Why I Love Horror Movies, and What's Wrong with So Many of them Today

Note: If you read my Nightmare on Elm Street Blog you will recognize some of this, as a portion of this is a copy paste job from that one. The reason I did so is because I had been thinking about what I'd said, and I wanted to expand on it, so I needed to repost it in order to do that. If you're one of my three readers (lol) and you're astute enough to catch this, rest assured that less than halfway in, it stitches to all new material, and even the copy paste job isn't just that as I have edited some things.

So, if you do recognize some stuff, keep reading, the last 60% or more is totally new.

Thanks.

Moving on with the blog....

It all began with three little words. 

Footsteps on the Stairs- A (Very) Short Story

I wrote this just now on a whim, and it represents a departure for me in that it mostly takes place in the reader's imagination, as opposed to taking place on the page as all of my other writing has. Not sure if this will work or not but it's worth a shot.   

     Ariana lay trembling, listening to the footsteps on the stairs marking her Aunt's slow ascent to her third story bedroom. Or, perhaps more precisely, her third story prison. It was just around sunset on a spring day. The date was April 15th, 1978. Ariana had last been outside of that particular room on September 24th, 1975.

Horror Story: Memories Along a Fault Line (Conclusion).

This is the second and final part. Part One can be found HERE

This vision however, was just that, although it was actually retroactive in nature; just her dreaming mind adding its bizarre touch on an already bizarre real occurrence. The skull and ring of fire were just the horrific embellishments of the dream state. The first transition during wakefulness, and the accompanied change in lovemaking behaviour, however, were not. Neither were the cackle and the wink, and these, in conjunction with the crazed look on his face and the sudden change, were so horrifying, that the fire skull would have added little to her terror.


Now her dreaming mind took her to early March, 1995.

Bonnie awakening in the night. Lying on her left side, facing Bobby's side of the bed, she opened her eyes and saw.....nothing. No sign of Bobby. Turning over so that she was in the Supine position, she sat up, and was met with a frightening sight that stopped her cold. Bobby was standing at the foot of the bed, only it wasn't Bobby. Whatever it was that was inside of him was standing at the foot of the bed, and it was brandishing a knife, and it was grinning maliciously.


Eyes wide, she surveyed the situation. He was standing about three feet in front of the bed. The doorway, and only exit, was behind him and to the right. She contemplated jumping off of the side of the bed and running for it, but she knew that he would easily be able to get to her, if of course that was his goal. Which, of course, judging by the knife in his hand and the malevolent look on his face, it was.

Get moving then, her mind, always the pragmatist, insisted, And do it now!

Bonnie, feeling her fear manifest itself as a lump in her throat and a cold sweat on her back, quickly slid off the left side of the bed and groped for the dresser, realizing that her best shot was distraction. She groped for something she could throw at him, and she knew she needed to be quick about it. Keeping her gaze fixed on what used to be her husband, she blindly reached until she got ahold of something. It was her jewellery box.

It'll have to do, she thought.

And so, she wound up and threw the wooden box directly at his (it's?) face, and at the same time, dove across the bed, jumped off and ran for the door. She reached the doorway and came to a dead stop, uttering a bloodcurdling scream.


Bobby/it had hold of her and he was cutting into the back of her neck with the knife.


Feeling more pain and terror than she had ever thought possible, she, acting on complete instinct, threw her head forward and simultaneously kicked backwards as hard as she could. Amazingly, she managed to slip free of his grasp and took of running down the stairs, with him bellowing after her.

And then her dream shifted to mid March.

Bobby in custody. Bonnie, having decided that she would ignore her rational mind and just give it a try out of desperation, ignored the psychologists and had approached the local Catholic priest, telling a tale that was met not with incredulity, but a solemn seriousness that both unsettled and oddly reassured her, despite her intellectual and critical objections.


And so here she was. Bonnie and Father Belham, thanks to a favour granted by their lawyer, in a room with a chained up Bobby, who was, much to her relief, in one of what Bonnie referred to as his refractory periods. This struck her as doubly fortuitous, as these periods were growing more and more infrequent.

Flash forward through the introductions, explanations, demurring, pleading, solemn warnings, and eventual reluctant acceptance, and her dream finds her at the moment of truth.

