A Bit of a Halloween special for my regulars. I had the idea for a mock trailer in the style of 70s and 80s B-horror movies but since I lack the ability to quickly turn out a film in time for the holiday you get a short script instead. Anyway, enjoy ‘Cancelled‘ (released in the UK under the title ‘Polypans‘ and in Italy as ‘Zombi V: House of Deadness.’
A large van with an early 60s design but with futuristic accents such as hydrogen power plugs and slick almost hovering wheels pulls up to the end of an abandoned looking dirt road at the edge of the woods. Four teenagers dressed in a hybrid style between the 90s and the early 60s but with new and unprecedented fashion accents exit the car. They are all fit and attractive people. Two males, two females.
NARRATOR: This Halloween, get ready for a homecoming.
HANDSOME LEADER GUY: Here it is.
DUSHKU LOOKING GIRL: We’re going to stay HERE?
Cut to what they are looking at. An abandoned suburban neighborhood. Long neglected and being taken over by overgrowing woods. Autumn leaves are changing and multicolored leaves swirl through the air.
HANDSOME LEADER GUY: Where my parents grew up. Where they had to flee from due to the war. I’m taking it back.
FUNNY BLACK GUY: And you just brought us along to help fix up pretending it was a camping trip?
GOTH GIRL: I like it, it makes a STATEMENT.
Cut to puffy eyes behind cat’s eyes glasses looking through the bushes at the teens and heavy breathing.
The teens have made a ‘camp’ inside one of the overgrown suburban buildings, fire roaring in the fireplace being the only thing keeping the dark at bay.
DUSKU LOOKING GIRL: So what’s the story with this place?
HANDSOME LEADER GUY: Ever since my folks left in the Culture Wars, no one has been here. Only now that we are rebuilding did I find out I still have the deed.
GOTH GIRL: It was places like these that they originally came from you know. The Cancelers.
Sudden look of fear passes between all the teens.
GOTH GIRL: For years they reigned. Anyone could be fired, shunned, or disappeared for offending them.
Cut to the basement, POV of looking up through the floorboards at the teens. Sounds of multiple people breathing heavily.
GOTH GIRL: Living standards declined, the people suffered under the feudal reign of technology companies who used them to divide the populace. Society was given only identities in recompense for their trouble. But then, the uprising began-
FUNNY BLACK GUY: Yeah, this is primary school stuff. Why did no one come back out here though. Free land.
GOTH GIRL: The suburbs were tainted and left to rot. After the purges people thought the few surviving Cancelers would return there.
DUSKU LOOKING GIRL: Then why are we here?
Back to the POV of whatever is under the floorboards.
(O.S.) AGED VOICE: Take them.
GOTH GIRL: Nothing has been seen of the survivors since.
HANDSOME LEADER GUY: Its time to take back the heritage robbed from us-
The trapdoor bursts outward into the campers in a spray of wooden shards as multiple emaciated scuttling forms emerge and assault the teens. They are middle-aged and withered, looking like meth heads. They wear weathered Mardi-Gras style anime girl heads that obscure their faces.
NARRATOR: But this home is no safe space.
Rapid flashing of dark scenes under ground as the anime-headed skinny men beat and carry the teens down earthen tunnels filled with pastel-colored children’s toys and broken electronic equipment.
The four are dumped in a kind of throne room akin to a hoarder’s nest. From a tunnel that recedes into blackness comes a mechanical whirring that grows ever closer.
NARRATOR: It the nest of things better left buried.
The four scream as a bloated woman with no legs emerges from the dark on a mobility scooter. Her hair is asymmetrical and blue, her eyes milky under cracked cat’s eye glasses.
BROODMOTHER: Xze, Xzi, Xzo, Xzum. I smell the blood of CISCUM.
The anime heads prostrate in front of her and then scuttle about. The Broodmother points to the Funny Black Guy. ‘He will do nicely to start.’
He screams as two anime-heads pick him up and carry him forward. Broodmother spreads her legs.
BROODMOTHER: Welcome to the polycule, you will know honor here, Pee Oh Cee.
FUNNY BLACK GUY: (desperately) Wait! I’m gay! I can’t! No women sorry!
Broodmother’s face become livid.
BROODMOTHER: DID YOU JUST ASSUME MY GENDER?
The anime-heads recoil in shock.
BROODMOTHER: POLYCULE! LEAVE NONE OF THESE FASCISTS ALIVE!
The anime-heads raise their ‘faces’ into the air and let out a keening wail in unison as the four teens struggle free and flee down the darkened corridors.
NARRATOR: They did not know the folly of coming. They did not heed the warnings of those who said stay out of the suburbs.
