|
|
| The Vault |
| Reviews |
| SC Online |
| Editing Services |
| Q&A |
| Send It In |
| About Us |
| Guidelines |
| Links |
| Steel Chat |
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
the premier web-site of s.f, horror
& fantasy from the home of H G Wells
 |
|
|
The Horror Curse By
Michael Arruda |
|
From the catwalk high above the stage a globule of drool dripped. And spiraled. Downward. Zeroing in on the lovely young student below. Missing her head by a mere inch as it landed on the floor by her sneaker. Down the hall from the auditorium, the sign on the solid wooden door read "Roger Winslow, Principal." The three students waiting outside the door were not at all disappointed to see faculty member Rod Mason enter the office before them. "Mrs. Mullen called again," Winslow began, his gray goatee twitching. "She's still up in arms about--- your past." Mason frowned. "As you know, there's a growing concern out there over the recent spree of school shootings. It's made a lot of people edgy, especially parents," Winslow continued. "Yes, I know," Mason affirmed. "But what does it have to do with me?" Winslow squirmed. He and Mason were sitting directly across from each other. "You did star in several horror movies, some of which were quite violent for their day." Mason chuckled. "I don't believe this." "Mrs. Mullen feels--- and supposedly there's a group of parents who also feel this way--- that your presence in this school is detrimental to the students, and conflicts with the values that they're trying to instill in their children." "Detrimental? Because of movies that I made over 30 years ago?" Mason asked in disbelief. "It's not just that. It's the incidents that have occurred here at the school this year." "Incidents?" "The injured students. As you know, we've had a high number of students getting hurt this semester, injured in some pretty bizarre accidents. If you haven't noticed, these `accidents' have resembled events which occurred in your films. The parents believe that these aren't accidents at all, but acts of violence, inflicted upon the students by someone who is being influenced by your movies, because of your presence here. In fact, Mrs. Mullen went so far as to say that your teaching here is comparable to having a retired porn star in the school." "I hope you told her to go to hell, Roger." "No. I did not. She has a point. Your movies do include graphic scenes of violence. People's heads being cut off, stakes driven into hearts, nudity." "Give me a break!" Mason exclaimed. "You can't compare a movie like "Space Vampires" to "Natural Born Killers" or even to "Scream"! Yes, we chopped off heads, but they were the heads of monsters with three eyes and celery stalks sticking out of their ears! "Look, I'll be the first to argue that Hollywood goes too far these days," Mason continued, rising from his seat. "That today's film makers need to accept some responsibility for the crap they crank out! I'm as sick as you are at their argument that Americans love violence, so they're only giving the people what they want! Americans love fast food, too, but I don't see them making burger movies! But you're not going to convince me that the films I made in the 60s have the same effect as those made today! Even if they did, you think that's grounds for dismissing me from my position here? "And as far as those accidents resembling scenes from my movies, that's a bit of a stretch, isn't it? Sure, a student nearly getting himself impaled on a shaft of wood is damn bizarre, but how many films have shown that sort of thing? A helluva lot without Rod Mason's name in the credits!" "Rod, look at it from the parents' perspective." "You knew about my movie career when you hired me! It didn't bother you then!" "Things were different then," Winslow muttered. "Kids weren't killing kids. And there wasn't a crackdown on violence in the media." "So that's it, eh? The public wants a scapegoat, so now it's fair game to kick out someone like me? Make everyone around here feel safer. Is that what's going on? Did you call me in here to fire me?" "No. I'm not going to fire you, but I am going to make a suggestion. You're approaching retirement age, even though you don't look a day over 40." It was true. At 59, Mason looked incredible. He kept himself in tiptop condition, working out daily, and although he did color his hair to keep out the gray, his rugged handsome face had been untouched by plastic surgery. His ageless good looks were entirely natural. It was not uncommon for his students' parents