Father Belham bent over Bobby, head on his forehead, reading from the Bible. Bobby sat, eyes closed, playing his part. And, contrary to Bonnie's expectations, her terrified eyes were met not with the grandiose stuff of film and literature, but a calm, quiet proceeding that was over in minutes and featured no climax whatsoever. Father Belham continued as he was for a few minutes, stood, pulled Bobby's eyelids both downwards and upwards, and said a few words to him, and then, seemingly satisfied, he walked towards Bonnie, and, escorting her out of the interrogation room, explained to her that things should turn out alright.

Bonnie awoke, the dreams resonating with her, lingering, reminding her of the events of that year long period in their lives. Steadying her breathing, she reminded herself that those events were long over. Bobby had, after much bureaucracy, testimony, and psychiatric care (unnecessary but impossible to get anyone to believe that) returned home, although home was now Cleveland. They had left Pittsburgh, and the events there, far behind them.

(or did you?)

Bonnie ignored the thought. There was no reason to think otherwise. Bobby had been his normal self ever since.

(had he really Bonnie?)

Sure, there were little lapses in his usual demeanour at times, but after what he'd been through, who would expect otherwise?

(what about two nights ago, Bonnie?)

Bonnie shuddered. Images tried to penetrate her consciousness but she did not let them. Realizing that she had been unconsciously rubbing at the scar Bobby had left on the back of her neck, a constant reminder of that dark time, she stopped and rolled over, wanting to wrap her arms around Bobby and assuage the discomfort that she was now feeling.

Except Bobby wasn't there.

Bonnie looked out to the hallway, and saw a dim light. Listening, she heard the faint sound of slightly running water, and the occasional curious metallic clinking sound.

Sounds like something hitting porcelain, she thought. What the fuck? Is he shaving?

Perturbed, she climbed out of bed and left the bedroom. She walked down the hall, her nightgown billowing out around her, and as she approached the open door of the bathroom, she, just by sound, ascertained that he was indeed shaving. She was filled with unease.

Why is he shaving in the middle of the night?


(ah, a part of you knows already, Bonnie, a part of you knows)

Bonnie's arms broke out in gooseflesh, and she pulled her nightgown tight around her, and, with her arms crossed tight against her chest, and her breath held, she entered the bathroom, and when she was met with the scene inside she screamed the scream of the mad.

Inside the bathroom, Bobby, or whatever it was that was inside of his body, was standing at the sink, shaving, a malevolent gleam in his/its eye. The water ran red with blood.

Bobby, or whatever it was that was in his place, was slowly shaving off pieces of his/its face. He/it looked up, and, meeting Bonnie's horrified gaze in the mirror, shook bloody chunks of skin off of the straight razor and, realigning it, started to take a strip off of his/its right cheek.

Bonnie fainted, and Bobby/it went right on shaving.

Horror Story: Memories Along a Fault Line (Part One).

      Lying next to him, feeling his heart beating inside of his chest, the beat strong and rhythmic, not arrhythmic, irregular, weak, or, perhaps (no, Bonnie, not perhaps, certainly) best of all, not the pounding, alacritous pattern known as tachycardia, she could hardly believe that the events in Pittsburgh had actually occurred.
    
  Ah, but you have the scar to prove it, don't you Bonnie? she thought. You know the one you instinctively run your finger alongside when you get anxious? Especially if that anxiety revolves around Bobby.

      Bonnie pushed the thought aside, and held tighter to Bobby as she closed her eyes and willed her nervous system to begin what she thought of as the shutdown routine, which was how she visualized her bodies' preparations for sleep. A computer, shutting down for the night, only to (hopefully) reboot in the morning, refreshed and strong, ready to tackle the day's challenges. She clung tight to Bobby and, feeling the patterns of both his respiration and pulse (both strong and exuding a comforting vitality, even in their sleep slowed states) she slowly plunged downwards into one of Poe's little slices of death; a night's slumber. And, as they often did, the events from the time spent in Pittsburgh revisited her during the night.

      There hadn't been any shouts of “The power of Christ compels you!” There had not been any pea soup vomit; nor had there been any three hundred and sixty degree head revolutions or any walking down stairs in a wholly terrifying upside down crab like shuffle. No “your mother sucks cock!” No masturbation with a crucifix. The events was no less serious; it was much more so, in fact, as the events in Pittsburgh had not been contained to the fantastical realm of the film woven through a movie reel. They may have been less, well, theatrical, but they were much more disconcerting. Much more terrifying.
   