Montage of scenes of the characters struggling with anime-heads in the dark, sudden ambushes and rusted torture chambers flash before our eyes as horror synth reaches a manic crescendo. Handsome Leader Guy is clearly shown on a leash, scrambling about on all fours and forced to eat viscera from a dog bowl. Dushku Looking Girl knocks an anime-heads mask off, recoiling from the neckbeardish face beneath which we briefly see has an impossibly expanding mouth opening ever wider like a gateway into a portal of tongues.
NARRATOR: Now it is THEY who are…
Goth Girl clutches a hatchet in panic as she hides under a desk in what looks like an abandoned human resources office while the Broodmother looms in the doorway in silhouette.
BROODMOTHER: There’s no room for your problematic edginess in this wholesome home, sweaty.
(Rated R. Coming to theaters near you this Halloween. Don’t See it alone.)
Normally when I write short stories I just send them to specific friends as email attachments. But in the interest of providing extremely topical free content for those under social distancing lockdown I have decided that my most recent story should be posted publicly. The genre is giallo, which if you are unfamiliar with you can find a good concise summary here. Needless to say it is one of my favorite film subgenres. Bad taste as it might be, I just couldn’t resist thinking ‘Venice under lockdown during pandemic is the perfect giallo setting.’ Also, giallo is all about bad taste made stylish. Sometimes we make do with what the world gives us. Even by the standards of short stories, its on the smaller side so I figure it will fit fine as a blog post.
And if you need a fitting soundtrack for reading it, here it is. Now, on to the main event.
L’Inseguitore della Quarantena
Ania strapped on her surgical face mask before wrapping herself in her stylish long coat. She reached for the purse that never leaves the foyer except to go outside and adjusts it over her winter-grey ensemble. Taking one last glance out the living room window that overlooks the waters of the canal outside, she sighed and opened the door.
On the ground floor of the apartment building she stopped to knock on her neighbor’s front door.
‘Who is it?’ the fragile voice of an elderly woman called out.
‘Eleanora, its Ania. I am headed to work now but wanted to know if there are any groceries I could pick up for you once I head back?’
‘No dear. I believe my family has provided for me this week quite adequately.’ A loud cough reverberated through the wall. It stopped suddenly, almost like an unintentional oath that slipped out at a formal board meeting, but then returned with a vengeance. ‘Perhaps it would not be best for anyone to come inside my apartment for some time, dear.’
Ania whipped out her phone and dialed a number she had the misfortune of having saved from past use. ‘I’m going to let the authorities know, okay?’ Eleanora was 89 years old and was peak risk demographic for the virus. She also had been in self-imposed quarantine for weeks. Ania knew the elderly were a prime target for the quackery of grfiters.
‘Please dear, don’t worry about me. You have your own concerns. My children take care of me.’
Ania cursed under her breath lest the sweet old lady hear her as the phone chimed in an automatic message. We’re sorry, but the reporting center is currently experiencing high volume of calls and a backlog of cases. Please try again in a few hours.
‘If you could use your phone to call the reporting center later today, please do so. Good day Eleanora.’
Ania could hear the muffled assent between rough coughing from beyond the door as she strode out into the sun. Then she remembered that Eleanora’s phone hadn’t worked in months.
Ania was fortunate that her commute was only about 10 minutes. Exiting her apartment building of stately 18th Century entropy, passing the Santa Giustina church and walking along the canal by way of Ponte Fonadamenta di Santa Guistina Street and then turning east towards Castello was the extent of the journey.
It was a daily walk she had come to love since she started her job two years before. Even now…and perhaps even more so now, though she would tell no one of course, she found herself more in tune with the neighborhood and Venice in general with the quarantine in place. The city could be appreciated fully with less crowds and distractions. The waters lapping up against the crumbling-yet-functional buildings that had seen countless generations come and go stood as mute testament to past crisis survived by the city. The weathering on the buildings was no longer just charm for photo opportunities but rather the age lines and scars of place that had seen worse outbreaks and tragedies in its past.
The economy that kept it afloat on spendthrift tourists may have been gone, but a city was returned for to its actual residents. Or it would have been if they could have gone outside.
A masked police officer waved her down from across the nearest canal. Obediently, Ania stopped and ruffled through her purse for her permission slip. By the time he had crossed the nearest footbridge to within 10 meters of her she was able to hold up the work travel exemption. He gave her the thumbs up and she continued on her way.
He was the first person she had seen on the street that day.
Ania took off her mask and coat and stowed them in the locker right inside the entranceway to the crematorium. She washed her hands thoroughly in the restroom and made her way deeper into the building.
