and passing of the torch (insert joke about one of the killers bursting into flames ;) ) We do however get to dig into Dewey's current, depressing existence. His lost love. His failed career. His drinking problem. The once-great, brave sheriff is now living in a trailer looking for answers at the bottom of a bottle. Could it be that the writers did this intentionally for his demise, making it all-the-more heartbreaking? We do get the previous deputy sheriff from Scream 4 to bring some hope, who is now the sheriff. We all know how this ends! GEN-Z As expected, we have a multi-racial and sexually fluid bunch of teens as the new leads (yay, representation!). They were intriguing enough but we have to take it easy on them as we have yet to see these characters fleshed out, which is typically explored in the following sequels. The red herring was clearly placed in the film to throw us off from the fact that the other killer was so blatantly obvious. Which abides by the rules of the original game by having the killer being the love interest! Again, merging the whole 'where it all began' theme with 'how' it all began; with the love interest attempting to murder his girlfriend. RULES Speaking of rules, how many were broken? The first victim survived the attack! The first victim survived the movie! The black guy didn't die first (or at all!). However, the new rule announced in Scream 4 holds up, the gay character survives. I guess if you wanna survive a horror movie these days, go gay? Halloween Kills doesn't seem to care about these rules though. Michael Myers is an equal opportunity killer. LET'S PLAY We absolutely have to mention the scene that plays with the audience. You know the one. The shower scene whereby he opens everything that isn't bolted down with a build-up of music only to give us blue balls. I adored this moment. Only to be shocked when Ghostface shows up and slaughters the poor boy, after killing his mother out in broad daylight! Did you also catch the monologue by the new horror movie expert? When she declares that STAB 5 is the worst installment? Another meta moment where the writers are having fun with the audience. DEATHS The deaths in this appear to be wildly more vicious than the previous Screams. More blood. More violence. Overall, hungrier kills. From the breaking of the first victim's ankle (ouch), Wes' stabbing, Judy Hicks' bold daylight stabbing, and Dewey. Oh, Dewey's death. That one hit us hard. Not only was he murdered in a sadistic manner - stabbed from both sides and sliced up - it's Dewey for Satan's sake! Many audience members shed a tear at the falling of this beloved character. He will forever be remembered as a hero. But, as the end of the movie states, for those three to survive after all these attacks, IS kind of silly and unrealistic. Deep down, we knew one of these legacy characters wouldn't make it. Still, I wanted the OG three to survive. RIP Dewey. Every time we see a noble, goofy cop, we'll think of you. HONOR WES CRAVEN A special mention has to go to the one and only Mr. Wes Craven, without whom, we wouldn't have the Scream franchise (or many other great horror movies!). The dedication to Wes at the end was the perfect way to close out this film. And this movie was a perfect way to honor him. Craven would have loved this installment. How much has Scream 2022 made so far? It's off to a good start. Take a look here! CAST AND CREW For full cast and crew details, click here. All in all, you may have critiques but it is undeniable that this movie was well done. It was respectful to the OG fans and gave new fans a reason to stick around for what will hopefully be many more movies in the new 'requel' universe. Knives crossed! What were your thoughts? Please comment below! Spoiler alert! Halloween Kills. Well, I think it is safe to say, love it or hate it, this addition to the franchise has garnered a lot of attention! We delve right back into the action that occurred on that fateful night in 2018 as we see Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis), Karen (Judy Greer), and Allyson (Andi Matichak) rushing to the hospital as a fire truck whizzes by despite the firm protests of Laurie to "let it burn!" which gave us chills. This movie doesn't focus heavily on the Laurie Strode trauma and leans instead on a mob mentality and what happens to a town when they reach their breaking point. Introducing, Tommy (Anthony Michael Hall), who leads the pack in their hunt for Michael while touting his slogan "Evil dies tonight!" which, I'll be honest, is possibly declared a little too much. But we get the picture. The film also brings in Halloween alumni Kyle Richards, reprising her role as Lyndsey, and Nancy Stephens reprising her role as Marion. If this doesn't elicit nostalgia for the hardcore Halloween fan, then the flashback scene will! We get to see Loomis as a very talented special effects makeup artist create an unbelievably realistic mask for Tom Jones Jr. to wear in said flashback. This gave the movie more bones, so to speak. The cast as a whole was strong. From our escaped mental patient (Ross Bacon), the torch-wielding villagers, the resident victims, and let's not forget, the introduction of the first-ever gay couple featured in a Halloween movie. This leads me to my next point. I feel this portrayal of a gay couple was both respectful and humorous. From the tiny knife moment to the ‘let's smoke weed and dance’ moment, audiences fell in love with this authentic couple who bought the Myers house and brought it into the 21st century! Big John (Scott MacArthur) and Little John (Michael MacDonald) were truly wonderful. A huge win for LGBT representation. And you’ll notice a bench banner outside the pub that informs viewers that they are real estate agents. I did enjoy the not-so-subtle parallel being drawn between the mob running amuck in hunt of Michael and the current political climate of people blindly following individuals like a herd of sheep. Laurie Strode herself even screams at the masses running around the hospital, calling them sheep. Laurie takes a back seat in this madness as she recovers in the hospital and indulges in nostalgia of her own with Officer Hawkins (Will Patton). This conversation starts as speculation on Myers and ultimately implies Halloween Ends will delve into the supernatural as this being is truly unkillable. This makes sense, but let’s hope the team concludes this new timeline respectively and powerfully. Michael gets gorier and more sinister and we get glimpses into his psyche even further! From using a man as a knife board to thumbs-in-sockets, a truly memorable slaughter of firefighters, and plenty of macabre presentations of his bodies as he plays with his victims in a way he’s never done before, with quite so much relish. Additionally, poking Little John's eyes out and holding a firefighter up as he impaled him. Phew! This movie also made viewers realize just how much he plays with his food. He staged his victims in a twisted way. We have the gay couple which he fondly props up just as they are in a photograph and even plays romantic music for them. These seem to be the only people whose bodies he even slightly cared about. Others were hung from trees, tossed on playground rides, etc. This excited me as I am always thirsty for Michael's psyche! Let's all keep our fingers crossed that Karen isn't dead. I adore Judy Greer! If she doesn't reappear in Halloween Ends, I will weep. Speaking of which, what does the future hold? David Gordon Green has hinted that Halloween Ends will jump 4 years into the future! Wow. Again, this just makes me more eager to see how DGG will expand upon this story. For those interested in the stats, BoxOffice Mojo has impressive numbers (over 100 million!). Even more impressive considering COVID is still affecting theatres globally. Let's not forget Producer Jason Blum, who has become a powerhouse in the horror world! All in all, the main critique appears to be the mob mentality storyline dominating the movie, and going from 0 to 100 quickly. Yes, the mass hysteria did take the lead, however, I feel it was interesting to see in a horror movie. A town who’ve had enough. After 40 years they’ve reached their breaking point. They are traumatized and have lost loved ones and are sick of this monster. RIP Ross Bacon. Let's face it. This sucks! We need horror movies (we love them) but we also need some comical relief from this damn quarantine-virus situation! So, bookmark this page and work on this list. Feel free to comment with other suggestions. I added links for trailers. We all like to have an idea of what to expect! 1) Death Becomes Her https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NFXQQ2uAeHM 2) Little Shop of Horrors https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jFENSU8CmZk 3) Shawn of the Dead https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LIfcaZ4pC-4 4) Scary Movie (1 & 2) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_dktIVAfjzY https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCFZUZxBVuI 5) Happy Death Day https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1NTaDm3atkc 6) Boo! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G9-VHtJvPNs 7) Final Girls https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DCNUBR4fLjU 8) Zombieland 1 & 2 1)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8m9EVP8X7N8 2)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YghZVENrn3Q 9) Tucker & Dale vs Evil https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l1t8OZn_uhE 10) Fright Night (1985) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TGQ1yMnKjUY Oh, come on! We want more horror-comedies! Okay, okay.... 11) Lost Boys https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r1Iqy6m7U7c 12) Planet Terror https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DCFQtc6BzyM 13) Warm Bodies https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=07s-cNFffDM 14) Slither https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SI0BcgVdSWg 15) Big Trouble in Little China (Okay, that's a bit on the nose but still a great movie). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AXsBBqPb5YE Take care in these troubling times! Social distance, wash your hands, and watch plenty of horror / comedy movies ;) All the best, Your Bestselling Horror Author & Horror Fanatic, Wesley Thomas. run time: 08:37
*review contains a couple of spoilers* Intriguing. Unsettling. Well-filmed. A patient continually sees a shadow. It always comes back. A therapist doesn't believe her delusions until coming face-to-face with the entity itself. I found the filming style to match perfectly with the steady pace of the short. Creepy, atmopheric, and tense. The acting was convincing and natural, with no melodrama or monotone voices. With a short cast of two actors, the acting had to be strong to carry the film. One element I enjoyed was that they chose to not actually show the shadow, with the exception of sketches, it was more about the fear it creates. The sounds, the reactions, the anxiousness. I would love to see this made into a feature film where we can expand upon the characters and the shadow, along with bringing in additional characters to create further dimensions to the story. For a quick but impressively made short film that will leave you questioning every noise and coincidence, I recommend a viewing: https://vimeo.com/253008679?fbclid=IwAR3mTlx6MfmRyrQQS7UmuGTumeFeWm7u_XEMiaYEhPqGkT6NLHPmlgpXGz8 What do we have to look forward to in 2020? Some awesome horror movies of course! - Halloween Kills (the much anticipated sequel to Halloween 2018 starring Jamie Lee Curtis!) - The Conjuring 3 (Another addition to the great horror franchise) - The Witches (remake) starring Anne Hathaway - The New Mutants - The Turning - A Quiet Place 2 - World War Z 2 - Candyman (remake) - Grudge (remake) - 13 Fanboy - A Babysitter's Guide to Monster Hunting - Terrifier 2 - The Invisible Man (remake) But until then, have a great Halloween and Christmas! How do I describe Old Lady McCaw? Well, her surname is aptly suited to her as she resembles a crow. Skinny doesn’t quite cover it; try skeletal. I’d guesstimate she was around eighty years of age, from her saggy, lined skin. She spends much of her time inside, so no sun damage discolours her skin. She is sickly pale. And when she does venture outside, she carts around a gothic umbrella. Her hair is mostly white, with streaks of black from her youth stubbornly tangled into her frizzy, untameable mane. It kind of looks like a wig. Maybe it is? Maybe she has a room of wigs? Eurgh. Creepy. She hobbles around with the aid of a walking stick. Not a high-end plastic or metal one, but an old-fashioned wooden pole curved at the end. Her wrinkled, arthritis-lumped knuckles slot into the hook as if the wooden walking aid was custom made for her. Her attire doesn’t stray from frumpy and dark. Long obsidian dresses billowing in the wind are her thing. She is essentially a flag, what with the hair lashing in the breeze and her loose-fitting ensemble flapping around. In the neighbourhood, her reputation isn’t the greatest. She’s freaky. She gives me the creeps. Why does she stay in that house all the time? She’s a witch! Those are merely a few of the colourful comments used when referring to Old Lady McCaw. Personally, I don’t mind her. Every Sunday, at ten a.m. sharp, she brings my mother and I freshly baked treats. Sometimes scones, other times muffins, and on occasion, cookies. They have one thing in common though: they are always utterly scrumptious. She’d been good to my mother since my father left with a whore of a waitress. How cliché can you get? She would bring herbal calming remedies, talk to my mother for hours, and bring her unusual but thoughtful gifts. They ranged from sculptures of, let’s say, shapes to not entirely unpleasant jewellery which my mother liked. Old Lady McCaw claimed the necklace crystals were for strength and healing. I’m not sure how much I believe when it came to spirituality, but it seemed to be working. As long as my mum feels good, that’s all I want. I should probably mention the wind chimes, too. They decorated the deck of her one-story home. An array of them hung from the roof, dangling over the wooden deck. Some were nailed to windows. Others were hammered to doors. A withered shed stood aside her home. I’d never been in it, in fact, I’d never been inside her house. But from my second-story bedroom window, I’d clocked her going inside it late at night. News of her nightly activities had spread like wildfire around the school. Why is she going into a shed late? What’s she doing? Hexing people? Casting spells? I wanted to discourage the rumours, but I also didn’t want to be singled out and inevitably bullied. One night I grew curious. I had to know what she was doing. And, I found out. Her home sat beyond our backyard, discreetly nestled into the corner of our street and concealed behind a bustle of bushes and hordes of high-reaching trees. Lady McCaw’s house was made of ageing wood, fractured and peeling paint, and stained windows. I tried not to judge; she was ancient, after all. One night, in my baby-blue pyjamas, I stepped into my fluffy slippers, slipped into a denim jacket, and headed to her shed. I crept downstairs, cautiously avoiding the creaky spots. I snuck out the backdoor and scurried to her yard. The bushes became my companions as I dashed by, hugging the green growth in case I needed to dive into their prickly but concealing embrace. Her house came first. Silent. No lights. The zing of faraway streetlights sang into the night, along with the hum of the occasional passing car and unsettling coos of owls. The smell of nature rushed into my nostrils. My