       What preceded the events of that night was a slow but steady change in personality. Bobby's usual cheery demeanour had, in March of 1994, begun to show signs of intermittent slippage, almost like wear and tear on spark plugs resulting in the occasional misfire or hindered turnover. By September, these misfirings had almost become as probable as a normally Bobby day. In December, the mental abuse had begun.

      It had started with an incorrect bill payment. More to the point, Bonnie had accidentally overpayed on the previous months' gas bill, and Bobby had lashed out in a vitriolic stream of shouted curses and insults. Really nasty, horrible things, unwarranted, certainly, but more than that; the were completely and utterly without precedent. Even with his puzzling slow but steady decline in affect, he had never, ever been downright malicious, and in the time Bonnie had come to think of as Before, he would never had come even remotely close to admonishing her with any real expressed anger over something so trivial, let alone actually verbally assaulting her, but on December 4th, of 1994, sitting at the kitchen table, going over the financial records for the previous month and stumbling upon an overpaid gas bill dated November 17th, Bobby had marked a milestone in his After period by verbally abusing his wife Bonnie.
    
    There he was, in vivid detail, again at the kitchen table. His black hair damp against his forehead as he literally poured over the bills, paying excruciatingly close attention to all manner of fine detail; detail so fine it was not exaggeration to refer to it simply as minutia; the sort of stuff the Before Bobby would have skipped over with a wave of his hand, if any outward expression at all. Not this new Bobby, however. And certainly not this month, which seemed to be the worst thus far in a linear progression of a steadily worsening demeanour, slightly noticeable on a day to day basis, very noticeable if you backed up and took a month by month perspective on things. From that angle, you could almost see the trend angling upwards, plotted on a graph in black magic marker, with months listed along the X axis, and 'negativity intrusions upon the affect' on the Y axis. One could even imagine the title of the imaginary plotted figure, if one were so inclined: 'Inverse Relationship Between Positive Affect and the Passage of Time in Unceremoniously and Inexplicably Changed Males.' A word other than 'changed' occurred to Bonnie
    
     (possessed)
    
     but she did not pay it any heed. Even in sleep, the word was one that haunted her, and she would try her damnedest to avoid consciously thinking of it.

      Bonnie had been sitting across from him, watching as he spent several minutes per bill, agonizing over every detail, his brow soaked with sweat and his jet black hair, hair that Bonnie had, innumerable times over the course of their eight year marriage, run her fingers through, both in the throes of passion and outside of that aspect of the marital relationship, dampened with sweat, stuck to hi anyways). He tossed the bill he was currently examining aside and brought the next one to the front of the pile. He began to move his lips as he read the contents of the bill, and Bonnie had time to note two things before the events of the day, acting, unbeknownst to her at the time, as a harbinger of (much worse) things to come, took a turn for the worse.

     The first thing she noted was that for as long as she had known him, she had never witnessed him mouthing along with whatever it was that he was reading, and yet now he had been lightly reading aloud everything that he would normally have tackled silently, since the onset of whatever it was he was currently afflicted with. And this observation was the genesis for the second observation, which, while seemingly undeniable, was something that she wished she could both unsee and especially unhear: Bobby was reading aloud everything that he was reading while he was reading it........except he was reading aloud in a very ancient sounding language, a language that Bonnie was positive that he did not know........and he was reading in someone (or something) else's voice.

      His voice sounded thick, dark, leathery, scratchy, and old. Very, very, very old. It was a voice that conveyed an immense age, an immeasurable amount of power, and, just under the surface, perhaps more perceptible to some than to others, a hint of malicious intent. A malignancy bubbling beneath the surface, like the cancerous cells of a tumour rapidly metastasizing just beneath the surface of the skin; a dangerous process thinly veiled by the faintest of covers.

     The sound of that voice brought a chill to Bonnie's spine.

     Transfixed, Bonnie sat and observed her husband pour over utility bills with a fine toothed comb, until he hit upon something that stopped him dead in his tracks, bringing an end to the sound of that voice, and when he next spoke, at a normal (well, slightly raised), volume, it was with his own voice, and it was in English. Not a trace of any foreign languages or strange voices were to be heard.
     Had she imagined it?
    
    Did I really hear that, she had wondered, or was I imagining it? She knew that her husband's sporadic, often incomprehensible (compared to his norm) behaviour as of late could easily have inspired such an, such a (what? Hallucination? Vision? Aural imagining?), well, such an event . Well, either way, it was a non issue at the moment, because he husband's voice was back to normal, except for one little detail.