to mistake him as one of their contemporaries, even though he was a good 10 to 15 years their senior! "Perhaps, for the sake of the school, you'd consider early retirement." "Early retirement? What are you afraid of, Roger? This is Massachusetts, not the Bible Belt!" "I know, which is a further indication of how much times have changed. I've seen your movies. I happen to like them, but chopping heads is chopping heads. It doesn't matter that the scenes were shot 30 years ago. Today's kids--- they're a different breed. They've seen things by the time they're 5 that we didn't see until we were 21! Retire Rod. It'll help the school." "Bullshit, Roger. Bullshit! My appearance in a few old horror movies does not matter to my kids. What does matter is my performance today in the classroom, not the performances I gave 30 years ago in a bunch of B-movies back in the 60s, which by the way, I happen to be proud of. If you want to get rid of me, fire me. Otherwise, I'm staying. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a drama rehearsal to coordinate." Mason bolted from the office. As he walked down the hall towards the auditorium, he couldn't help but think of 1975. Films like The Exorcist and Jaws had killed the old style horror market, and since he had been typecast as a horror movie actor- something he hadn't minded- his acting options had been severely limited. And so he had walked away. Just like that. With no regrets. Deciding to do something more beneficial for society, he had returned to his native Massachusetts with his wife Sheryl and had become a teacher. He didn't want to walk away from another profession, not at his age. The thought made him sick to his stomach. "Where's Haley?" he asked, once he had gathered his actors on stage. "She's with--- Reece," informed Rebecca, Mason's female lead and all-around best student. A remarkable person, one whom Mason admired greatly. Mason huffed and repeated, "Reece." Reece was fast becoming a thorn in Mason's side. The 17 year-old was a constant troublemaker, a seemingly permanent fixture inside the school's detention hall. When he had first volunteered to work on the props committee, an army of teachers had immediately complained, arguing that the last thing Reece needed was to be rewarded for his poor behavior. But Mason had gone to bat for the youth.. "Right now he's involved in nothing but causing trouble every day," Mason had said. "Let him have this chance. It could be the break he needs." To his credit, Roger Winslow had agreed with Mason, but he had been steadfast about a "3 strikes and you're out" rule. Three infractions, and Reece would be off the committee. Strike one and two had already come. "Where are they?" Mason asked. Rebecca pointed upwards. "Catwalk." Mason pushed open the door to the stage's side exit and looked up the tall metal staircase which winded its way upwards, leading to the intricate set of catwalks high above the stage. "Reece? Haley?" Mason called. No answer. He began climbing the stairs. "What is wrong with you, Reece?" he muttered to himself. "Why do you constantly have to break the rules?" Reaching the top of the staircase, Mason looked out onto the catwalks. No sign of Reece or Haley, but there was ample space in which to hide on the other side. He stepped onto one of the catwalks. Smash! The next thing he knew, he was lying flat on his back, and his head was throbbing. There was movement in the shadows. Mason blinked. A figure emerged, hunching by the edge of the catwalk on which Mason lay. A man, shirtless, his arms bulging with muscles, his face bulging with exaggerated features: wide eyes, a bulbous nose, a cavernous mouth, and ears the size of wild mushrooms. In fact, there was something fungus-like about his entire appearance. His flesh was of a burnt orange hue, looking not unlike a freshly expelled stool. In contrast, his eyes were blindingly white. He reminded Mason of a goblin he had fought once in a movie. "I must have fallen, hit my head. Now I'm hallucinating," Mason muttered. "You are not hallucinating," the goblin spoke, to Mason's astonishment. His voice was dry and wispy. He leaned forward and began to crawl onto the catwalk. Mason noticed that his feet were bare. They, too, were colored burnt orange, with toes the size of golf balls, and wedge-shaped toenails that looked as if they could puncture steel. He was wearing pants, plain brown, and from his behind swung--- a tail. With a light covering of soft hair and a small knob on the end, it resembled the tail of a small