hand met with the bannister of her deck. Cold, crusty, splintery. I would have held on for balance, had I not been concerned about splinters. Also, I didn’t trust the posts to not snap under my weight. Instead, I hunched along, remaining incognito, or so I hoped. I was almost invisible in the navy sky and gentle lick of the moon. The rays of streetlights were obscured by trees and fences. The shed was married to the dark. I couldn’t help but think: Why am I doing this? What do I really think she is hiding? Do I think she is cooking and eating children? Summoning the dead? Sacrificing goats? Nope, none of the above. I was curious. And despite what happened to the proverbial cat, I didn’t stop. As the grass crunched beneath my fluffy slippers, a twang rang out. Twang. Creak. Twang. Creak. It became the chorus of the night with verses of animal noises and weather. Was she making a bow and arrow? Was she secretly some vigilante superhero? Yeah right. If she was, her day performance as a withered old spinster deserved an award. As I drew closer to the mysterious shed with suspicious sounds, the smell of nature was dominated by a strange aroma: burning and dust. A bizarre combination. I pressed against the shed lightly. The structure creaked, dust rising as if it were ready to crumble under my touch. I slapped a hand over my mouth to prevent any dryness tickling my throat. The last thing I wanted was to break out into a flurry of coughs. Shuffling sideways, I shimmied to the door. Luckily, there was a slight gap, enough for me to peek through. An orange glow danced inside. Fire? It certainly would explain the burning smell. Grabbing my intrigue by the horns, I swivelled my head around and pushed one eye to the gap. I let my sight travel the room, while simultaneously adjusting to the light. Swaddles of yellow-orange light rinsed the room, exposing wood in disrepair. Cobwebs clung to the corners. Other than that, I didn’t see much. Then my eyes landed on her. She sat, hunched in the corner. The edges of her silhouette played on the wall, dancing from the assortment of flickering flames. She snatched something off the floor and dropped it into a large can of flames. Lady McCaw repeated this many times. Pick up, drop, sizzle, and again, and again. She was burning something, but what? I caught sight of a neat pile aside her feet. The dim light didn’t offer much assistance. Spindles? Webs? Criss-crosses? Targets? These words – and more – swirled in my mind until I soon realized what lay in the pile: dreamcatchers. My face creased. What the heck? Dreamcatchers? What the actual heck? If history class served, these originated from Indians, or as we are supposed to refer to them, Native Americans. They were devices to trap bad dreams so one could receive a peaceful night’s slumber. Why on earth was she burning them? And why so many? There must be hundreds in that well-organised pile. From a speckle of light from the raging fire, I caught sight of something else just as peculiar: nails. I’m not talking about nails holding this shack together, I’m talking about nails protruding from the walls. Were they to hold something up? The dreamcatchers? It made sense, somewhat, but again, why so many? Nails embellished every wall; a mouse could reach every inch of the shed using those as a climbing apparatus. “Why?” Oh shit. I’d said those words aloud. Relax, maybe she didn’t hear. To my dismay, she turned and set her eyes on mine. She didn’t look pleased. “Jacob?” she croaked, as if she’d spent her life chain-smoking ten packs a day. To my relief, the irritation on her face dissolved. Curiosity replaced it. I huffed. I know the feeling. “Sorry Miss McCaw.” Nobody called her ‘Old Lady McCaw’ to her face, or any of the other delightful nicknames kids and adults had coined. “What are you doing out here? It’s late!” Her eyebrows drew close together. “I’m so sorry, I got…curious. I know I shouldn’t be here. I see you coming in here. I got nosy I guess. I…I’ll go. Please don’t tell my mum.” I eased back. “No! Don’t be silly. You’re young. It’s in your nature to get curious, about life, the world, everything. It’s how people learn.” So much kindness and wisdom. If townsfolk saw this side of her, they’d never even consider her a cauldron-whisking witch. “Thanks. Can I ask what it is you are doing here?” She let the dreamcatcher she held plummet into the fire. A squeak and grind erupted before the crackling of flames resumed. “I’ll tell you child, but it’s a secret. Understand?” Her gaze tightened. No room for negotiation. This was a secret. “I understand. I will not tell a soul,” I promised. “Well, come in, it’s chilly out there. You’ll be nice and toasty in here in seconds.” Inside was stifling and there was an overwhelming reek of burning. That smoky scent wavered in the air, irritating my eyes. “Take a seat.” Her ageing hand guided me towards a small stool in the corner. My ass only just fit onto it, and not without objection. It sang resistance with creaks and squeaks until I found a position of reasonable comfort. “Now, I know what everyone says about me,” she confessed, grabbing a bunch of hair and tossing it over her shoulder. It moved as if it were one object, not many tiny strands. The flickering firelight didn’t flatter her face. It fell into the heavy wrinkles and sank into the gaunt dents of her cheeks. It made previously unnoticed chin whiskers visible. “They think I am crazy, a witch, a crackpot, a Satanist, and on and on. They question the fact that I’ve never been married or had children,” she continued, not with sorrow, but with awareness. She didn’t care what these gossipmongers thought, she was simply oblivious to it. “But I am not crazy. Sure, I have certain beliefs in the occult, true and factual beliefs. I like my space, I believe in healing crystals. I love to read, and I enjoy movies. I don’t get out much. You and your mum of all people should know I am a good person behind the veil of quirkiness.” “Oh, we do,” I barged in to defend her. “You know I like wind chimes, right? That’s fairly obvious from looking at my house.” I nodded with a smirk. “But you don’t know the reason I like them, do you?” I shook my head, my smirk sliding away. She adjusted her position on the wooden chair, releasing a symphony of cracks and pops. Old skeleton. Once she’d found a comfier position, her eyes found mine again, piercing my pupils with seriousness. “Wind chimes warn us of supernatural things Jacob,” she whispered with an air of fright. “Supernatural things?” “I know how this will sound,” she coughed. “Demons.” I shivered despite the fierce hotness. I didn’t believe in that stuff; but she wasn’t crazy or delusional. I tingled in dread. “D…d…demons?” I stuttered, hoping I’d misheard. “I know how that sounds, but it’s true. My mother and grandmother taught me. We have been passing down this lesson for generations. I have diaries dating back hundreds of years, written by my ancestors.” “About wind chimes and demons?” “When a wind chime chimes without a breeze at all, it is a sign. A demon or harmful entity is coming.” I gulped. “But how is it possible to tell when you hear a windchime that it isn’t caused by the wind?” Wind can be sudden and gentle. How can you know that it was an otherworldly warning? “Oh, you pick it up easy. Plus, I have made all these wind chimes in a certain way. They don’t make sound easily. There must be an aggressive wind to make them sing. So, if one rings, you look outside, and not so much as a branch is stirring, it’s a warning.” I did a quick recap of whether I’d ever heard one of her wind chimes sing without a stiff blow from Mother Nature. I couldn’t remember. It’s not something an average person searches for. “I gave you and your mother some a few times. Remember?” Among the many strange items she’d given us, a variety of wind chimes were among them. I didn’t have the heart to tell her they sat in our basement. Maybe we should have them outside? “Do you have any outside?” she inquired. “Errr…. no. All inside. Pointless, right?” I shrugged. “Not necessarily. Sometimes inside chimes can be a clearer indication if no windows are open. But often people overlook it as a sudden gust through an air vent. People will rationalize before accepting something insidious. Believe me.” This wasn’t her first rodeo. “But…why are you burning dreamcatchers? What do they have to do with chimes?” “You see, wind chimes indicate their arrival. You have minutes maybe until something harmful is coming. Maybe not for you, or maybe exactly for you.” A shudder travelled up my legs. This wasn’t the best time to hear spooky stories. We were alone, at night, in a weak shed, defenceless. I was a child. She was an elderly woman with a walking stick. “But dreamcatchers are the way to catch them.” My throat made a ‘hmm’ noise. “The belief that they catch bad dreams is a myth, what they actually catch is monsters.” I wiped a bead of sweat from my lip. “Somewhere in history that message got garbled and miscommunicated. But at least if people have them in their homes and rooms, they are safe, for the most part. Even if they do just think they are protecting them against bad dreams.” “For the most part?” I had to ask. “Well, yes they do protect us. The demons are sucked into the webs and trapped there. But they are more efficient if we hold them out before us, kind of like you hold a cross out to a vampire.” “Yeah I…. wait. Please tell me vampires aren’t real.” My throat dried almost instantly. Heat, wood, smoke, and dust weren’t helping. “Oh no, they are fiction, I think. Who knows? But more than likely they are just the result of a creative author wanting to freak readers out.” I puffed relief, itching at my forehead. I wanted to hear her stories, but this heat was ridiculous. “So, I hold it out and the demon gets trapped in it?” I sought clarification. “Correct.” She pressed a fist to her mouth and broke into a fit of barks. She didn’t sound well, and being outside at this time of night couldn’t be conducive to a good bill of health. “Do you want to get inside Miss McCaw?” I offered, concerned. “That’s sweet Jacob.” She smiled. It wasn’t often she smiled, but it suited her. Her teeth weren’t as haggard as her skin and hair. Or maybe they were just realistic dentures? Either way, it added warmth to her face. Oh crap, don’t think warm thoughts! I am sweating my hairless balls off in here. “But I need to burn these.” She pointed to the pile of various dreamcatchers, or I should say, demon catchers. “But why?” That seemed to be the last question of the evening. “Well, if a dreamcatcher breaks, the demons are set free.” Another chill racked my spine. “But, if I burn them, the demons are destroyed.” “Oh,” I mumbled. “Wait, how often do you do this?” “Burn dreamcatchers?” I nodded. Her shoulders danced. “Sometimes monthly, sometimes weekly.” “Weekly?” I blurted. “So, you have to buy dreamcatchers all the time?” “I make them Jacob,” she corrected. “Make them? Is that expensive?” “It can be,” she grumbled. Guilt tugged at me. Maybe this is why she lives in a run-down house. Maybe this is also why she is alone and childless. She claims to enjoy solitude, but this is a big responsibility, maybe she wouldn’t have time for a relationship, let alone a child, even if she did want one or the other? “But I get by.” She offered me a slight smile. I’m no fool. I may be a year shy of a teenager, but I can read people’s expressions. “Right young man, I think it’s time for you to get back to bed.” She wagged a finger at me. “Don’t you have school tomorrow?” “It’s Sunday tomorrow, Miss McCaw.” I tried to remove any patronising or belittling tone from my response. “Oh of course it is. My apologies. It comes with age. Enjoy your memory while you have it young man. Anyway, school or not, I am sure your mum doesn’t know you’re out here.” I chewed words through a scrunched mouth. “Not exactly.” “I thought as much. Now get to bed, I will see you in the morning. And if you have any further questions, I am always home.” *** I was awoken by a wind chime. I instantly panicked, jerking from bed and springing to the window. The window came open surprisingly easy as I reached an arm out. No breeze. Bolts of dread stabbed my stomach. A demon was coming. Then something considerably worse happened: all the wind chimes at Old Lady McCaw’s house trembled violently. They jangled. They jingled. They wore reflections of the creamy moonlight. They sang horror into the night. So, not one demon, but an entire clan of them. She was in big trouble. I hauled ass downstairs barefoot. Fortunately, Mother was a heavy sleeper. I barrelled through the kitchen and exited out the back. I sprang over the three deck steps. I didn’t even bother laying a few polite knuckles on Lady McCaw’s door; adrenaline had kicked in. The door fell open with the slightest nudge, bringing me into a gothic living room. Mahogany furniture lay around, up-turned. Books were askew on the floor. Occult symbols and knickknacks were scattered along the chocolate-wood floor. To my left stood a long wall, embellished with dreamcatchers. In fact, I struggled to see an inch of plaster not crowded with those demon snatchers. Among the tumult, sprawled with the small statues and open books, was Old Lady McCaw. Her hair spilled across the floor, while her baggy ensemble made it seem as if she lay in a pool of blackness. Her body was contorted in an unpleasant position. Legs were turned inwards. Arms were spread open wide. Her neck had snapped, leaving her head to loll to one side. A hand closed over my mouth: my hand. At first, tears came. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind; she was dead. Then an even stronger sensation took charge: fear. This wasn’t a robbery. This wasn’t a domestic disturbance. This was evil. This was the behaviour of a monster. But, there were thousands of catchers nailed to the walls, how was the entity able to harm her? My heart chipped as my eyes fell on a larger dreamcatcher with a golden shaft attached, inches from her reach, drowning in the tumult. Just as my mind churned ideas of my next move, a creak came from behind me. I swung around. Pictures of red-skinned demons and shadowy shapes occupied my mind. The door issued a long creak before thumping into a wall. My scalp tingled. I needed a dreamcatcher. Now! I dropped to the ground and snatched the fancy golden one. I held it out as if it was a gun. A shadow stood before me. Despite holding the catcher, I stifled a scream. Could I do this? Was there anything else I need to know? Did Lady McCaw tell me everything? Then it approached me. “Jacob?” it asked. How the hell does it know my name? Wait, I know that voice. “Mum?” “Yes dear. Oh no, what in the world happened here? Is Miss McCaw o-” The rest of her sentence was stolen by a deep-cutting realisation that she wasn’t okay, not in the least. Her eyes landed on the old lady’s corpse. A heavy gasp left her mouth. Had her gasp been any stronger, she’d have sucked the contents of the room into her mouth. “Oh, Miss McCaw,” she wept. I stuffed the catcher into my pyjamas bottoms and rushed to wrap my mother in a comforting hug. Besides me, Miss McCaw had been the only constant in our lives. We didn’t have much family. Dad left. It was us and her. Now, it was just us. I would sure miss her strangeness, and those insanely good treats she baked us. “Wow, what’s with all the dreamcatchers on the walls?” she asked, voice soggy from tears. I shrugged, pulling away from her hug. “Old lady superstition, maybe?” I lied. “She was an odd one,” Mum laughed whilst wiping away tears. “Well, I guess we’d better call the police. Come on, you should be in bed.” “Mum, how can I sleep now?” She munched on her lip for a second. “Good point. Okay, but still, you shouldn’t be around this. Go home and make us hot chocolate or something. Or maybe this would be a nice time to use one of Miss McCaw’s herbal sleeping concoctions? Kind of a tribute to her?” “That’s a good idea, Mum.” As I was about to wander home, a violent rhythm of chimes commenced. That served as a much-needed reminder. The thing that killed Old Lady McCaw was still free. “Wow, Jacob, calm down. It’s only wind chimes.” She ran her fingers through my bedhead. “Mum, this is gonna sound crazy, but please grab one of the dreamcatchers from the wall.” I advised firmly. “What?” “Please Mum, just trust me.” She reluctantly reached out and unhooked one from a nail. A look of befuddlement held her face. “What now?” As if answering my mum’s question, there was a guttural growl. It shook the walls. It sent books flying through the air and slapped windows, the panes danced in their frames. “What was that?” she asked, the look of confusion no longer creasing her face. Now, her features were taut with angst. “Stay quiet, and hold the catcher out like this.” I held it, strangling the golden base. Mum nodded, and mimicked my actions. Curtains whipped, books continued to be tossed around the room, and ornaments shattered. Shelves collapsed from the walls, snapping into splintery pieces as if the weight of novels and decor had become too heavy for their wooden arms. Through the chaos, a rush of wind hit us. “Keep holding the catcher, Mum. Whatever you do, don’t let it drop.” She nodded, her lower lip trembling. Her eyelids had retreated behind both eyes; a look of total fright. Then it came. It assaulted us. I struggled to hold onto the golden shaft. I did waver somewhat, but maintained my grip. I watched the crisscross of the catcher as it pulsed. The artfully tangled ropes developed a beat. “What the hell is that?” Mum enquired, referring to the respiring rope. “Just keep holding mum. It will be over soon.” I hoped. For all I knew, this took hours. Yet thankfully, it ended in minutes. The furniture stilled. The vicious wind stopped, and we breathed a little easier, the clamps of horror loosening from our lungs. “Okay, what the heck is going on here?” “You know my Grandma? You always said you wanted something from her side of the family.” “Inheritance? We have an inheritance from Miss McCaw?” “Yeah, kind of.” Although, in the deepest caves of my mind, I was half-convinced this was more of a curse. Whatever the case, I’d never look at a wind chime or a dreamcatcher the same way again. I love movies. I love everything about them. I love any and every genre and film style. I love black and white, colour, a satisfying combo of both. You could woo me with a romance, shock me with a suspense / thriller, haunt me with a horror, wow me with an action / adventure, and even lure me with an older movie, perhaps where a femme fatale takes the lead and deceives a bold but dumb gentleman. Cinema is my life, and I am only eleven years old. I am oddly mature for my age. I am not just book-smart but life-smart, if that’s the right term. So is my bestie – and only friend - Rita. Low on the school food chain, we weren’t exactly reaching for the clouds. In fact, we were scraping the pavement, along with janitors and computer geeks. Rita and I kept to ourselves. This was easy, as we weren’t what you’d call ‘beautiful’. We’d hopefully grow into our looks, as our parents promised, but there were no guarantees. As long as we had each other and our love affair with film, we’d be swell. We resembled sisters with our matching braces and goofy glasses, except my skin was spot-covered and hers was deathly pale. Her hair was light-blonde, the colour of creamy white chocolate. Mine on the other hand, was flat out ginger. We didn’t dress in ‘trendy’ clothing and flock to the mall every weekend to spend our allowances on pointless fashion accessories and mountains of shoes. We spent our weekends doing something far more worthwhile and enjoyable: going to Betty’s secret cinema. Our neighbour, Betty Sinclair, had worked her entire life at a movie theatre. She loved watching and discovering truly exquisite movies. She adored watching viewers in their red velvet seats gasp and laugh and cry at the scenes unfolding onscreen. The cinema in our village had long ago been abandoned. I was around five when this happened; Rita and I were crushed. We would have been able to visit every weekend when we got old enough. But nope, fate had struck a devastating blow to our dreams. We figured when we got a few years older we’d hop on a train into the next town over to enjoy movies. But as luck would have it, Betty was our miracle. She’d heard about our movie obsession from our parents and came around to visit us with a collection of black and white films. We had jumped for joy. But when our parents left the room so we could talk shop, it became apparent that wasn’t the offer on the table. Betty had worked at the cinema before it went into liquidation. However, she kept her keys to access it and regularly snuck in to watch movies. The village would most likely leave it be for years to come. Our village wasn’t flush with cash. They had to focus on bringing money in, not spending tens of thousands repairing a cinema that may or may not bring a flow of cash. We were nine then, and two years later, most weekends Betty would collect us and drive to the cinema. She told both our parents she’d take us into the next town to watch movies. As an unfortunate coincidence, neither Rita nor I had grandparents. So, our parents loved Betty taking us out most weekends. And they knew we relished spending time with her. *** It was a typical Saturday. The sun gushed through my bedroom window as I slipped into jeans and a t-shirt. I didn’t faff around with makeup and hair products, but rather pulled my frizzy mane into a bobble and dabbed sunscreen over my cheeks and nose. Even on milder summer days, sunburn lay in wait. Rita came around in similar attire, jeans and a t-shirt, but her shirt was butter-yellow with an old cartoon at the chest. Mine was ghost-white. We wore red sneakers, which we’d bought together on one of our rare shopping trips. Given our old shoes were practically begging to be replaced with the flapping soles, we had no choice. Sun washed the streets, but this didn’t deter a slight chill, so we wore denim jackets. We waved farewell to my parents and set out to the cinema, unbeknown to them. They had the impression we were going to the park. I wondered where they got that idea… The previous week Betty informed us she had a busy weekend the following week, so we’d have to skip movies that weekend. Rita had offered ways to fill our weekend, but nothing was as enticing as sneaking into the run-down movie theatre and watching a classic flick. Our journey went from a peaceful idyllic neighbourhood with white picket fences and freshly mown grass, to the village. We passed many thriving businesses and bustling coffee shops on our way to the dodgy part of town. We weren’t silly or stupid. At night, we’d never dream of roaming around here, but during the day we were fine. After all, we’d been coming to these parts for over two years with Betty and had never came across even a fragment of trouble. There had been the occasional homeless person catching some zzz’s, but that was it. And they were harmless. We crept to the back entrance, shuffling through the alley and locating Betty’s hidden backup key. She’d stashed it underneath a trash can. It glimmered in the dirty alley, complete with overflowing garbage, graffitied walls, and boarded windows on parallel buildings that had been equally ravaged by neglect and time. None of this deterred us in the least. This was our own plot of heaven. This was our escape. We dove into various film worlds and got lost in the magnificence. The door creaked open, splashing daylight onto a lint-infested burgundy carpet and faded taupe walls. Old movie posters hung unevenly in glass frames, wearing curtains of dust. Cobwebs hung from light fixtures, which surprisingly still worked. No one had thought to switch off the electric. Or, someone still paid the bill. We’d often speculated that Betty covered the bill for our benefit. Who on earth would want to steal or ruin a kid’s dreams? We switched on the lights, which only brought an orange tint to the darkness. It didn’t expose everything with the same harsh clarity of the sun or a blinding florescent bulb, but rather saved us from absolute darkness. We knew the way even if we had to tread through total dark. The staircase came up on the right, which we ascended. A film of dust draped the bannister and the air was far staler up here. “Will Betty be mad at us you think?” Rita worried. That worry wasn’t exclusive to her tone, it crinkled her milky complexion. “Not at all, she probably assumes we’ll do as much,” I lied. “Oh, you think?” Her tone shot up, worry shedding quickly. “Oh absolutely,” I feigned confidence. I hated to lie, especially to my bestie, but I didn’t want Rita fretting. She was a worrywart. And truth be told, I couldn’t imagine Betty freaking out if she caught us. She’d probably chuckle and shake her head. I felt bad for my first reaction upon meeting Miss Sinclair. She was a little plump. Okay, she was fat. I hate that word, but she was. Her age was evident by loose skin otherwise referred to as jowls, as well as wrinkles and other un-firm flesh. Her grey ropey hair didn’t exactly imply ‘youth’ either. Despite appearances, she wasn’t always stuffing her face. She had a medical condition that cursed her with rolls aplenty. School kids who knew her from around would say she had more pounds than a British bank. I had to bite my tongue on more than one occasion. I wanted to defend her so badly, but it was useless, and I’d probably get my glasses broken and braces torn from my gob. We veered left at the top of the staircase and opened into our nirvana. The familiar scent of must rushed at us. It wasn’t what one would call a ‘delicious’ or ‘appetizing’ smell, but it was home to us. The scent was so powerful it coated our tongues. When first coming here, we’d battled doubts. But after watching a gem of cinema we’d never seen before, we became quickly attached to this place. Film reels were a canopy to the roof, strung around like birthday banners. Boxes of reels were tucked away on the carpet or in metal shelves to the back. The projector took centre stage in the middle of the room, giving us endless joy. It stood on a not completely straight table scarred with cracks and chips. Again, so what? The wallpaper in here wasn’t a discoloured taupe but a magical red of Hollywood carpet that celebrities used when facing rambunctious crowds and flashing cameras at film premieres. The screen at the end of the mid-sized room ate the wall. This helped make everything larger than life. We were completely immersed in movies. “Oh crap,” Rita blurted. She stood aside the metal shelves, hands submerged in movie reels, face a look of regret. “What is it?” “We forgot snacks and pop,” she tutted. Shock. Horror! I knew there were worse things unravelling in our world, but what’s a movie trip without snacks and beverages? Now that she mentioned it, I craved something sugary, and a fizzy cola. “There’s a corner shop around here somewhere. You have any money?” “Five pound, you?” “Five pound,” I replied. “That should get us plenty. Let’s hurry so we can watch a few flicks before it gets dark out.” Good thinking! She’s always one step ahead of me, one of the many reasons I love my sister from another mister. “Wait, why don’t you decide on a movie, and I’ll go get us some goodies?” Again, she was full of good ideas. “Great thinking! Wait, how do I know what movie to pick?” “Lacey, we watch movies most weekends here, we love anything good. And we’ve even watched some bad movies for Betty’s sake and still enjoyed them. I trust you’ll pick a good one.” “Okay, I’ll-” my sentence was cut short due to the slam of the back-door downstairs. We jerked, eyes popping out. After exhaling jitters, I came to the rescue to ease Rita’s no doubt thundering pulse. “It’s probably just Betty,” I uttered. “You’re right,” she said, though she didn’t seem entirely convinced. “Wait, then why are you whispering?” Why was I whispering? Was I worried it was an intruder of some kind? No, that’s crazy talk. Thugs and muggers break into stores and banks, not deserted cinemas. “To be on the safe side,” I spoke with calm. The last thing I wanted was a Rita-fit. “Let’s just hide behind the shelves in here. It’s probably Betty-” “And if it isn’t?” Her worry jumped in. “Then we sneak out and watch movies at one of our homes.” I left out the part about the individual potentially being dangerous. She didn’t need to know that. “Come on,” I swiped at the air, guiding her behind the shelves in the corner. There were plenty, all heavily stocked with an earlier Hollywood era where women were as beautiful as they were deceptive, and men were as deadly as they were handsome. We slinked behind the second shelf, dropping to the floor. The blood-like metallic tang of the shelves was as overpowering as the must. We sat, propped against the cold metal that penetrated our denim jackets. I sought to distract myself by reading codes and movie titles scribbled on the boxes, but it proved futile. Nothing veered my attention from the unknown intruder. The part of my mind that knew I was only eleven created demonic entities or serial killers or witches feasting on young kids, breaking in for dinner. The part of my mind that was far more mature than expected at my age, assured me it was nothing, and attempted to conceal my fear with a dose of logic. But logic couldn’t be heard over my pulse. We hung on every sound. Every creak. Every boom. The noises grew louder. Our breathing became more frantic. Rita’s angst ebbed off her and stuffed the room with stifling heat. Though the metal shelf provided minimal coolness, this didn’t stop beads of sweat racing down my face, sneaking into my lip and seeping saltiness into my mouth. Then, as if the person knew our location, the door inched open. I hadn’t heard any other door open. It’s probably Betty. Who else would come straight to this room and bypass all others? Why would they come upstairs and search here first? It had to be her. Cones of tangerine light raced into the room, along with a hefty shadow dancing on the walls. Through boxes and dangling reels, my eyes found a large woman, stuffed into a summer dress. Long grey dreadlock style hair. She waddled in, exhaling with exhaustion. That’s her. I almost sighed with relief, until I saw that she dragged something. Rita went to stand when I slapped an arm over her and pressed a stiff finger to my lips. She responded with a look of utter confusion, to which I replied by leading her sight to the object she hauled inside. Was this a surprise for us? Was she going to decorate it for some special occasion? Then the orange light revealed a young girl’s body. I choked on shock. What the hell? Rita stiffened at my side. I rubbed her back before grabbing her sweat-drenched hand. Her pulse passed through her dripping hand. She was scared. As was I. But I couldn’t deny my disorientation. That can’t be a real body, can it? Or if it is, it’s a girl who is in trouble and she can’t carry her due to being overweight, so she is dragging her to safety. But why drag her up here? Questions crisscrossed in my consciousness, knotting with every second. Not an ounce of this made sense. The girl wore denim overalls with sandy blonde hair neatly separated into two ponytails on each side of her head which ran along the floor behind her, brushing dust and debris. She looked even younger than us, maybe seven or eight. Is it her kid? No, she