     He was shouting and cussing at her, hurling nasty insults like little invisible javelins; javelins that cut through the fabric of relationships that is woven between two individuals. Throw enough of them and that fabric is ripped apart, severing the ties that bind.

     Pulled away from her thoughts, and brought back to the reality of the moment, his voice suddenly swelled and filled her realm of comprehension like sound returning to the world when resurfacing after an underwater dive. Momentary confusion cannibalized by sudden clarity and a return to normal comprehension. Only this time, there was nothing normal to comprehend. Never in his Before period had Bobby acted in such a way.

      A nasty array of words, concocted and issued side by side and simultaneously, all with a singular goal: to hurt. To admonish, to chastise, to rebuke. All because of a simple error: the accidental overpayment of a gas bill (which of course could easily be rectified, with the aid of a simple phone call and perhaps ten to fifteen minutes to reach the proper channels and enter the appropriate information).

     The insults and curses kept coming, but now they were fading, fading away, as the dream shifted (as dreams so often do) forward in time, from December of 1994 to February of 1995, which was about a month shy of the one year anniversary of the beginning of the period Bonnie had come to know as Bobby's After period.

     The February-March 1995 period of their Pittsburgh ordeal played out rather quickly in reality, but in the Wild West that was time constraint in the world of dreams, the ordeal played out in the theatre of Bonnie's mind in mere seconds. As her eyes danced the dance of dreams in their sockets, her dreaming mind replayed the least few significant and terrifying events of the period of their lives known to her as either The Pittsburgh Ordeal, or Bobby's After period.

     Dinner table, sometime in February. Bonnie watching in perplexed horror as Bobby slowly cut a gash into his left wrist using the steak knife which he grasped in his right hand. He started at the palm of his hand, and worked his way up, only stopping after cutting a gash six or seven inches long, at which time he affixed his horrified wife with a gaze that screamed insanity; eyes bug eyed and bloodshot, black hair standing on end, right hand holding onto the knife still digging into the flesh of his left wrist. After staring at the horrified Bonnie for several seconds, seconds which had seemed to her in the moment to be successive eternities, he spoke, and for the first time since December that other voice had returned, but this time it managed to speak a broken sort of English, although said English was couched in random segments of what appeared to be nothing but gibberish.

     “Entah, untah, down the street, ugang, lugang, not across the road, barkah, sparkah, bitch slut hoe, twinkle toe, happah, dappah, that will be $3.99 bitch, you pay, I play, a love lost.” Bobby chanted this strange lullaby of insanity before bursting out into a strangled sounding, screeching sort of laughter.

     Even in the dream, Bonnie felt the ice cold fear grip her chest and run its marble fingers down her spine, in that practised way it had, having of course done it for time immemorial. She sat there, a prisoner in the iron grip of fear, completely at a loss as to what, if any, her next course of action should be.

     The dream, however, decided for her. Flash ahead to later that month.

     The bedroom, night. Bobby and Bonnie were engaged in lovemaking, their bodies draped together, limbs entwined, joined at member and mouth, Bonnie grateful for the break in Bobby's condition. They were far more sporadic now, but they still (fortunately) occurred. Like a break in stormy weather, when the rain would stop and the sun would break through the clouds, casting its exalting glow over the gloomy, rain soaked day, Bobby, the real Bobby, would break through for a while, and Bonnie, often dizzy with gratitude, would come at him with a barrage of questions and ideas, which all boiled down to you need help and we can do this together, both of which would be met with a very mild rebuke, the prevailing sentiment being I'm fine, it's just a bit of stress, it'll pass.

      Of course, Bonnie was never satisfied, and she also knew better; however, she would also be so thrilled (and relieved) to have her Bobby back for the time being that she would drop the matter in favour of conversation, lovemaking, a meal, whatever. Just average, everyday, boring old married couple things that, when they occurred so few and far between, felt more like a honeymoon than they did boring old marital activities. Even something as mundane as cleaning the house together would feel exquisite. Yet, Bobby never seemed to share in her joy, at least not to the same extent she felt it. It was as though he was unaware of the true extent of his condition and therefore was always slightly bemused when he would be met with an absolutely ecstatic wife upon the discovery that he was in one of what she came to think of as his refractory periods, a designation whose subtext was not lost on her.