monkey. Mason didn't know whether to scream or shut his eyes in the hope that the vision would disappear. This strange male being crept along until he was entirely on top of Mason's body, his face hovering over Mason's like a stalactite to a stalagmite. A small globule of drool dribbled from his mouth, landing on Mason's chin. "I am Krukpok. Of the Kinkoonptow." "Who? What?" was all Mason could say, as he wiped the drool from his chin, his hand finding barely enough space with which to move, pinned underneath the stranger's body. "The Kinkoonptow," the goblin repeated. Mason had to look away. The goblin's breath stank of rotten fish. "A race unknown to men who live. A race that worships all things horror. The collective masterpieces of the genre, literary and on film- our Bible." "What do you want with me?" Mason asked. "You are the reason I am here," Krukpok replied, still not granting Mason space to breathe. "Your films give us sustenance. Like ants to sugar, we are drawn to them. Drawn to you. The accidents which have befallen the students here are my doing. I am the perpetrator of their pain." "Why?" Mason asked. "Because pain is where pleasure lies. It is the nature of life, for the strong to inflict pain upon the weak. You and yours are the weak. The Kinkoonptow are the strong. Today will be remembered as a day most sacred in the history of the Kinkoonptow, for today is the day of my masterpiece, my crowning achievement! Behold!" From behind his back, Krukpok produced an axe. "With this, my mark will become permanent," the goblin said. He pointed to the stage below. "When I am finished, down there-," he laughed, "heads will roll!" "Wait a minute---!" "And guess who will get the blame?" Krukpok interrupted. Before Mason could answer, Krukpok's face metamorphosed into the face of Reece. Mason was in awe. "Yes, the Kinkoonptow possess many talents," Krukpok said, now speaking with Reece's voice. "Shapeshifting is but one. Impressed? "The stage below is crowded. Teeming with potential victims, and witnesses. Ah, the misunderstood and troubled Reece. Just can't seem to stay out of trouble. You said so yourself just a few minutes ago. You, his most ardent supporter. Few will be surprised when they learn that Reece butchered his fellow students and then did the same to himself." Krukpok smiled, then leapt vertically from Mason's body. He landed, standing, on the corner staircase. The catwalk shook and rocked violently, and Mason had to cling to the wooden board to prevent himself from falling. "You would do well to keep still," Krukpok advised. "May I call your attention to the thick ropes on each of the four corners of the catwalk? They are all that are holding you up right now. I took the liberty of shredding them down to the barest minimum. The slightest movement on your part will bring you crashing down to the stage to a most unpleasant death! Even a loud scream will be enough to break the ropes! So you see, you have no choice but to lie still and watch. Oh, I suppose you could close your eyes, but you'd still hear the screams. Of course, you could play the martyr, and shout to warn your students, but then the ropes would snap, and what good would you be to your students dead? Not very good, I'm afraid. I'd still succeed, and your death would be just one more blamed on poor misunderstood Reece! Remain silent, and I will let you live. I have nothing to fear from you. The authorities will never believe you should you try to convince them that it wasn't Reece, not when so many witnesses claim it was. You could try to convince them that a member of a secret race called the Kinkoonptow committed the crime. That would go over well. Wouldn't it? "Alas, the Kinkoonptow cannot take credit for all the shock crimes in your country. We do our share, yes, but there's still a good number of your own kind who maim and kill without any help from us. Either way, we benefit. For every sick crime committed in the world by one of you, we feel it. The way a plant feels the rays of the sun. It's invigorating!" Krukpok again leaned into Mason's face. "And you thought you were having a bad day before! It's been a pleasure chatting with you, Mr. Mason, but now, duty calls." Krukpok turned, lifted the axe over his shoulder, and disappeared down the stairs. Mason remained still, his hands clutched to the wooden walkway beneath him. He looked to the four ropes holding him up. They were as Krukpok described: cut down to mere tatters. The slightest movement on his part would indeed plunge him to his death. He wasn't