didn’t have kids, she never married according to what our parents told us. Betty screeched out a metal fold chair and slapped it open. Not a second later she hefted the girl onto it. Her head flopped forwards, almost sending her off the chair entirely. But before this happened, Betty knocked her back. “There, there,” she whispered, smoothing a hand over the girl’s face. What on earth is going on? Is this girl hurt? Is she actually dead? Not that it mattered, when Betty rummaged in a box on the projector table. She must have brought this in with the girl and I’d been too distracted to notice. Clinks and clacks sang loudly until she retrieved a spoon-like device. Rita’s grip on my hand tightened. I’m surprised it hadn’t slipped off with the heavy layer of sweat. I swung my other arm around her, sensing she needed calming. I was able to watch and control my nerves. Rita wasn’t blessed with this ability. Betty hobbled to the front of the girl, wheezing. But this didn’t stop a smile wriggling on her face. I had known this woman for years and never seen that exact smile. It was unnerving. Her eyes didn’t hold a wholesome and genuine nature, they held something sinister. I didn’t want to get lost in that gaze in fear it’d suck me into an eternal purgatory. The device still lay in her hands as she hunched over and stared into the child’s eyes, or I assumed as much, only able to see the back of the girl, the floppy ponytails stroking her shoulders. One hand pressed on her face, and by its location, I assumed it was over or aside one of her eyes. Then the worst thing imaginable happened. The other hand jabbed that eye. Thinking fast and foreseeing my best friend’s reaction, I pressed a hand over her mouth. And as expected, it muffled a cry. Her lips tickled my palm. Thankfully, I struggled to hear it. Spit drenched my palm. I doubted the old chubby crone heard it. I looked to Rita. Tears stained her whiter-than-usual face, a whiteness of sheer terror. Squelches and slops sounded. I hunched my shoulders, fighting a gag. I daren’t look, but curiosity took hold. Yeah, as I figured, Betty was scooping out the girl’s eye with the spoon device. As I had stilled Rita’s scream, I also turned her head from the mutilation. Like her lack of vocal control, she’d be equally unable to refrain from tossing her cookies and splattering the room in the sounds of her purge. It’s amazing how when Betty first came in I wanted to jump out and surprise her. Now, I wanted to run home and not stop for an instant. I didn’t like this woman anymore. Heck, I didn’t even know this woman. She had become a stranger in all of two minutes. This deception was straight from a femme fatale movie, only far sicker and gorier. Would we survive though? That question coursed through my veins, and no doubt Rita’s. I thought I’d seen it all, but here came another serving of unbelievable. Betty yanked out the eye. I clenched my eyes shut, fearing I’d splash my breakfast on the floor or just plain pass out and send boxes of reels tumbling overhead. Or, you know, soil my pants. Thankfully, Rita’s head was buried in my shoulder nook. I knew she couldn’t see it. If she had, she’d have definitely spewed any contents in her churning stomach. Daring to be brave, and partly hoping she’d make herself scarce so we could run for it, I inched my eyes open. Now, the old crone stared at it. A vein hung from it like a worm, only it wasn’t speckled in mud or dirt, but blood and guck. Just look at Betty, don’t look at the eye. “I wonder what delightful tales you will tell,” Betty mumbled. I almost blurted out what?! But yanked that instinct back before it leapt from my tongue. Rita shivered on my shoulder, forehead pressing to my collar bone, pinching the skin. I coped with the discomfort, figuring it’s preferable to getting caught or alerting my bestie to this horrifying turn of events. Then, beyond the firm rules of belief I held, this woman I thought I knew, placed the eye in the projector. You crackpot! You absolute crackpot. What is wrong with you? But, to my disbelief, once the projector had been turned on by her sausage fingers, a movie played: the girl’s movie. From the girl’s sight, she was born, squelching from the sloppy vaginal canal. Flashes of blackness every few seconds were discombobulating. Before I concluded it was the girl blinking. Oh my goodness, is she actually playing the eyeball like a home movie reel? I gasped. Oh crap. Did she hear me? I flinched, sucking air at my stupidity. I ducked, nestling into my best friend. “Just stay quiet,” I whispered, my words no louder than a gentle exhale. I clamped my eyes shut, hoping my gasp had gone unheard by this hefty homicidal loon. The room was silent save for the movie playing from a girl’s eyeball apparently, despite defying all logic. No wheezing. No creaking. No evidence that we’d been made. She was probably too spellbound by the eyeball’s story to hear me. I opened my eyes to Betty’s on the other side of the shelf, glaring at me, a thick grin sat below them. “Oh Lacey, good, I’ve always wanted to see myself on screen. And now that you two are here, I finally can,” she snickered. I only partially understood her suggestion when the lights shut out and something pricked my neck.
Sweet Tooth Bon-bons. Liquorice. Gobstoppers. Mints. Chocolate. Lollipops. Candy floss. Jellies. Chews. Fudge. Toffee. Fruit strips. Sugar is more addictive than cocaine, or so they say. Old Man Westbrook built his entire life on this belief. His was the best candy store in town, and nobody begrudged him this. He prided himself on having the most diverse range of goodies in the county. People travelled from all over the world to visit Westbrook Confectionaries. My friends and I had a daily ritual. After school, we’d always hit the store on the way home, loading ourselves up on sweet delectables. Tooth decay be damned. When Old Man Westbrook died, the world mourned his passing. The magic from the cobbled British town vanished overnight. There weren’t bountiful kids giggling as they went to and from the sweet shop. There weren’t adults sneaking in and treating themselves to a gobstopper, pining for a nostalgic goody. It’s as if the soul of the town had been torn away. Buildings were buildings, not pieces of architecture with stories to tell. Windows were windows, not portals to peek into other worlds. Cars weren’t marvels of transportation but simply means to drudge people’s tired and bored asses to work every day. Yeah, Old Man Westbrook would be missed. He’d etched an impression on the entire town, one that would forever remain. But we had a consolation prize: Mr Westbrook, Old Man Westbrook’s younger – but not so young – son. I’d take a stab that he slumped somewhere in his sixties. He didn’t have a grandfatherly charm. Old Man Westbrook had an enchanting warmth permanently attached to his round face, with lustrous white hair atop his head. He did carry a few extra pounds, but what would you expect from a candy store owner? He often dressed as Santa at the nearby shopping centre around Christmas. He was the most convincing Santa ever seen. And, due to his profession of serving kids daily, he was great with us youngsters, even the petulant ones. Not Mr Westbrook, he was mean and scrawny, with sharp bones jutting from his age-spotted, pruned skin. Not a single strand of hair lay on his greasy head. Glasses nestled at the crook of his long witch-like nose. His teeth however, glimmered with perfection. There was only one reasonable explanation: dentures. Old Man Westbrook used to wear nice clean colourful shirts with grey trousers and polished shoes. He always tried. Even if you spotted him at the grocery store, he was smartly attired. Mr Westbrook dressed in grubby, creased t-shirts and shabby jeans. His footwear ranged from sandals or well-worn sneakers. With hairy, dirty feet like his, bound in a layer of cracked, dry skin, he should be forbidden from sandals, in a confectionary store of all places! The nails were urine-yellow and hadn’t seen a pair of clippers in years. Eurgh! A week after his funeral, routine was back in swing. And at two-thirty, the school bell rang, signalling our freedom from the plastic smelling halls and gross chemical-laden cafeteria food. It was Monday, and like most people in society, we needed something to get through the day. Yes, we only had six hours of classes which paled in comparison to the real working world. Still, Mondays were a kick in the crotch. Usually we’d bounce at the prospect of visiting Westbrook Confectionaries, mostly for the candy, but also hugely due to seeing Old Man Westbrook. His laugh was hearty and genuine. He was the grandfather everyone wished they had. Sadly, he had no grandkids of his own. His wretched kid was a miserable SOB and wasn’t exactly smooth with the ladies. Maybe that explained why he loved kids so much? He secretly wanted his own grandkid? Or perhaps – and I suspect this is the truth – he was just an honestly delightful person, through and through. Instead we had to visit the dragon, the candy was simply too good to say no. And, it was on our way home. So, my friends and I wandered the cobbled street and stopped at the spacious sweety shop. I, with my mousey brown hair and spattering of freckles on my alabaster skin, having a slim body type, strolled inside decked in my bland navy school uniform but finished off with my cool denim jacket and burgundy sneakers. The scent of sugar hit me the second the door opened, rushing my senses and arousing the taste buds on my tongue. Darren came next, with his short dark hair, tanned skin, and the same uniform, but with a sports jacket and basketball high-tops. A grin swept across his face as he eyed the many shelves and displays, although he’d seen them millions of times. Bobby waddled in, landing on the heavier side of the scales. The breeze ruffled his shaggy blonde hair. He often forewent a coat or jacket as his body temperature already ran hot, even in the winter months. That layer of chub kept him nice and toasty. His tongue smoothed across his lips in anticipation of cramming candy in his gob. Lastly, entered Samson, the quiet one among us. Tall. Lanky. Red bushy hair. His skeletal legs were squeezed into the dreaded skinny jeans. We often poked fun at his obsession with the ‘painted-on’ look, but he knew it came from a good place. His skinny jeans were black, which loosely fit in with the uniform code, but he often battled stern and sceptical looks from the stricter educators. Funnily enough, he wore an oversized hoody, as always. “It still feels the same.” Samson smiled, eyes rolling around the store. “I know, he is still lingering,” Bobby whispered, catching sight of Mr Westbrook stacking the shelves. Bobby nudged me in his direction. The man crouched on the floor slamming boxes onto shelves. He moaned with monotony; his face sagged with depression. “I dunno, it smells different. The surfaces aren’t as shiny and the displays aren’t as….” Darren commented, searching for the right words. “Magical,” I hazarded a guess. “Yeah, that.” His bravado prevented him from saying anything perceived as feminine. He had a point. The two huge windows sandwiching the entrance door weren’t as glossy. The wooden floor didn’t sparkle. The displays were put together with convenience in mind, not with an artistic flare. Old Man Westbrook used scented candles offering a fragrance of well-known sweets to bring an appetite-stirring scent to the room. His son didn’t go to this effort. Or any effort besides the essentials. Even the candy wrappers and bags looked as if they’d been polished when Old Man Westbrook had been here. He put his heart and soul into this place. “We getting the usual?” Samson mumbled, which he did from time to time. We used to struggle understanding him, but now we were experts at the Samumble. “I am.” “Me too.” “Me three.” Darren always got anything minty. I loved anything fizzy and fruity, which often elicited many jokes as I was gay. Bobby loved chocolate bars, it made him feel as though he was in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. That was his dream, he prayed they’d open a real-life factory, like in the movie, soon. And Samson’s weakness was lollipops. We used to think he chose those as he had an excuse not to talk while he sucked away at uniquely flavoured lollies. Custard. Key lime pie. Lemon Meringue. Cherry cake. But, as it turns out, he liked sucking on candy. And I’m supposed to be the gay one among our gang. Once we’d ransacked ‘our’ sections of the store and loaded up on creamy, tangy, juicy, sugar-infested snacks, we reluctantly headed to the counter. Mr Westbrook saw that we waited in a bundle at the checkout. He grumbled and hobbled over, face void of emotion. If his father had still been here, we would have chatted about our days to him. He took a keen interest in our studies, passions and ambitions, always encouraging us to pursue our dreams. Mr Westbrook on the other hand, seemed incapable of emotion entirely. “Just those?” he asked each of us individually, using the exact same tone and inflection. “Yeah,” each of us awkwardly responded. I almost cringed at his frumpy, dirty clothing. His shiny bald head almost blinded us, reflecting the fluorescent light. Another thing that had changed. O.M.W had used warmer, softer, more flattering lights. His son chose to go for the cheapest, harshest bulbs on the market. After handing over cash, we scurried out of there, congregating on the street. “I hope they get a new owner soon.” Bobby confessed. “Me too!” We all agreed. “He is really creepy,” Samson muttered. “Hell yeah!” Darren yelled in agreement. We toddled home, and managed to abstain from binging on our goodies. Fifteen minutes wasn’t long, except when you wanted to stuff your mouth with sweetness. We were only thirteen; we hadn’t developed patience or the concept of delayed gratification yet. One by one, we parted ways. We often hung out after school, but not tonight; we were shattered. We each killed time in our rooms. I watched a movie. Darren no doubt worked on his swish-hoop skills. Bobby more than likely huddled in his basement, lost in a universe of mystical creatures and sword fighting. And Samson would have his nose firmly buried in a book. My movie ended in no time. I nuzzled into my pillow and let sleep take me. *** At two a.m. I awoke to the ruckus of wailing and crashing. Adrenaline kicked in. I tossed my electric blue quilt from me and leapt from bed. I hopped to the window, wearing nothing but my superhero t-shirt and shorts. I flinched at the frosty wood of my bedroom floor. I pressed myself against the glass and looked over the street. Usually, the street would be sleeping peacefully. Crickets would chirp. Lamps would buzz. House lights would be out. The moon would offer a slight silky glimmer. It would echo calm. Not tonight. Trash cans were overturned, with their contents pouring on the asphalt. Cars were dented, smashed, and ruined. Glass shimmered on the road and pathway. Doors lay on porches. Windows were shattered, curtains flailing wildly out of them as if trying to escape. Howls were the music of the night. Hollers. Wails. Shrieks. Every variation crashed through the street, resounding fear. Meshing with the shrillness were roars, grumbles, and rageful shouts, ringing fury and violence. What the hell is going on? Zombie apocalypse? Rabies? End of days? Infection? People were running amuck up and down the streets, obliterating everything in sight, living or not. Bodies lay both on the road and sidewalk, some were sprawled on lawns and in driveways, scattered in grass or impaled by fence pickets. Maybe prisoners had escaped due to an epic lock malfunction? A mental hospital breakout? Had a violent biker