     And so they were enjoying eachother on an intimate level during one of Bobby's refractory periods when something unprecedented occurred. Up until that point, Bobby's slippage in and out of his condition was preceded by, and took place during, sleep. However, this time he had transitioned during wakefulness, and it happened so suddenly that Bonnie was at first unaware. One moment she was underneath her husband, who was slowly making love to her, rhythmically synching his movements with hers, and the next she was underneath a madman whose thrusts were crazed and desperate. Animalistic and crude, she was being taken as opposed to being enjoyed, and when she looked up into her husband's face, an inquisitive look still forming upon her own, what she saw would haunt her for the rest of her natural life.

     In place of her husband's face was a grinning, gleaming human skull, with a ring of fire for hair, and a crimson mask, likely blood, upon its cheeks. When she glanced up at the dead thing ravaging her from the inside, just as she screamed, it cackled and dropped her a stomach churning wink, as if to say “Is it as good for you as it is for me, baby?”

CONCLUSION

A Nightmare On Elm Street 2010 Remake Review

Note: This review is going to structured a bit differently (okay, a lot differently) than one would expect a movie review to be structured. I am going to compare my pre-viewing assessment of this film with my post-viewing assessment to see how they compare, and then I will offer a list of pros/cons and good sized summation, both pertaining directly to this film.

Anyone reading this, please, if you wish, let me know how this novel (to me, at least) format works for you compared to a more traditional reivew, and of course, feel free to agree or disagree with my assessment of this film.

Initial Thoughts on the ANOES Remake: How Accurate was I?

Well, I have now seen the A Nightmare on Elm Street remake. I did not spend any money on it, but I got the chance to see it free and so I jumped at it. I had struggled with my resolve not to give in and pay to see this (I didn't want to support it, or the general remake trend) and I am sad to say my resolve was faltering, but, serendipitously, I got the chance to see it for free, and so, as I already stated, I jumped at that chance, and have now, for better or for worse (we'll soon find that out muahahaha....lame, I know.....muaahahah- okay, I'll stop) seen the movie.

So, what I am going to do here is post the impressions I'd had of the remake going in, based upon the large number of reviews and tons of viewer feedback that I had read online (and also good old fashioned inference based upon previous works of the people involved and the current state of American horror), and then after each point, add my present standing on that point, since I have now seen the movie.

And so, what we will find out is how accurate I was in my initial (negative) assessments of the merits (or lack thereof) of this new 2010 version of a 1984 genre classic.

Note: I will put the original statements in black, and my accuracy assessments in red.

1) Freddy's look. I know that's more realistic, but he lost the demonic look that I loved. However, I am willing to admit a part of this is likely nostalgia.

Ugh.......

I still hated it at first, but by the end I merely disliked it.....strongly. Okay, perhaps mildly. If they do make 2 more sequels, and I do see them, I suppose by the end of it I'll have gotten to the point where his new face is at least no longer distracting.

2) HIS VOICE!!Freddy sounded demonic. Now he sounds like a breathless Rocky Balboa. Not scary in the least and this alone is a huge dealbreaker for me.

Absolutely fucking horrible. A slow talking, mouth breathing, Dark Knight sound alike. No, just....no. I refuse to budge on this point even a millimetre. Oh, wait, save for one redeeming quality. The laugh. Haley approximated Enlgund's exquisite balance between sinister and maniacal and he did so without trying too hard to sound like Englund. In doing so, I'd say he did a great job with the laugh. It immediately called to mid Englund's, as it was similar, but not in a way that made you nostalgic nor angry for him trying to copy it. Well done on that one!

3) Based upon several reviews and viewer feedback it seems as though the ''scares'' were pretty much the loud BAM sound followed by a sudden appearance of Freddy. I HATE the overuse of jump scares. It's cheap, cheesy, manipulative and indicative of the fact that these guys are creatively bankrupt and don't understand shit about horror or what Craven did with the original ANOES.

This wasn't quite as bad as I expected, but still bad and indicative of the things I said it would be. It wasn't AS bad, but definitely, definitely over relied upon.

4) I read that the nightmare scenes are always telegraphed via musical and aesthetic changes. Part of what I loved with the original series is you often weren't immediately aware that you were in 'dream world' if you will. There were some surprises. Some.....unknown. Some...suspense.

Every single one of them, save for maybe one (can't recall for sure) was telegraphed via aesthetic changes, as I said. The dream sequences themselves were also unimaginative and unoriginal.