certain about Krukpok's assertion that his cries would be enough to snap the ropes, but he wasn't confident of the contrary either. What he was certain about, was that he had to save his kids. He could hear Rebecca's voice from the stage below. He loved that girl like a daughter. When he heard Reece's voice, he tensed, uncertain whether it was the real Reece or Krukpok, the imposter. Rebecca was giving Reece a piece of her mind for holding up the rehearsal. "Reece, could I see you, please?" Mason shuddered. It was his own voice, calling Reece from the stairwell. Krukpok was luring Reece in for the kill. "Yeah, what is it, Mr. Mason?" Reece asked. "In the stairwell! Now!" ordered the phony Mason. A loud "oooh!" rang out from the students on and about the stage, and someone taunted, "Reece is dead!" "Not yet, but he will be," the real Mason whispered. There had to be some way he could warn his students. The stress, combined with the throbbing wound on the back of his head where he had been hit by Krukpok, was giving him a tremendous headache. He reached for the wound with his right hand. It was moist with blood. A lot of blood, which gave him an idea. Returning his right hand to the edge of the catwalk, and now with both hands gripping the edges of the flat board on which he lay, he slowly and carefully slid his body along the wood until his head hung over the side. Looking upside down at the floor below, he watched as drops of his blood fell to the stage. "Come on, somebody notice!" Mason muttered. Reece reached the exit to the stairwell. Rebecca looked to her feet. "Hey, you guys, what's this stuff?" Reece stopped walking and turned around. "Looks like blood," someone said. "Alright, who's been playing with the fake blood again? Reece?" Rebecca accused. "It wasn't me," Reece said, now walking back towards Rebecca and the others. "Of course it wasn't you. It's never you!" Rebecca exclaimed. "Give it a rest, Rebecca," Haley said, defending her boyfriend. A drop of blood splashed onto her shoulder. "Oooh! It's dripping from up there!" "Cool," Reece commented. "No, it's not cool!" came the imposter's voice from the stairwell. "It's a mess! Someone spilled paint all over the catwalk! Reece!" "Hey, Mr. Mason, I didn't spill no paint!" Reece shouted in his defense. "You were the last one up there, weren't you?" "Shit," Reece muttered. "What was that?" "This sucks, man," Reece muttered again, stomping across the stage towards the exit. "No, Reece. Don't go," Mason whispered from the catwalk. But Reece was going. Directly into the stairwell. Mason shouted, "Reece! Come back!" Snap-snap-snap-snap. In rapid succession, the ropes split apart, and Mason and the catwalk plunged towards the stage. Reece whipped around just as two muscular hands reached through the exit and pulled him back into the stairwell. As Mason catapulted towards the ground, he managed to snag the edge of the thick heavy curtain, momentarily breaking his fall. Looking down, he watched in horror as the wooden catwalk plummeted towards Rebecca and Haley. "Watch out!" Mason shrieked. Rebecca looked up just as the board struck her across the face, knocking her to the floor. Haley screamed and fell into a convulsive fit of fear. Mason moaned a loud "no!" and then, unable to hold on any longer, let go of the ruffled curtain and plunged to the floor of the stage. When he hit, the impact sent him sliding across the slippery wood floor towards the side exit door, where he finally came to a painful stop. He looked back over his shoulder to see a horde of students rushing to Rebecca's aid, and reaching for his knee, grimaced in pain. His right leg was broken. He had to get to Reece. Unable to put pressure on his right leg, he dragged himself through the open doorway into the stairwell, immediately hearing the sounds of a struggle from above. Looking up, he saw Krukpok and Reece engaged in a vicious fight on the stairs. Krukpok was wielding his axe. Clang! The axe missed Reece but struck a metal rail. Mason's forehead was dripping with sweat, and his knee and scalp were raging with pain. Watching the goblin battling the boy, he couldn't help but think of the old days, when he used to play the hero in the horror movies. Any one of his characters, from Captain Grayson to Dr. Harrison Martin, would have found a way to destroy Krukpok, even with a broken leg. At the last second, he would have used some ingenious method to slay the monster, something no one in the audience had thought of or expected. If only he had been a screenwriter and