gang chosen our town to pillage? Had a gang initiation brought thugs to destroy our homes and slaughter our neighbours? Yet, as I set my sight on one criminal, I realized they wore a Halloween costume. Green flesh. Red beady eyes. Huge gorilla feet. Machete-like claws. Then, as my eyes adjusted, another realisation punched me in the stomach: they weren’t costumes. “Fuck.” My parents would have spanked me for that outburst, but we had bigger problems. My attention was robbed by another monster, no, not monster, werewolf. Furry. Gigantic. Slobbering as it stomped from house to house, person to person, tearing everything apart. Flesh was flung. Hair was torn. Blood splattered everything. Bones dinged against vehicles, lamp posts, and brick houses. This can’t be real. This is a dream. Wake up you dummy! Bring-bring. My laptop rang. The gang and I had a private online video chat group. We often used it for videogaming or catching up. I sprang to it, jamming the green button. The screen separated into four squares, showing each of us. My reflection portrayed how deeply unsettled I was. My bedhead and huge eyes offered that much. “What’s going on?” I blurted out, dropping onto my chair and sliding under the desk. “The world’s gone mad!” Darren shouted, his eyes horror-sparked. “People are killing each other,” Bobby frowned, his shags crazier than normal. “I have a theory,” Samson, the smart one, veered off our comments surrounding the chaos unfolding outside, with logic, his face snow-white. “Which is?” Darren jumped in. “The candy,” he uttered. “What?” Bobby looked as if he’d been forced to eat liver. He wasn’t swallowing – or understanding – this theory. “The candy has turned kids into monsters,” he pushed out through a wobbling lip. “That’s nuts!” Darren’s head bopped with each word, almost as if the suggestion clobbered his senses. “Okay, okay,” I dived in, sensing this would escalate to an argument. “Samson, why would you think this? Why would you jump straight to that?” “The new owner is creepy. And all the things outside look small. Plus, all the victims so far, as told by the news, have been adults,” he explained, scraping his fringe from his forehead. “Is this a story from one of your books?” Bobby mocked, one eyebrow reaching for his hairline, the other forming an upside-down smile. “Reading helps my imagination, but it’s a gut instinct telling me this.” Could he be right? Could the new owner have infected the candy and morphed kids into monsters? I wouldn’t put it past the creep. “Wait, have any of you guys had any of the candy we bought today?” I asked, beads of worry trickling my face. “Nah, I had some we bought last week,” Darren replied. “Nope, my mum took them and she has me on a candy limit. She gives me one a day if I get good reports from school,” Bobby sighed. “I’m the same as Darren, I ate older candy but not the stuff we got today,” Samson responded. “I didn’t either,” the words came out as my mind spun, my eyes absentmindedly staring at the keyboard, realizing it needed a good dusting. Is he right? “Is Old Man Westbrook’s son in on it?” I put out there. “Probably, freak,” Darren tutted, scratching his neck. “Yeah, he was spooky,” Samson added. “But how would he even go about doing it?” I asked. “Erm…. some hocus pocus or something?” Samson mumbled. “Nah, don’t be crazy, magic doesn’t exist. It’s probably science stuff,” Darren suggested. “Could be.” I scrunched my lips. “What now?” Bobby stepped in, his face sweatier than the rest of us. It wasn’t helped by the bright computer screen flooding his features. We all waited, hoping one of us would produce some marvellous idea. “We….” Samson started. “We what?” Darren encouraged. “You won’t like it.” “I don’t care, it’s something. What is it?” “We burn down Westbrook Confectionary,” he murmured, delicately suggesting a radical idea. “What!” Darren blurted, followed with equal reactions of shock from all of us. “Wait, hold up guys. Why something so extreme?” I questioned. “Destroy the infected candy,” Samson answered. “But we could kill Mr Westbrook,” I informed them. “Beyond that, we would be burning down a legacy.” Bobby smeared sweat from his forehead. We all nodded and moaned in agreement. “What other choice do we have? It was just an idea. Anyone else got any suggestions?” Samson inquired. Silence was our enemy. Our faces, split into four on my screen, were overtaken with various expressions of cluelessness. Our eyes searched for answers, but found none. There had to be something less crazy. Surely? Or was this our only solution? “Nobody?” Agitation clutched Darren’s words. The only response he got was a torrent of shrugs and hmphs. “We really gonna do this?” Bobby asked, squirming. “I guess so…” I responded. It took a few minutes for it to sink in. Our only way to help was to burn our haven. I really didn’t wanna do this, but again, we had no choice. If we let this continue, there’d be no town left. The riot outside grew louder. Bash. Blast. Boom. However frightening, screams were a good sign. Screaming implied people were still alive, fighting off the little monsters. Wanting to stop any more adults from dying, I took charge and gave instructions to meet at our place. Our place was the Mansfield building, an abandoned structure that had witnessed a father butchering his entire family. The story had consumed the news for months, outraging and unnerving everyone. It kept them away, giving us some privacy. We’d broken in a few times on Halloween and told haunting stories. We didn’t venture too far inside, mainly residing in the living or dining room. Our balls weren’t yet big enough to bless us with the strength to delve deeper. Once we’d even took a Ouija board inside and tried to communicate with the dead. We’d thought our efforts had been fruitless, until a flea-ridden sofa had moved of its own accord, screeching across the worn wood. A cobweb-coated mirror had toppled over and shattered. We hadn’t waited for more anomalies. We’d bolted. Okay, here we go, again. *** We all lived within a fifteen-minute radius from each other. On a normal night, making it to the Mansfield place was a breeze. Tonight, we were risking our lives. I shed my PJs and stepped into a pair of denim jeans, pulled a white t-shirt over my head, and encased myself in a bubbly black winter coat. I slipped into a pair of sports shoes, presuming I’d be running. It wasn’t until I entered the hallway that it dawned on me: my parents. Were they still sleeping soundly? Had the tumult awoke them? Were they…… no. I can’t finish that thought. I crept to their bedroom door and inched it open. Snores thundered from the room: my dad. My stomach settled – not completely, but still – at the sight of them resting peacefully. Come on, get a jiggle on. I delicately closed the door and scrambled downstairs, swinging around the bannister and landing at the front door. I instinctively closed my fingers around the gold handle, almost flinging it open, as I normally would. But nothing about this situation was normal. We weren’t even in the vicinity of normal. A war had broken out, a war between miniature but terrifying demons and adults, all because – as far as we could tell – of candy. Anxiety wriggled in my stomach. My heart sped up. I took a deep breath, and cracked open the door. Without the aid of doors, windows, or walls blocking the sound, the volume went uninhibited. It ruined the streets. Sounds I hadn’t even heard in movies ran along the neighbourhood. Snarls. Grunts. Hisses. Alien-like trills. I didn’t even want to imagine what those sounds belonged to. I pushed myself against the wall of our porch. Our lawn had already been assaulted. The turf was shredded. My father’s car was totalled. The garage door was heavily dented and wore scratches, but it seemed my mother’s vehicle went unharmed inside. Our picket fence lay on the lawn and sidewalk. Some had even made it as far as the road, splintery and snapped. If only that’s all I had to worry about. But oh no, demons beyond my wildest imagination ravaged the street. Their lust for chaos hadn’t relented at all. I clocked a green monster, a white fanged beast, a red slimy serpent, a winged creature, a thing made of teeth. I shivered. I wanted to scream. I wanted to crawl in bed and shield myself from the horror with my bedsheet. All it took was for one of them to see me, and I’d be gonzo. They seemed to have a taste for adults, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I side-stepped to the fence and threw myself over it. I landed ungracefully but my bubbly coat absorbed the fall. I lay behind a sturdy growth of bushes, well-hidden for the moment. I needed a few more seconds to build the courage to sneak from house to house to the Mansfield place. All I needed to do was stay out of sight. Staying low, I dashed to the next-door neighbour’s, taking concealment behind their fence. I peeked through a gap in the wooden fence. The pandemonium boomed down the street. They were growing tired of wrecking these houses; they needed new homes and victims. At the speed they worked, the town would be dead in hours. Come on, we don’t have time to dillydally. Get moving. I pushed away from the fence and shuffled to their backyard. Disoriented by the riot, I bumped into the tree. My nose throbbed. Liquid sprayed onto my upper lip. Blood, I assumed. The impact knocked me to the turf. I landed with a thud. Again, thank heavens for my padded winter coat. But as my eyes bolted up, I felt anything but thankful. My throat dried. Needles of anxiety jabbed my stomach. I froze, laying on the damp grass, staring at some hellish creation straight from my night terrors. Purple lumpy flesh. Ghost-white eyes. Dagger-like teeth. Guck glazed this monster, sliding down its form. I gasped. My body shot to life as I squirmed away, digging fingers into the lawn, helplessly yanking myself backwards as it stomped towards me. This didn’t look mini. This didn’t look any less horrifying than if it had been seven-feet of monstrousness. Nails mimicking samurais cut the grass as it approached me, sending green strips spitting into the air. I really didn’t wanna die at the hands of those keen-edged nails. Despite the hammering of my heart, I performed a backwards roll and stood. My legs were jelly. My balance was compromised. Hopefully I could still run. Testing this, I turned and sprinted for all I was worth. Come on, five minutes tops and you’ll be at the Mansfield place. The grunting and destruction ringing out behind proved distracting, but I didn’t stop for a second. I wasn’t going to be a horror movie cliché. I heard it, therefore, it was close. That’s all I needed to know. I barrelled by home after home, ruckus after ruckus, obliteration after obliteration, chest aching, mind racing. Regardless of my youth, my calves ached. Leaping over obstructions proved exhausting. The creature didn’t have this issue. He, she, or it, simply bashed into everything and anything, sending it soaring into the night, exploding into houses or cars. Apparently, I’d made good time as I saw a collection of Caucasian boys – my mates – standing at the side of the Mansfield place. Dark cracked wood. Mucky windows. Overgrown grass. What do I do? Yell ‘run’? But if I did, I’d alert even more demons to our presence. “Guys!” I stage-whispered. Nothing. “Guys,” I whispered louder. Still nothing. Something jangled in my coat pocket, yanking at the seams of my attention. Still running, I reached into the pocket and closed my fingers around the hopping object: a pen. Without a second thought, I launched it at them. My aim wasn’t the best, I wasn’t Darren. Hopefully it would at least hit one of them. I watched it somersault, turning and twisting. In a flash, it whacked Bobby on the head. “Hey,” he mumbled, rubbing his head. “What…” His sentence was cut short when he saw me. “Guys!” he uttered quietly, wagging a finger, drawing their attention to me. Darren shoved them aside and retrieved something from his navy sports jacket. A gun! I almost tripped over my own feet. What the hell? A gun? Or is it a pellet gun? Paint gun? I searched for any other explanation than a firearm. I had only met Darren’s dads a few times. Would one of them carry a revolver in their house? Is that how he’d acquired this weapon? I closed in on my buddies, panting and sweating. “Duck,” Darren whispered forcefully. I dove onto the neglected lawn. Between the uncut greenery and my coat, it was akin to landing on clouds. But my comfort only lasted the briefest of moments, before a shot rang out. I twirled in the grass. Samson dragged me up as the monster collapsed to the ground. The impact sent a thud drumming through the lawn, making it to our feet. “What now?” I huffed, smoothing plant life and guck from my coat. “Run,” Darren ordered. But as we dashed to leave the house, gunfire had alerted an entourage of demons to us. Hordes of them littered the street, slobbering, grunting, bellowing, barking, snarling. They approached us, some stomping, others slinking, and a few flying. “And now?” “The house,” Darren commanded. I almost yelled ‘the house?!’ in total shock. We’d only been in there a few times for Halloween, but we had to psych ourselves up for weeks. To just enter the place of one of our town’s biggest murders without a second thought seemed foolish and unsafe. But choices were scarce. We hotfooted it up the creaky wooden steps. Darren booted the front door open as we flooded through the threshold. When I was in, the last of us, he slammed it shut, engaging the bolts. But we knew those bronze-rusted locks wouldn’t hold, neither would the termite-infested door. The only answer was to head upstairs and hide. “Upstairs, hide,” Darren again instructed, this time between heavy breaths. Following Darren’s advice, we pounded upstairs. Our breathing suffused the musty house, void of furniture, if you don’t count dust, thread-less rugs, bulb-less lamps, frayed curtains, and smudged mirrors plotted around as if ghosts had been squashed (and killed) against the reflective panes. We dislodged sheets of dust as we scrambled upstairs. A couple of us couldn’t help but bark, coughing our lungs up. Myself included. I struggled to follow my friends; it became darker the higher we went. This wasn’t helped by my friends choosing to deck themselves in similar attire as me: dark coats or jackets, with jeans, and appropriate footwear. None wore neon clothing or anything reflective. I relied on the odd stray streak of moonlight hacking through the stairway windows, some of which were boarded up. My pals were relentless, even Bobby, lugging around a few extra pounds. I had to admire him. We thumped and thumped, our legs growing tired and lazy, muscles burning. Come on, come on. I just wanted to reach the top, whatever the case. I found it oddly hilarious that the few times we’d snuck in here previously we’d quietly scurried around like four blind mice. This time, our huff and puffs and stomps could bring the house to its knees. The windows became fewer and fewer. The moonlight became scarcer and scarcer. Soon, darkness consumed my friends. I only followed their sounds. Sometimes silhouettes were visible, other times they were completely saturated in black. I merely relied on the dusty, splintery bannister to guide the way. But when my hand hit a wooden globe and the streak of damaged wood came to an end, I had to rely on my senses, aural mostly. A creak came, followed by a gentle tap. Attic? “Hurry,” Darren panted. The scuffles yanked me forwards, into a room with just enough moonlight shedding through wooden beams to allow visibility. The door slammed shut, sending a rattle through the walls. Dust rained on us. Yet again, we coughed a hurricane. “What now?” Samson asked, voice pricked in