5) The footage I have seen features a very wooden Nancy. Langenkamp might not win any awards but at least she had expression and depth.

She actually wasn't that bad. Not great, but certainly not horrible, and the way her character was handled sort of approached (but did not match) what Craven did with his Nancy. One of the better elements of the film, I thought.

6) The people involved do it solely for money, and they are hacks. They didn't even care to try and involve any of the original people. No Craven, no Saxon, no Lagenkamp and no Englund.

Now, this is a 'reboot' so this makes some sense. Well, Englund could have played Krueger but the rest make sense. Except for one: Craven. They didn't bother to get input from the one man who truly understood Krueger, and the one man who had vision. Idiots.

Not much to add here, although I guess I can say that, while I would never pick Bayer to direct another one, his direction wasn't the main issue here.

7) I don't want to support this remake bullshit. They fucked up FF13, they destroyed Halloween, the are fucking up Krueger (although I can't fully say this until I see it, which of course I'll end up doing at some point, let's be real, but hopefully for free after my brother buys the DVD) and they have completely destroyed so many others. Black Christmas, Prom Night, Psycho (not that I'm a huge fan of the original), Dawn of the Dead, etc etc etc

Saw it free, so I can still feel that I did not betray my sensibilities on this one.

8) WHERE THE FUCK IS THE ORIGINAL SCORE?? It's the best damn horror score EVER.

True, and a damn shame. The only element that was present from it was the little piano melody, but it only made it into the film for a brief moment or two.

9) CGI. The clip of Freddy coming out the wall looks so fucking fake now, whereas the budget shot with no CGI from 1984 still looks better today.

Absolutely true. In fact, the few scenes that they did copy from the original both felt out of place (they were just haphazardly thrown in) and sucked in this one. I won't describe them all for the sake of brevity, but the scene in the original with Tina in the bodybag and the ensuing boiler room scene were fucking destroyed in the new one with a limp, shitty, weak ass approximation of only half of the original scene, and even then, it sucked.

The one good one was the bedroom scene involving Kris (Tina) and whatever his name was (Rod) which I thought actually matched the original. They did i a bit differently, and I'd say they did really well with it. The few omissions where made up for by the new way in which Kris/Tina is physically manipulated by Freddy in that small space. Evocative of a classic Poltergeist scene, without feeling like a ripoff of either that or the NOES scene from which it drew inspir- well, copied. Kudos to them on this one.

10) They all know what's going on way too early, and they come to know it way too easily. The original had a slow, suspenseful buildup where Nancy and co. tried to piece together what was happening.

Yes and no. They don't get the whole story right away. But the whole ''let's piece together this mystery'' thing starts like 5 minutes in to the movie, which does destroy a lot of the tension and pacing.

Maybe I'll end up liking it, but I doubt it. The guys behind the project just don't see horror the way I do, and I don't think I'll enjoy what they did to ANOES. Still, I admit I may be wrong. There's .000003% chance of it :)

Well, I don't love it, but, surprisingly, I don't hate it. It's....okay. Ho hum. Here are just a few (again, for the sake of brevity) of the hits and misses that I have not mentioned thus far:

Misses:

1) Haley's Freddy not only looked and sounded worse, he moved in a more boring manner, and he did not do anything creative. He stalked his victims in a slow and linear fashion, typical of more mundane slasher villains. His mannerisms and actions were just bland, and Haley brought nothing new, save for one small tick, a swishing sort of thing he did with the blades, conveying Freddy's anxiousness and desire to slice and dice (this was a decent little tic, I thought). Other than that, nothing, and he lost so much.

2) He lost that 1950's spaghetti western swagger, the running (he never ran once, for fuck's sake he's not Jason or Michael!), the toying with his victims in ways other than the slow approach/oh I'm gone/boo mechanic so often utilized in this one (remember the amazing alley scene, or the jail scene with Rod? Ya, none of that) and of course the voice. Another thing that sucked where his lines, but that was the damn writers' fault. Man, for the most part, they wrote some shitty dialogue for everyone, not just Haley, but his especially....ugh. And they stole lines straight from Nightmare 4 and FvsJ, but they were shitty and out of place lines.

3) The kills were terribly uncreative. The best one was one lifted directly from the original. That right there should tell you something.

4) They did not develop the character of Nancy's mother at all, nor did they really develop her relationship with her daughter. Thus, they lost one of the strongest and central elements of the original film: the mother daughter relationship, and how the dynamic shifted as the film progressed, so that by the climax and subsequent denouement, Nancy had become the parent in the relationship, and consequently, had learned to take care of herself.