not an actor, he thought. With a broken leg, he'd never make it up the stairs, and if he shouted for help, by the time someone came, it'd be too late. Reece would be dead. Mason looked around for something- anything- he could use as a weapon. His eyes settled upon the wall, specifically to the glass door in the wall, behind which stood a fire extinguisher. Four feet high above the ground, he'd never be able to reach it without standing. Quickly, he dragged his broken body towards the wall, his busted leg trailing behind, bent unnaturally backwards and dangling, like a twig snapped in two but not yet severed. He touched the wall with both his hands, and placing his weight on his left foot, tried to stand. He couldn't. He needed both feet. He sucked in a deep breath and placed his right foot upon the floor. Screaming in pain, he climbed the wall as the broken bones in his right knee crunched together. Once upright, he pressed his left foot to the floor, taking the pressure off his right. He opened the glass door and grabbed the fire extinguisher. Pivoting, he pulled the pin and aimed his newfound weapon up the stairs at Krukpok. He squeezed the lever. The forceful flow of chemicals struck Krukpok across the face. The goblin hissed as he was blown backwards. He dropped the axe as he instinctively covered his face. The large cutting instrument bounced off the metal stair and fell through the open space between the stairs and the railing, plummeting to the floor below. It landed on the ground wedged between the back of the bottom step and a pole which ran the height of the staircase. Its blade pointed skyward. Mason teetered and unintentionally placed his right foot down. He howled and collapsed. The fire extinguisher clanged as it bounced away from him. Krukpok frantically rubbed the foam from his eyes. Reece stepped forward and struck a hard blow across Krukpok's jaw, sending the goblin reeling. His back hit the railing, and his body flipped over the side. With a shriek, he fell to the floor below, where the axe was waiting for him. He landed on it. Face first. His cry lasted but a split second, the time it took for the blade to slice his burnt orange face in two. Mason looked away in disgust, and by the time he had looked back, Krukpok's body had already begun to decompose. Within two minutes, there was nothing left of him but dry ash. "Mr. Mason! Are you alright?" Reece asked, bounding down the stairs. Mason grimaced but nodded. "I'm okay. How about you?" "I'm fine," Reece said, as he reached his fallen teacher. "Rebecca's hurt. Go see how she is, please," Mason urged, but Reece hesitated. "It's alright. I'm okay. She's out there, on the stage." Reece nodded and scurried through the doorway. Alone, Mason again looked to the ashes by the base of the stairs. "Goblins do not exist," he told himself. But there lay the proof in front of him that they did. "Now what?" he asked himself. "Do I believe in this Krukpok? Do I believe in the Kinkoonptow, a race of evil creatures who prey upon humankind? Who gain strength from all things horror? Isn't this all a bunch of bullshit?" He again looked at the ashes. "But how can I not believe?" A short while ago, he had told Roger Winslow he would not resign, but now---. He was still proud of his horror movies. Krukpok hadn't changed that. But if the goblin had come because of him, as he had claimed, and if there were others like him, then they would come, too. Perhaps it was time for a change. Time to leave the classroom. It pained him to think about leaving. He understood full well that the best way he could possibly combat the negative influences poisoning young people across the country was by remaining in the classroom. By teaching, constantly teaching, the messages of keeping an open mind, of tolerance, of resolving problems nonviolently, and of understanding the difference between fiction and reality, a difference he wasn't so sure he understood at present. But this was now a job for someone else. His destiny lay elsewhere. And like thirty years before, there would be no looking back "She's alive!" Reece called from the center of the stage. "Mr. Mason! Rebecca's alive!" Mason's eyes moistened. "Thank you, God, for saving that girl. I owe you one." He had fought all kinds of monsters in the movies. Now he had fought one in real life. It was a fight that held no enjoyment for him. Yet, he wouldn't hesitate to do it again. He closed his eyes, thought of the Kinkoonptow, a race exposed, and waited for the paramedics to arrive. The End |
|
| © | |