worry. “Hide?” Bobby suggested. “Hide? Dude, they are minutes behind us. They know we’re up here,” Darren alerted. That drummed silence into all of us. Was this it? Were we going to meet with the Grim Reaper at the age of thirteen? I didn’t wanna die. “Oh crap, what now? Can we jump?” I asked. Samson shuffled to a wall and peeped through a crack. “It’s too high, we’d break our legs if not die. We’d be out in the open for them to kill us.” “Guys…. I have a last resort idea,” Bobby panted, still catching his breath. I’d bet he regrets stuffing his face for all those years now. “What is it?” Darren asked, eager for a way out. By his black shape and murky shadow cast on the wall, I made out his hand. He reached into a jacket pocket. Scrunches echoed in the attic. Huh? Light bounced off a pile of something in Bobby’s palm. He rolled them in his fingers, eliciting a crinkle or two. “Is that candy? The tainted candy?” I asked. “Yup.” “What are we saying here guys?” Darren asked. “If we can’t beat ‘em,” Bobby answered. After little debate, we unwrapped the candy. We offered minimal sentiment, given we were mainly consumed with dread. What would… I became hot. Furious. Ravenous. My skin stretched. My sight adapted to the dark with HD clarity. I craved violence. I desired flesh. I wanted to guzzle blood. Soon, my thoughts became that of a caveman. I was no more. Kill…eat…death… Project This I love movies. I love everything about them. I love any and every genre and film style. I love black and white, colour, a satisfying combo of both. You could woo me with a romance, shock me with a suspense / thriller, haunt me with a horror, wow me with an action / adventure, and even lure me with an older movie, perhaps where a femme fatale takes the lead and deceives a bold but dumb gentleman. Cinema is my life, and I am only eleven years old. I am oddly mature for my age. I am not just book-smart but life-smart, if that’s the right term. So is my bestie – and only friend - Rita. Low on the school food chain, we weren’t exactly reaching for the clouds. In fact, we were scraping the pavement, along with janitors and computer geeks. Rita and I kept to ourselves. This was easy, as we weren’t what you’d call ‘beautiful’. We’d hopefully grow into our looks, as our parents promised, but there were no guarantees. As long as we had each other and our love affair with film, we’d be swell. We resembled sisters with our matching braces and goofy glasses, except my skin was spot-covered and hers was deathly pale. Her hair was light-blonde, the colour of creamy white chocolate. Mine on the other hand, was flat out ginger. We didn’t dress in ‘trendy’ clothing and flock to the mall every weekend to spend our allowances on pointless fashion accessories and mountains of shoes. We spent our weekends doing something far more worthwhile and enjoyable: going to Betty’s secret cinema. Our neighbour, Betty Sinclair, had worked her entire life at a movie theatre. She loved watching and discovering truly exquisite movies. She adored watching viewers in their red velvet seats gasp and laugh and cry at the scenes unfolding onscreen. The cinema in our village had long ago been abandoned. I was around five when this happened; Rita and I were crushed. We would have been able to visit every weekend when we got old enough. But nope, fate had struck a devastating blow to our dreams. We figured when we got a few years older we’d hop on a train into the next town over to enjoy movies. But as luck would have it, Betty was our miracle. She’d heard about our movie obsession from our parents and came around to visit us with a collection of black and white films. We had jumped for joy. But when our parents left the room so we could talk shop, it became apparent that wasn’t the offer on the table. Betty had worked at the cinema before it went into liquidation. However, she kept her keys to access it and regularly snuck in to watch movies. The village would most likely leave it be for years to come. Our village wasn’t flush with cash. They had to focus on bringing money in, not spending tens of thousands repairing a cinema that may or may not bring a flow of cash. We were nine then, and two years later, most weekends Betty would collect us and drive to the cinema. She told both our parents she’d take us into the next town to watch movies. As an unfortunate coincidence, neither Rita nor I had grandparents. So, our parents loved Betty taking us out most weekends. And they knew we relished spending time with her. *** It was a typical Saturday. The sun gushed through my bedroom window as I slipped into jeans and a t-shirt. I didn’t faff around with makeup and hair products, but rather pulled my frizzy mane into a bobble and dabbed sunscreen over my cheeks and nose. Even on milder summer days, sunburn lay in wait. Rita came around in similar attire, jeans and a t-shirt, but her shirt was butter-yellow with an old cartoon at the chest. Mine was ghost-white. We wore red sneakers, which we’d bought together on one of our rare shopping trips. Given our old shoes were practically begging to be replaced with the flapping soles, we had no choice. Sun washed the streets, but this didn’t deter a slight chill, so we wore denim jackets. We waved farewell to my parents and set out to the cinema, unbeknown to them. They had the impression we were going to the park. I wondered where they got that idea… The previous week Betty informed us she had a busy weekend the following week, so we’d have to skip movies that weekend. Rita had offered ways to fill our weekend, but nothing was as enticing as sneaking into the run-down movie theatre and watching a classic flick. Our journey went from a peaceful idyllic neighbourhood with white picket fences and freshly mown grass, to the village. We passed many thriving businesses and bustling coffee shops on our way to the dodgy part of town. We weren’t silly or stupid. At night, we’d never dream of roaming around here, but during the day we were fine. After all, we’d been coming to these parts for over two years with Betty and had never came across even a fragment of trouble. There had been the occasional homeless person catching some zzz’s, but that was it. And they were harmless. We crept to the back entrance, shuffling through the alley and locating Betty’s hidden backup key. She’d stashed it underneath a trash can. It glimmered in the dirty alley, complete with overflowing garbage, graffitied walls, and boarded windows on parallel buildings that had been equally ravaged by neglect and time. None of this deterred us in the least. This was our own plot of heaven. This was our escape. We dove into various film worlds and got lost in the magnificence. The door creaked open, splashing daylight onto a lint-infested burgundy carpet and faded taupe walls. Old movie posters hung unevenly in glass frames, wearing curtains of dust. Cobwebs hung from light fixtures, which surprisingly still worked. No one had thought to switch off the electric. Or, someone still paid the bill. We’d often speculated that Betty covered the bill for our benefit. Who on earth would want to steal or ruin a kid’s dreams? We switched on the lights, which only brought an orange tint to the darkness. It didn’t expose everything with the same harsh clarity of the sun or a blinding florescent bulb, but rather saved us from absolute darkness. We knew the way even if we had to tread through total dark. The staircase came up on the right, which we ascended. A film of dust draped the bannister and the air was far staler up here. “Will Betty be mad at us you think?” Rita worried. That worry wasn’t exclusive to her tone, it crinkled her milky complexion. “Not at all, she probably assumes we’ll do as much,” I lied. “Oh, you think?” Her tone shot up, worry shedding quickly. “Oh absolutely,” I feigned confidence. I hated to lie, especially to my bestie, but I didn’t want Rita fretting. She was a worrywart. And truth be told, I couldn’t imagine Betty freaking out if she caught us. She’d probably chuckle and shake her head. I felt bad for my first reaction upon meeting Miss Sinclair. She was a little plump. Okay, she was fat. I hate that word, but she was. Her age was evident by loose skin otherwise referred to as jowls, as well as wrinkles and other un-firm flesh. Her grey ropey hair didn’t exactly imply ‘youth’ either. Despite appearances, she wasn’t always stuffing her face. She had a medical condition that cursed her with rolls aplenty. School kids who knew her from around would say she had more pounds than a British bank. I had to bite my tongue on more than one occasion. I wanted to defend her so badly, but it was useless, and I’d probably get my glasses broken and braces torn from my gob. We veered left at the top of the staircase and opened into our nirvana. The familiar scent of must rushed at us. It wasn’t what one would call a ‘delicious’ or ‘appetizing’ smell, but it was home to us. The scent was so powerful it coated our tongues. When first coming here, we’d battled doubts. But after watching a gem of cinema we’d never seen before, we became quickly attached to this place. Film reels were a canopy to the roof, strung around like birthday banners. Boxes of reels were tucked away on the carpet or in metal shelves to the back. The projector took centre stage in the middle of the room, giving us endless joy. It stood on a not completely straight table scarred with cracks and chips. Again, so what? The wallpaper in here wasn’t a discoloured taupe but a magical red of Hollywood carpet that celebrities used when facing rambunctious crowds and flashing cameras at film premieres. The screen at the end of the mid-sized room ate the wall. This helped make everything larger than life. We were completely immersed in movies. “Oh crap,” Rita blurted. She stood aside the metal shelves, hands submerged in movie reels, face a look of regret. “What is it?” “We forgot snacks and pop,” she tutted. Shock. Horror! I knew there were worse things unravelling in our world, but what’s a movie trip without snacks and beverages? Now that she mentioned it, I craved something sugary, and a fizzy cola. “There’s a corner shop around here somewhere. You have any money?” “Five pound, you?” “Five pound,” I replied. “That should get us plenty. Let’s hurry so we can watch a few flicks before it gets dark out.” Good thinking! She’s always one step ahead of me, one of the many reasons I love my sister from another mister. “Wait, why don’t you decide on a movie, and I’ll go get us some goodies?” Again, she was full of good ideas. “Great thinking! Wait, how do I know what movie to pick?” “Lacey, we watch movies most weekends here, we love anything good. And we’ve even watched some bad movies for Betty’s sake and still enjoyed them. I trust you’ll pick a good one.” “Okay, I’ll-” my sentence was cut short due to the slam of the back-door downstairs. We jerked, eyes popping out. After exhaling jitters, I came to the rescue to ease Rita’s no doubt thundering pulse. “It’s probably just Betty,” I uttered. “You’re right,” she said, though she didn’t seem entirely convinced. “Wait, then why are you whispering?” Why was I whispering? Was I worried it was an intruder of some kind? No, that’s crazy talk. Thugs and muggers break into stores and banks, not deserted cinemas. “To be on the safe side,” I spoke with calm. The last thing I wanted was a Rita-fit. “Let’s just hide behind the shelves in here. It’s probably Betty-” “And if it isn’t?” Her worry jumped in. “Then we sneak out and watch movies at one of our homes.” I left out the part about the individual potentially being dangerous. She didn’t need to know that. “Come on,” I swiped at the air, guiding her behind the shelves in the corner. There were plenty, all heavily stocked with an earlier Hollywood era where women were as beautiful as they were deceptive, and men were as deadly as they were handsome. We slinked behind the second shelf, dropping to the floor. The blood-like metallic tang of the shelves was as overpowering as the must. We sat, propped against the cold metal that penetrated our denim jackets. I sought to distract myself by reading codes and movie titles scribbled on the boxes, but it proved futile. Nothing veered my attention from the unknown intruder. The part of my mind that knew I was only eleven created demonic entities or serial killers or witches feasting on young kids, breaking in for dinner. The part of my mind that was far more mature than expected at my age, assured me it was nothing, and attempted to conceal my fear with a dose of logic. But logic couldn’t be heard over my pulse. We hung on every sound. Every creak. Every boom. The noises grew louder. Our breathing became more frantic. Rita’s angst ebbed off her and stuffed the room with stifling heat. Though the metal shelf provided minimal coolness, this didn’t stop beads of sweat racing down my face, sneaking into my lip and seeping saltiness into my mouth. Then, as if the person knew our location, the door inched open. I hadn’t heard any other door open. It’s probably Betty. Who else would come straight to this room and bypass all others? Why would they come upstairs and search here first? It had to be her. Cones of tangerine light raced into the room, along with a hefty shadow dancing on the walls. Through boxes and dangling reels, my eyes found a large woman, stuffed into a summer dress. Long grey dreadlock style hair. She waddled in, exhaling with exhaustion. That’s her. I almost sighed with relief, until I saw that she dragged something. Rita went to stand when I slapped an arm over her and pressed a stiff finger to my lips. She responded with a look of utter confusion, to which I replied by leading her sight to the object she hauled inside. Was this a surprise for us? Was she going to decorate it for some special occasion? Then the orange light revealed a young girl’s body. I choked on shock. What the hell? Rita stiffened at my side. I rubbed her back before grabbing her sweat-drenched hand. Her pulse passed through her dripping hand. She was scared. As was I. But I couldn’t deny my disorientation. That can’t be a real body, can it? Or if it is, it’s a girl who is in trouble and she can’t carry her due to being overweight, so she is dragging her to safety. But why drag her up here? Questions crisscrossed in my consciousness, knotting with every second. Not an ounce of this made sense. The girl wore denim overalls with sandy blonde hair neatly separated into two ponytails on each side of her head which ran along the floor behind her, brushing dust and debris. She looked even younger than us, maybe seven or eight. Is it her kid? No, she didn’t have kids, she never married according to what our parents told us. Betty screeched out a metal fold chair and slapped it open. Not a second later she hefted the girl onto it. Her head flopped forwards, almost sending her off the chair entirely. But before this happened, Betty knocked her back. “There, there,” she whispered, smoothing a hand over the girl’s face. What on earth is going on? Is this girl hurt? Is she actually dead? Not that it mattered, when Betty rummaged in a box on the projector table. She must have brought this in with the girl and I’d been too distracted to notice. Clinks and clacks sang loudly until she retrieved a spoon-like device. Rita’s grip on my hand tightened. I’m surprised it hadn’t slipped off with the heavy layer of sweat. I swung my other arm around her, sensing she needed calming. I was able to watch and control my nerves. Rita wasn’t blessed with this ability. Betty hobbled to the front of the girl, wheezing. But this didn’t stop a smile wriggling on her face. I had known this woman for years and never seen that exact smile. It was unnerving. Her eyes didn’t hold a wholesome