This not only set up the final confrontation with Krueger, but it was also a statement regarding the changes to the so called ''nuclear'' family that had been rapidly progressing during that decade. Nancy's father was nowhere to be seen (not a statement, I assure you).

5) The pacing. Much too quick, and far too many dream sequences/too much Freddy.

Hits:

1) The supporting cast wasn't that bad. Some rough moments here and there, but really, not that bad.

2) The last 15 minutes or so, up until the HORRIBLE last 2 minutes, were quite good, and in those 12-15 minutes, I saw some actual damn passion, or at least, some glimpses of it, a bit of creativity, and hell, even a genuinely creepy couple of moments. This, Kris' (Tina's) bedroom scene (although the preceding outdoor sequence SUCKED SO HARD compared to the amazing alley sequence in the original) and a few other moments were pretty good.

3) They did NOT make Freddy innocent, as I had heard they had considered doing (and had in fact even done, in early script drafts). This is crucial. You make pre-dead Freddy an innocent victim, you make Freddy Krueger a sympathetic character. You make him sympathetic, suddenly you feel sad for him rather than afraid of him.

4) Freddy had a few genuinely good lines amidst his mediocre and downright bad ones. Of course, one of his very best was stolen from Nightmare 1 (and the still managed to miss a word) but a few of the new ones were good, and creepy).

5) Very good one here: Freddy was menacing, dark, and serious. No clowning around here, and that's how I like him. He toys with his victims, but in a deliberately malicious, evil way. No flying around on a broomstick in a witch costume shouting out ''I'll get you my pretty, and your little dog, too!'' like in Freddy's Dead: The Final Nightmare. While that was an admittedly funny and fun, campy moment from a cheesy, campy, fun (but not scary) 5th sequel, I'm very glad they avoided going in that direction for this film. This was the ANOES 1, 2 and 7 Krueger, and that's good..

6) Along the same lines as the last point, the entire movie maintained a serious tone, or at least tried to (some of the shitty lines nearly killed it). It was dark and dreary, and almost 100% sans jokes, which was great. The teens weren't partying it up and telling stupid jokes, and they weren't even heavily stereotyped. Both of these things were refreshing, and demonstrated that the producers and Sam Bayer had at least enough knowledge of the series to realize that this is not your typical ''kill the sluts and drug users and have your virgin be your ''final girl'' slasher movie.

Summation:Old comment: So, a note to Platinum Dunes: I want my fucking childhood back, you assholes. I don't recall putting it on the market, so I have no idea how you fuckers bought and sold it, but I want it back. Now, give it back, or I'll......I'll......kil- no, no, that's not it......I'll, I'll, beat- no, no, that's not it either.....I'll I'll.....su-no, no that's not it.....Ah, Hell. I'll keep blogging about you!!! And you don't want that, trust me. I have a HUGE audience and immeasurable influence. I can get people to boycott your ass, and let me tell you, you'd lose at least $23.00. You want to test me? You want to test me motherfuckers? Go ahead, if you think it's worth $23.00, go right the fuck ahead, you childhood stompin fart brains!!!!

New Comment: Well, Platinum Dunes did not completely destroy this movie, but they truly and honestly made a movie that need not exist. It did not contribute to the series in any meaningful way, it will never be heralded as a genre classic, it was almost entirely unable to upstage the 26 year old original, and in fact, even (mostly) failed when it tried to directly copy it.

However, they did treat Freddy with the right idea, keeping him serious and sinister, and at least the scenes all didn't take place in the light of day. I also thought that the introduction of micronaps made for a great, and logical plot device, which served to increase the tension (what little of it there was) although they predictably fucked up the science of it somewhat, and of course, they also mostly used it for jump scares.....*sigh*.

The Nightmare on Elm Street Remake is like a glossed up version of the original classic with most of the originality and nuance removed, and in is place was too quick of a pace and too much standard genre fare. It was also rushed, as I already alluded to several times, and crucial elements like Nancy's absent (in different ways) parental influences were completely absent, which took away from the significance of her eventual resilience and finding the courage to fight back (which actually sucked in this one compared to the original). Also, the kills were mediocre and not particularly interesting , horrifying, or visually arresting, save for one ( of course a copy from ANOES 1) and Freddy was a heavy breathing, slow talking, almost lisping weirdo who exuded no real personality. Not like Englund's Freddy did.