Alessandro was already there, running the oven. ‘Less today than any time last week. That’s good.’
Ania nodded. ‘Good to see such a rapid change in such short a time.’ The heat of the room tapered off as the oven shut down. She grabbed the brush and assisted her colleague in extracting the ashes from the oven. ‘Why do you think that is?’
‘Check the local news on your phone once we get done with this next one. I think I have a theory.’
Work gloves and plastic face plate applied, Ania began to hoist another wrapped body onto the table. ‘You know how I avoid the news these days. Everything I need to know I see here.’
‘Trust me on this one.’
The trellis rolled the next body into the oven. The door shut. Then came the roar of an all-consuming flame.
CANAL STALKER STRIKES AGAIN
Multiple eyewitnesses have called now in testimony about a killer that stalks Venice. The figure, believed to be a male, has so far claimed four victims in the past month. He targets solitary pedestrians who violate quarantine by being out at night. There is now enough testimony from people who witnessed the killings from their windows that some common facts can be pieced together.
There is a single solitary perpetrator working with no apparent collaborators.
The killer always appears to be wear a long black trench coat, black leather gloves, and bright red shoes.
The murders are all committed with a large knife, variously described as a long thin blade like that of a sushi chef.
The killer is always stated to be wearing a horrific mask, though the details of this mask vary from eyewitness to eyewitness. One man in San Polo described it as ‘like melting wax’ and a woman in Dorsodouro stated that ‘it looked like a mask of that ugly American senator’ but could not recall the specific name of the figure she was referring to. A police officer at one of the crime scenes raised the point that the killer may in fact have a naturally deformed face. So far, there is no useful or clear picture taken of the assailant.
Ania was eating a salad two meters from Alessandro who had constructed his own sandwich out of what meagre remnants still lurked in the communal fridge. ‘I am at a loss,’ she looked at him between bites, ‘as to why a serial killer has reduced the amount of death we have to process.’
‘Four deaths and the quarantine violators are basically off the streets entirely. You almost never see anyone out after nightfall anymore.’
‘One hell of an extreme method.’
‘If it works it works.’
Let’s head back to it, we have a backlog to fill if we want to get done before sundown ourselves.
Alessandro gave a polite wave on his way out the door. ‘Don’t wait too long now to close up.’
Ania nodded. She just had a few chores to wrap up after all. Then her phone rang with an unfamiliar number incoming.
Our system indicates that you previously tried calling our reporting center. Would you still like to make an infection report? Please press 1 if so.
Ania pressed 1 and then the various other numbers needed to narrow down who she was to talk too before being disconnected. She tried calling back and got a busy signal. Cursing, she gave up, gathered her outdoors coat and mask, and locked up the crematorium behind her.
The sun settled overhead and a dusky orange hue reflected from the canal water. Ania would be home soon but this was clearly cutting it close by her normal standards. Not a single person, not even a police officer, had she seen walking the streets at the same time as herself.
She had just made it to her normal turn-off near Santa Giustina when she heard the report of hard shoes against stone from behind her. She turned her head but could only see the growing shadows emerging from between the buildings around her. They were masking the walker. A walker whose pace was increasing the echoes bounced all around, obscuring the direction of approach.
Cursing, Ania increased her pace. She was almost home and her paranoia wouldn’t matter once she got there.
Something splashed in the water directly behind her. An object casually tossed from what could only have been a place of origin no more than ten meters away. Unthinking, Ania took off at a running speed down the narrow side-street. The sounds of her heels on stone merged into an endless feedback echo along with that of the other person.
She almost collided with the apartment building’s front door. Fumbling with the keys, she unlocked the lobby and slammed it behind her upon entering. That’s when she noticed the blood red glow that permeated the inside of the building.
Turning, she saw that Eleanora’s apartment door was open. The light was pouring out from inside.
‘Eleanora? Are you alright?’ Time distorted as Ania walked up to the doorway and checked to make sure her facemask was still in place.
The elderly woman had managed to get her own face mask on and seat herself in a wheelchair near the entranceway. From the state of her apartment it had clearly been a struggle. Ania never remembered all of her lights being tinted red before, but now they were. Every last one.
‘My children,’ gasped the woman, ‘said the new light covers would protect me.’ Ania’s eyes caught a discarded box of ‘VIRUS KILLING UV LIGHT’ on the floor before returning to Eleonora. ‘I think I need to go to the hospital,’ wheezed the neighbor.
Ania had her phone in her hand in a second but swore an oath as the various emergency numbers she had put into her contacts list all returned busy signals or automated messages to call back later.