and genuine nature, they held something sinister. I didn’t want to get lost in that gaze in fear it’d suck me into an eternal purgatory. The device still lay in her hands as she hunched over and stared into the child’s eyes, or I assumed as much, only able to see the back of the girl, the floppy ponytails stroking her shoulders. One hand pressed on her face, and by its location, I assumed it was over or aside one of her eyes. Then the worst thing imaginable happened. The other hand jabbed that eye. Thinking fast and foreseeing my best friend’s reaction, I pressed a hand over her mouth. And as expected, it muffled a cry. Her lips tickled my palm. Thankfully, I struggled to hear it. Spit drenched my palm. I doubted the old chubby crone heard it. I looked to Rita. Tears stained her whiter-than-usual face, a whiteness of sheer terror. Squelches and slops sounded. I hunched my shoulders, fighting a gag. I daren’t look, but curiosity took hold. Yeah, as I figured, Betty was scooping out the girl’s eye with the spoon device. As I had stilled Rita’s scream, I also turned her head from the mutilation. Like her lack of vocal control, she’d be equally unable to refrain from tossing her cookies and splattering the room in the sounds of her purge. It’s amazing how when Betty first came in I wanted to jump out and surprise her. Now, I wanted to run home and not stop for an instant. I didn’t like this woman anymore. Heck, I didn’t even know this woman. She had become a stranger in all of two minutes. This deception was straight from a femme fatale movie, only far sicker and gorier. Would we survive though? That question coursed through my veins, and no doubt Rita’s. I thought I’d seen it all, but here came another serving of unbelievable. Betty yanked out the eye. I clenched my eyes shut, fearing I’d splash my breakfast on the floor or just plain pass out and send boxes of reels tumbling overhead. Or, you know, soil my pants. Thankfully, Rita’s head was buried in my shoulder nook. I knew she couldn’t see it. If she had, she’d have definitely spewed any contents in her churning stomach. Daring to be brave, and partly hoping she’d make herself scarce so we could run for it, I inched my eyes open. Now, the old crone stared at it. A vein hung from it like a worm, only it wasn’t speckled in mud or dirt, but blood and guck. Just look at Betty, don’t look at the eye. “I wonder what delightful tales you will tell,” Betty mumbled. I almost blurted out what?! But yanked that instinct back before it leapt from my tongue. Rita shivered on my shoulder, forehead pressing to my collar bone, pinching the skin. I coped with the discomfort, figuring it’s preferable to getting caught or alerting my bestie to this horrifying turn of events. Then, beyond the firm rules of belief I held, this woman I thought I knew, placed the eye in the projector. You crackpot! You absolute crackpot. What is wrong with you? But, to my disbelief, once the projector had been turned on by her sausage fingers, a movie played: the girl’s movie. From the girl’s sight, she was born, squelching from the sloppy vaginal canal. Flashes of blackness every few seconds were discombobulating. Before I concluded it was the girl blinking. Oh my goodness, is she actually playing the eyeball like a home movie reel? I gasped. Oh crap. Did she hear me? I flinched, sucking air at my stupidity. I ducked, nestling into my best friend. “Just stay quiet,” I whispered, my words no louder than a gentle exhale. I clamped my eyes shut, hoping my gasp had gone unheard by this hefty homicidal loon. The room was silent save for the movie playing from a girl’s eyeball apparently, despite defying all logic. No wheezing. No creaking. No evidence that we’d been made. She was probably too spellbound by the eyeball’s story to hear me. I opened my eyes to Betty’s on the other side of the shelf, glaring at me, a thick grin sat below them. “Oh Lacey, good, I’ve always wanted to see myself on screen. And now that you two are here, I finally can,” she snickered. I only partially understood her suggestion when the lights shut out and something pricked my neck. How do I describe Old Lady McCaw? Well, her surname is aptly suited to her as she resembles a crow. Skinny doesn’t quite cover it; try skeletal. I’d guesstimate she was around eighty years of age, from her saggy, lined skin. She spends much of her time inside, so no sun damage discolours her skin. She is sickly pale. And when she does venture outside, she carts around a gothic umbrella. Her hair is mostly white, with streaks of black from her youth stubbornly tangled into her frizzy, untameable mane. It kind of looks like a wig. Maybe it is? Maybe she has a room of wigs? Eurgh. Creepy. She hobbles around with the aid of a walking stick. Not a high-end plastic or metal one, but an old-fashioned wooden pole curved at the end. Her wrinkled, arthritis-lumped knuckles slot into the hook as if the wooden walking aid was custom made for her. Her attire doesn’t stray from frumpy and dark. Long obsidian dresses billowing in the wind are her thing. She is essentially a flag, what with the hair lashing in the breeze and her loose-fitting ensemble flapping around. In the neighbourhood, her reputation isn’t the greatest. She’s freaky. She gives me the creeps. Why does she stay in that house all the time? She’s a witch! Those are merely a few of the colourful comments used when referring to Old Lady McCaw. Personally, I don’t mind her. Every Sunday, at ten a.m. sharp, she brings my mother and I freshly baked treats. Sometimes scones, other times muffins, and on occasion, cookies. They have one thing in common though: they are always utterly scrumptious. She’d been good to my mother since my father left with a whore of a waitress. How cliché can you get? She would bring herbal calming remedies, talk to my mother for hours, and bring her unusual but thoughtful gifts. They ranged from sculptures of, let’s say, shapes to not entirely unpleasant jewellery which my mother liked. Old Lady McCaw claimed the necklace crystals were for strength and healing. I’m not sure how much I believe when it came to spirituality, but it seemed to be working. As long as my mum feels good, that’s all I want. I should probably mention the wind chimes, too. They decorated the deck of her one-story home. An array of them hung from the roof, dangling over the wooden deck. Some were nailed to windows. Others were hammered to doors. A withered shed stood aside her home. I’d never been in it, in fact, I’d never been inside her house. But from my second-story bedroom window, I’d clocked her going inside it late at night. News of her nightly activities had spread like wildfire around the school. Why is she going into a shed late? What’s she doing? Hexing people? Casting spells? I wanted to discourage the rumours, but I also didn’t want to be singled out and inevitably bullied. One night I grew curious. I had to know what she was doing. And, I found out. Her home sat beyond our backyard, discreetly nestled into the corner of our street and concealed behind a bustle of bushes and hordes of high-reaching trees. Lady McCaw’s house was made of ageing wood, fractured and peeling paint, and stained windows. I tried not to judge; she was ancient, after all. One night, in my baby-blue pyjamas, I stepped into my fluffy slippers, slipped into a denim jacket, and headed to her shed. I crept downstairs, cautiously avoiding the creaky spots. I snuck out the backdoor and scurried to her yard. The bushes became my companions as I dashed by, hugging the green growth in case I needed to dive into their prickly but concealing embrace. Her house came first. Silent. No lights. The zing of faraway streetlights sang into the night, along with the hum of the occasional passing car and unsettling coos of owls. The smell of nature rushed into my nostrils. My hand met with the bannister of her deck. Cold, crusty, splintery. I would have held on for balance, had I not been concerned about splinters. Also, I didn’t trust the posts to not snap under my weight. Instead, I hunched along, remaining incognito, or so I hoped. I was almost invisible in the navy sky and gentle lick of the moon. The rays of streetlights were obscured by trees and fences. The shed was married to the dark. I couldn’t help but think: Why am I doing this? What do I really think she is hiding? Do I think she is cooking and eating children? Summoning the dead? Sacrificing goats? Nope, none of the above. I was curious. And despite what happened to the proverbial cat, I didn’t stop. As the grass crunched beneath my fluffy slippers, a twang rang out. Twang. Creak. Twang. Creak. It became the chorus of the night with verses of animal noises and weather. Was she making a bow and arrow? Was she secretly some vigilante superhero? Yeah right. If she was, her day performance as a withered old spinster deserved an award. As I drew closer to the mysterious shed with suspicious sounds, the smell of nature was dominated by a strange aroma: burning and dust. A bizarre combination. I pressed against the shed lightly. The structure creaked, dust rising as if it were ready to crumble under my touch. I slapped a hand over my mouth to prevent any dryness tickling my throat. The last thing I wanted was to break out into a flurry of coughs. Shuffling sideways, I shimmied to the door. Luckily, there was a slight gap, enough for me to peek through. An orange glow danced inside. Fire? It certainly would explain the burning smell. Grabbing my intrigue by the horns, I swivelled my head around and pushed one eye to the gap. I let my sight travel the room, while simultaneously adjusting to the light. Swaddles of yellow-orange light rinsed the room, exposing wood in disrepair. Cobwebs clung to the corners. Other than that, I didn’t see much. Then my eyes landed on her. She sat, hunched in the corner. The edges of her silhouette played on the wall, dancing from the assortment of flickering flames. She snatched something off the floor and dropped it into a large can of flames. Lady McCaw repeated this many times. Pick up, drop, sizzle, and again, and again. She was burning something, but what? I caught sight of a neat pile aside her feet. The dim light didn’t offer much assistance. Spindles? Webs? Criss-crosses? Targets? These words – and more – swirled in my mind until I soon realized what lay in the pile: dreamcatchers. My face creased. What the heck? Dreamcatchers? What the actual heck? If history class served, these originated from Indians, or as we are supposed to refer to them, Native Americans. They were devices to trap bad dreams so one could receive a peaceful night’s slumber. Why on earth was she burning them? And why so many? There must be hundreds in that well-organised pile. From a speckle of light from the raging fire, I caught sight of something else just as peculiar: nails. I’m not talking about nails holding this shack together, I’m talking about nails protruding from the walls. Were they to hold something up? The dreamcatchers? It made sense, somewhat, but again, why so many? Nails embellished every wall; a mouse could reach every inch of the shed using those as a climbing apparatus. “Why?” Oh shit. I’d said those words aloud. Relax, maybe she didn’t hear. To my dismay, she turned and set her eyes on mine. She didn’t look pleased. “Jacob?” she croaked, as if she’d spent her life chain-smoking ten packs a day. To my relief, the irritation on her face dissolved. Curiosity replaced it. I huffed. I know the feeling. “Sorry Miss McCaw.” Nobody called her ‘Old Lady McCaw’ to her face, or any of the other delightful nicknames kids and adults had coined. “What are you doing out here? It’s late!” Her eyebrows drew close together. “I’m so sorry, I got…curious. I know I shouldn’t be here. I see you coming in here. I got nosy I guess. I…I’ll go. Please don’t tell my mum.” I eased back. “No! Don’t be silly. You’re young. It’s in your nature to get curious, about life, the world, everything. It’s how people learn.” So much kindness and wisdom. If townsfolk saw this side of her, they’d never even consider her a cauldron-whisking witch. “Thanks. Can I ask what it is you are doing here?” She let the dreamcatcher she held plummet into the fire. A squeak and grind erupted before the crackling of flames resumed. “I’ll tell you child, but it’s a secret. Understand?” Her gaze tightened. No room for negotiation. This was a secret. “I understand. I will not tell a soul,” I promised. “Well, come in, it’s chilly out there. You’ll be nice and toasty in here in seconds.” Inside was stifling and there was an overwhelming reek of burning. That smoky scent wavered in the air, irritating my eyes. “Take a seat.” Her ageing hand guided me towards a small stool in the corner. My ass only just fit onto it, and not without objection. It sang resistance with creaks and squeaks until I found a position of reasonable comfort. “Now, I know what everyone says about me,” she confessed, grabbing a bunch of hair and tossing it over her shoulder. It moved as if it were one object, not many tiny strands. The flickering firelight didn’t flatter her face. It fell into the heavy wrinkles and sank into the gaunt dents of her cheeks. It made previously unnoticed chin whiskers visible. “They think I am crazy, a witch, a crackpot, a Satanist, and on and on. They question the fact that I’ve never been married or had children,” she continued, not with sorrow, but with awareness. She didn’t care what these gossipmongers thought, she was simply oblivious to it. “But I am not crazy. Sure, I have certain beliefs in the occult, true and factual beliefs. I like my space, I believe in healing crystals. I love to read, and I enjoy movies. I don’t get out much. You and your mum of all people should know I am a good person behind the veil of quirkiness.” “Oh, we do,” I barged in to defend her. “You know I like wind chimes, right? That’s fairly obvious from looking at my house.” I nodded with a smirk. “But you don’t know the reason I like them, do you?” I shook my head, my smirk sliding away. She adjusted her position on the wooden chair, releasing a symphony of cracks and pops. Old skeleton. Once she’d found a comfier position, her eyes found mine again, piercing my pupils with seriousness. “Wind chimes warn us of supernatural things Jacob,” she whispered with an air of fright. “Supernatural things?” “I know how this will sound,” she coughed. “Demons.” I shivered despite the fierce hotness. I didn’t believe in that stuff; but she wasn’t crazy or delusional. I tingled in dread. “D…d…demons?” I stuttered, hoping I’d misheard. “I know how that sounds, but it’s true. My mother and grandmother taught me. We have been passing down this lesson for generations. I have diaries dating back hundreds of years, written by my ancestors.” “About wind chimes and demons?” “When a wind chime chimes without a breeze at all, it is a sign. A demon or harmful entity is coming.” I gulped. “But how is it possible to tell when you hear a windchime that it isn’t caused by the wind?” Wind can be sudden and gentle. How can you know that it was an otherworldly warning? “Oh, you pick it up easy. Plus, I have made all these wind chimes in a certain way. They don’t make sound easily. There must be an aggressive wind to make them sing. So, if one rings, you look outside, and not so much as a branch is stirring, it’s a warning.” I did a quick recap of whether I’d ever heard one of her wind chimes sing without a stiff blow from Mother Nature. I couldn’t remember. It’s not something an average person searches for. “I gave you and your mother some a few times. Remember?” Among the many strange items she’d given us, a variety of wind chimes were among them. I didn’t have the heart to tell her they sat in