‘God-fucking-damn-it.’ The old woman was far too out of it to chastise Ania for her outburst as she grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and turned it about. She made her way back to the front door pushing the woman ahead. Outside, the darkness had descended into Venice.
Even going to the hospital, they would still have to pass the Santa Guistina church. Eyes sharply casting about for any signs of a stalker, Ania turned the wheelchair before her onto the canal-adjacent street and began pushing past the building. The church had become lit up as the skies had darkened, giving the black waters and shadow-cast buildings around a faint and eerie reflective aura.
Ania gradually maneuvered herself and her charge to be directly parallel to the canal and across the street from the church. If anyone were to approach, they would be backlit. It only took a minute for her precaution to pay off.
A figure detached itself from the shadows at the base of the church and made its way towards her. The light was too poor to see details, but Ania could see the glow of the church lights reflect from bright red shoes and shining black leather gloves. At the top of this confidently and deliberately striding figure was a melting mask like that of a human blobfish. Its wax glistened repellently.
Beneath their masks both Ania and Eleanora screamed.
‘I am a vital state worker! I have a pass!’ Ania shouted.
Without breaking their stride, the attacker kept up at the same pace, now only a few meters away from them. There was almost an imperceptible nod towards the old woman in the wheelchair as if to ask ‘but does she?’
There was a scrape of metal against leather and the flash a long glistening knife. Ania let go of the wheelchair and stepped between it and the approaching figure. ‘No.’ It was barely a whisper that escaped her lips, but the determination behind it surprised even herself.
The knife was raised, pointed downward, and swept towards her. The figure was taller and broader than her but not faster. Self-defense course training from college kicked in and Ania sidestepped to the left. The knife flashed by her face, barely missing it. Open palmed, she struck the waxen mask.
There was the sickening sensation of lukewarm candle. A brief and confused thought flitted through Ania’s mind for just a second before she struck again: That is no mask.
Kneeing the off-balance attacker in the center of mass, she was able to stagger her foe. The knife fell. She pushed the stalker away and made a grab for the weapon. Grasping black gloves fumbled as she brought up the steel blade and failed to stop her relentless assault.
Again and again she thrust forward. Each time the knife came back redder. There were no cries or screams. Blank eyes buried within that melting face seemed to stare through her impassively as she screamed in primal rage. The figure toppled and Ania fell on top of it, knife still plunging.
So it continued until the attacker moved no more.
Shaking, Ania dropped the knife with a clatter upon the stone street. She was covered in blood. She turned and staggered back to Eleanora’s wheelchair.
The old woman’s eyes bugged out like grotesque glistening orbs. Her mouth frozen in a panicked scream. Ania had seen more than enough corpses to know it was too late. Eleanora’s frail heart must have given out in the panic of the attack.
Ania stripped off her blood-soaked gloves and reached for her phone, trying the police, the hospital, any institution once again. She received no response. A frustrated scream boiled out of her and she tossed the phone into the canal before falling to her knees and sobbing.
It was almost opening time for the crematorium and Ania had completed most of her unofficial tasks for the night. Eleanora, per state mandate, was going to be denied a public funeral and as an infected person would have to be cremated anyway. This had already been completed. It was a second body she was preparing now.
There had been no forms of identification on the figure. Everything was loaded onto the oven trestle, gloves, shoes, and all, into the oven. Alessandro had been right, the canal stalker had a useful role to play in public health. Best to just disappear and remain a looming threat than a saga cleanly ended in the public mind.
Then Ania’s eyes caught the red on the shoes and her mind spun back to the UV lights in Eleanora’s apartment. She made sure to grab the knife before sending the body into the oven.
In fact, she thought, it might be best for the stalker to get one more stab at the headlines.
The middle-aged brother and sister were knocking on their mother’s apartment door. ‘She isn’t answering. She might not hear you.’ The woman crossed her arms impatiently as the man kept striking the door. He hit harder and the force caused the door to swing inward.
The siblings entered. Everything was bathed in red light. ‘Well, she put the lights up. That at least means she doesn’t have to worry so much.’ The brother turned to the sister, ‘probably in bed.’
The door slammed shut behind them and the lock clicked. The siblings spun around and recoiled. Between them and the door stood a figure swathed in black clothing, black gloves twisting around the hilt of a knife which glinted red in the light of the apartment’s interior. A shocking waxen mask had been constructed around a nurse’s face mask and surgical goggles.
The siblings screamed and cowered as Ania advanced in silence.
Now, for some added bonus content, here is an old giallo style movie poster I made for what was going to be another story years ago but I never ended up writing. Though a few of the ideas ended up going into the above tale.