our basement. Maybe we should have them outside? “Do you have any outside?” she inquired. “Errr…. no. All inside. Pointless, right?” I shrugged. “Not necessarily. Sometimes inside chimes can be a clearer indication if no windows are open. But often people overlook it as a sudden gust through an air vent. People will rationalize before accepting something insidious. Believe me.” This wasn’t her first rodeo. “But…why are you burning dreamcatchers? What do they have to do with chimes?” “You see, wind chimes indicate their arrival. You have minutes maybe until something harmful is coming. Maybe not for you, or maybe exactly for you.” A shudder travelled up my legs. This wasn’t the best time to hear spooky stories. We were alone, at night, in a weak shed, defenceless. I was a child. She was an elderly woman with a walking stick. “But dreamcatchers are the way to catch them.” My throat made a ‘hmm’ noise. “The belief that they catch bad dreams is a myth, what they actually catch is monsters.” I wiped a bead of sweat from my lip. “Somewhere in history that message got garbled and miscommunicated. But at least if people have them in their homes and rooms, they are safe, for the most part. Even if they do just think they are protecting them against bad dreams.” “For the most part?” I had to ask. “Well, yes they do protect us. The demons are sucked into the webs and trapped there. But they are more efficient if we hold them out before us, kind of like you hold a cross out to a vampire.” “Yeah I…. wait. Please tell me vampires aren’t real.” My throat dried almost instantly. Heat, wood, smoke, and dust weren’t helping. “Oh no, they are fiction, I think. Who knows? But more than likely they are just the result of a creative author wanting to freak readers out.” I puffed relief, itching at my forehead. I wanted to hear her stories, but this heat was ridiculous. “So, I hold it out and the demon gets trapped in it?” I sought clarification. “Correct.” She pressed a fist to her mouth and broke into a fit of barks. She didn’t sound well, and being outside at this time of night couldn’t be conducive to a good bill of health. “Do you want to get inside Miss McCaw?” I offered, concerned. “That’s sweet Jacob.” She smiled. It wasn’t often she smiled, but it suited her. Her teeth weren’t as haggard as her skin and hair. Or maybe they were just realistic dentures? Either way, it added warmth to her face. Oh crap, don’t think warm thoughts! I am sweating my hairless balls off in here. “But I need to burn these.” She pointed to the pile of various dreamcatchers, or I should say, demon catchers. “But why?” That seemed to be the last question of the evening. “Well, if a dreamcatcher breaks, the demons are set free.” Another chill racked my spine. “But, if I burn them, the demons are destroyed.” “Oh,” I mumbled. “Wait, how often do you do this?” “Burn dreamcatchers?” I nodded. Her shoulders danced. “Sometimes monthly, sometimes weekly.” “Weekly?” I blurted. “So, you have to buy dreamcatchers all the time?” “I make them Jacob,” she corrected. “Make them? Is that expensive?” “It can be,” she grumbled. Guilt tugged at me. Maybe this is why she lives in a run-down house. Maybe this is also why she is alone and childless. She claims to enjoy solitude, but this is a big responsibility, maybe she wouldn’t have time for a relationship, let alone a child, even if she did want one or the other? “But I get by.” She offered me a slight smile. I’m no fool. I may be a year shy of a teenager, but I can read people’s expressions. “Right young man, I think it’s time for you to get back to bed.” She wagged a finger at me. “Don’t you have school tomorrow?” “It’s Sunday tomorrow, Miss McCaw.” I tried to remove any patronising or belittling tone from my response. “Oh of course it is. My apologies. It comes with age. Enjoy your memory while you have it young man. Anyway, school or not, I am sure your mum doesn’t know you’re out here.” I chewed words through a scrunched mouth. “Not exactly.” “I thought as much. Now get to bed, I will see you in the morning. And if you have any further questions, I am always home.” *** I was awoken by a wind chime. I instantly panicked, jerking from bed and springing to the window. The window came open surprisingly easy as I reached an arm out. No breeze. Bolts of dread stabbed my stomach. A demon was coming. Then something considerably worse happened: all the wind chimes at Old Lady McCaw’s house trembled violently. They jangled. They jingled. They wore reflections of the creamy moonlight. They sang horror into the night. So, not one demon, but an entire clan of them. She was in big trouble. I hauled ass downstairs barefoot. Fortunately, Mother was a heavy sleeper. I barrelled through the kitchen and exited out the back. I sprang over the three deck steps. I didn’t even bother laying a few polite knuckles on Lady McCaw’s door; adrenaline had kicked in. The door fell open with the slightest nudge, bringing me into a gothic living room. Mahogany furniture lay around, up-turned. Books were askew on the floor. Occult symbols and knickknacks were scattered along the chocolate-wood floor. To my left stood a long wall, embellished with dreamcatchers. In fact, I struggled to see an inch of plaster not crowded with those demon snatchers. Among the tumult, sprawled with the small statues and open books, was Old Lady McCaw. Her hair spilled across the floor, while her baggy ensemble made it seem as if she lay in a pool of blackness. Her body was contorted in an unpleasant position. Legs were turned inwards. Arms were spread open wide. Her neck had snapped, leaving her head to loll to one side. A hand closed over my mouth: my hand. At first, tears came. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind; she was dead. Then an even stronger sensation took charge: fear. This wasn’t a robbery. This wasn’t a domestic disturbance. This was evil. This was the behaviour of a monster. But, there were thousands of catchers nailed to the walls, how was the entity able to harm her? My heart chipped as my eyes fell on a larger dreamcatcher with a golden shaft attached, inches from her reach, drowning in the tumult. Just as my mind churned ideas of my next move, a creak came from behind me. I swung around. Pictures of red-skinned demons and shadowy shapes occupied my mind. The door issued a long creak before thumping into a wall. My scalp tingled. I needed a dreamcatcher. Now! I dropped to the ground and snatched the fancy golden one. I held it out as if it was a gun. A shadow stood before me. Despite holding the catcher, I stifled a scream. Could I do this? Was there anything else I need to know? Did Lady McCaw tell me everything? Then it approached me. “Jacob?” it asked. How the hell does it know my name? Wait, I know that voice. “Mum?” “Yes dear. Oh no, what in the world happened here? Is Miss McCaw o-” The rest of her sentence was stolen by a deep-cutting realisation that she wasn’t okay, not in the least. Her eyes landed on the old lady’s corpse. A heavy gasp left her mouth. Had her gasp been any stronger, she’d have sucked the contents of the room into her mouth. “Oh, Miss McCaw,” she wept. I stuffed the catcher into my pyjamas bottoms and rushed to wrap my mother in a comforting hug. Besides me, Miss McCaw had been the only constant in our lives. We didn’t have much family. Dad left. It was us and her. Now, it was just us. I would sure miss her strangeness, and those insanely good treats she baked us. “Wow, what’s with all the dreamcatchers on the walls?” she asked, voice soggy from tears. I shrugged, pulling away from her hug. “Old lady superstition, maybe?” I lied. “She was an odd one,” Mum laughed whilst wiping away tears. “Well, I guess we’d better call the police. Come on, you should be in bed.” “Mum, how can I sleep now?” She munched on her lip for a second. “Good point. Okay, but still, you shouldn’t be around this. Go home and make us hot chocolate or something. Or maybe this would be a nice time to use one of Miss McCaw’s herbal sleeping concoctions? Kind of a tribute to her?” “That’s a good idea, Mum.” As I was about to wander home, a violent rhythm of chimes commenced. That served as a much-needed reminder. The thing that killed Old Lady McCaw was still free. “Wow, Jacob, calm down. It’s only wind chimes.” She ran her fingers through my bedhead. “Mum, this is gonna sound crazy, but please grab one of the dreamcatchers from the wall.” I advised firmly. “What?” “Please Mum, just trust me.” She reluctantly reached out and unhooked one from a nail. A look of befuddlement held her face. “What now?” As if answering my mum’s question, there was a guttural growl. It shook the walls. It sent books flying through the air and slapped windows, the panes danced in their frames. “What was that?” she asked, the look of confusion no longer creasing her face. Now, her features were taut with angst. “Stay quiet, and hold the catcher out like this.” I held it, strangling the golden base. Mum nodded, and mimicked my actions. Curtains whipped, books continued to be tossed around the room, and ornaments shattered. Shelves collapsed from the walls, snapping into splintery pieces as if the weight of novels and decor had become too heavy for their wooden arms. Through the chaos, a rush of wind hit us. “Keep holding the catcher, Mum. Whatever you do, don’t let it drop.” She nodded, her lower lip trembling. Her eyelids had retreated behind both eyes; a look of total fright. Then it came. It assaulted us. I struggled to hold onto the golden shaft. I did waver somewhat, but maintained my grip. I watched the crisscross of the catcher as it pulsed. The artfully tangled ropes developed a beat. “What the hell is that?” Mum enquired, referring to the respiring rope. “Just keep holding mum. It will be over soon.” I hoped. For all I knew, this took hours. Yet thankfully, it ended in minutes. The furniture stilled. The vicious wind stopped, and we breathed a little easier, the clamps of horror loosening from our lungs. “Okay, what the heck is going on here?” “You know my Grandma? You always said you wanted something from her side of the family.” “Inheritance? We have an inheritance from Miss McCaw?” “Yeah, kind of.” Although, in the deepest caves of my mind, I was half-convinced this was more of a curse. Whatever the case, I’d never look at a wind chime or a dreamcatcher the same way again. ENJOY? DOWNLOAD A FREE SAMPLE OF THE BOOK OR GRAB A COPY FOR $1.99! https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07T4W3GCH/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i0 Firstly, this movie was everything I wanted it to be and more! It gave the hardcore horror lover everything they needed. I have been waiting for this movie ever since JLC announced on social media that she would be doing another sequel, but this time, with a twist. This sequel would expose us to a new Laurie Strode. A fierce LS who has been waiting and preparing for the eventual return of the one and only Michael Myers. 40 years she has been prepping. 40 years she has armed herself with close combat, guns, and cunning. He has no idea what is in store for him this time. He won't be coming after a feeble teenager. He is hunting a survivalist. Halloween is arguably THE movie that started the slasher sub-genre of horror. It was a huge success. And now it's breaking ceilings once more. It is ignoring all of the sequels and remakes and continuing on from the original John Carpenter 'Halloween' from 1978. While many of the sequels received harsh comments, the latest has so far been praised for its boldness and originality as well as paying homage to the original by flooding us with nostalgia. It is its own movie but respects what fans of the franchise want to see. We need a reason for this movie but we also want to see Michael walking zombie-like around a neighbourhood and butchering innocent people. We want to hear that infamous theme song. We want bone-chilling screams. And, oh boy, do we get that! Without delving too much into the entire franchise and exploring how it has stood the test of time and has become iconic and has been analyzed for its metaphorical and literal significance, let's get down to this movie specifically. We have Laure Strode, a grandmother, a loner, a woman portrayed as crazy and odd. She is no longer the fun-loving teen that everybody loves. She is a fighter. She has used trauma to turn her into a warrior. Her family, however, aren't too happy about her solitude and filling her grandaughter's head with stories of the boogeyman. The family dynamic is complicated and highly intriguing. We feel empathy on both sides. That in itself is entertaining, but come on, we didn't go to the movies to see a family drama, did we? The first half of the movie feeds our need for nostalgia, while the second half treads uncharted territory. It shows us a new way to handle horror movies and franchises. Without giving away any spoilers, there are endless jumps and scares, but more importantly, genuine chills. In my opinion, this is the best of all the sequels and a superior sequel that has come from any iconic horror movie such as Scream, Friday the 13th, Nightmare on Elm Street, and so on. The casting is top notch. Each actor portrays each character convincingly and with purpose. However, as expected, JLC stole the show. I loved seeing this new Laurie, it was endlessly fascinating. I would not wanna take her on. And let's just touch on this lightly, the 'girl power' vibe. No longer are men needed to protect the ladies. Women can handle themselves. This theme is needed in horrors. And, not so surprisingly, this movie has broken many box office records and has made $253.70 million so far! With this success, it was rumored that JLC would do one more sequel if John Carpenter is involved. However, sadly, she posted on social media with a statement declaring quite the opposite, essentially hanging up her hat for any future movies. Let's hope this changes. The DVD, Blu-ray, and 4K is out now, packed with special features. Head over and buy your copy! 1) 'Pet Semetary', Stephen King remake, April. 2) 'Annabelle 3', July. 3) 'Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark', August. 4) 'Us', March. 5) 'Happy Death Day 2U', February. 6) 'The Prodigy', February. 7) 'It: Chapter 2', September. 8) 'Godzilla, King of the Monsters', May. 9) 'The Curse of La Llorona', April. 10) 'Zombieland Double Tap', October. It's the most wonderful time of the year.... for us horror lovers. Here is a list of the horror goodies available on Netflix this wondrously spooky season! The Haunting of Hill House (Series) A wonderfully twisted, creepy, and intriguing spin on The Haunting movie starring Liam Neeson and Catherine Zeta-Jones. Highly recommend for the chills. Slow paced and compelling. Truth or Dare (Movie) Low budget but modestly impressive. It's worth at least one watch. And what better time of the year? Malevolent (Movie) The Sayers Medium Service will expel evil spirits from your house, for a fee. The Sayers just wanna make a quick buck and put on a great show. This is until they come across a house that is actually alive with evil... This is a must-see! High caliber acting, original story, and superb effects. The Rain (Series) How can you avoid rain when it's deadly? An interesting apocalyptic series. I have high hopes for a season 2! The Haunting of Molly Hartley (Movie) With a murderous mother rotting in prison, Molly thought she was safe. It turns out it's not just her mother that wants her dead. As Above So Below (Movie) Now, this is a total mindf*ck! Freaky, unsettling, confusing, and terrifying. I have been waiting for this to hit Netflix. With all of these and some other spooky gems, it's safe to say that Netflix has our back this season. |