Still, the bones of a Nightmare film will, or at leatst, shold, always make for a good horror story, and I guess I can say that, technically, this one was probably better than The Dream Child and Freddy's Dead, although those ones at least had campiness to them that lends itself to repeat viewing over the years. This one, on the other hand, lacks both that factor AND the impact and resonance of the perfect mixture of deeper thematic undertones and excellent, nuanced horror, leading to an average at best Nightmare flick, and a pretty good horror flick in general.

I can say this: I enjoyed this more than any other horror movie I have seen in the last few months, although even my love for all things Freddy could not elevate this higher than the last few greats I have seen in the last year or so, both coming out of France: Haute Tension (High Tension) and A L' Interiur (Inside).

Both of those are absolutely excellent horror films that I recommend anyone reading this who loves horror to try and get their hands on and eyes in front of, although they are VERY brutal films that will require a strong disposition and a strong, healthy heart to be able to handle literally an hour and a half of solid tension and suspense. Those two movies are frightening and disturbing, and I absolutely loved them. They were the two best horror films I have seen since the seminal horror film coming out of the UK in 2006, the absolutely effective The Descent.

I will be looking towards France for the next while to get my horror fix, as this movie, while perhaps better than most of the other American ones I have seen as of late (thanks mostly to the characters created by Wes Craven and not much of anything these guys did themselves, save for a select few cool scenes) just will not cut it for me.

I guess they can be commended for making a good horror film at a time where good American horror films are few and far between, and this movie is probably their best remake, which isn't saying much, since, save for the Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake (which might actually be better than this one, but I haven't seen it since 2003, so I need to rewatch it before making a verdict on that one) the rest of them, from what I have seen ad heard, have fucking sucked ass.

Ah well, I have only spent actual money on two of them (TCM and F13th) and one of those was actually good. The Friday the 13th remake blew chunks, and I will say that I am soooo glad that they didn't give this movie that treatment...yuck. At least this one is somewhat competent, on some levels.

FINAL VERDICT:

I will score the A Nightmare on Elm Street 2010 an underwhelming but competent 6.5/10 when assessing it as a standard horror film (decent acting, cool villain, medicore scares, not particularly inspired, pacing issues).

When compared to the film it so unnecessarily 'remade.' I feel that I must rate this film a disappointing 4/10.

QUESTIONS/FINAL WORD:

Perhaps it's just me, but shouldn't a movie be remade if it's warranted, and if the remake surpasses/improves upon the source material? If it doesn't, I have to ask, as I find myself doing since seeing this movie......

WHAT'S THE FUCKIN POINT?

My Attempt To Return Vampires to Glory. Pt. 3

PLEASE NOTE: You should, before reading this, definitely read PART ONE  as well as PART TWO if you already have not. I strongly recommend doing so. It will only take you a few minutes, and will greatly enhance the 'experience,' if you will, of reading this one. Thanks, and enjoy!

(although I certainly recommend reading the first two parts, I will post a short summary of the events that have thus far transpired in the town of Hunter's Bluff (aka parts 1 and 2) below).

It's a sad time to be a fan of vampire lore. They started off so well. From Bram Stoker to Anne Rice, vampires have become entrenched in our consciousness, and for good reason. Terrifying yet alluring, these creatures who roam by night and sleep by day strike both fear and curiosity into those who encounter them.

But now......

Now Hollywood has taken vampires and comepletely ruined them. Vampires to not go to school. They do not engage in teen romaces. The certainly do not glitter in the sunlight!

Vampires should be nasty creatures who can put on a veneer of civility if it suits them. They are essentially undead psychopaths. There have been varying iterations of these creatures throughout the years, sarting with Bram Stoker's vision of a refined gentleman living in a gothic castle who harbored a......nasty little secret, and unfortunately culminating in the affront to the horror genre we see today:


Really, what the hell is that?

My personal idea of what vampires should be is a cross between Stoker's original vision and the nasty, viscious creatures seen in the movie 30 Days of Night:

Now THAT'S a Vampire!

And so, with this in mind, I bring you the third excerpt from my entry into last years' 3 Day Novel contest. The entry is a short novel, written in 3 days, as per the rules, so it's definitely a bit rough around the edges, but I believe it turned out rather well for a 3 day marathon effort. So, without further ado, I give you excerpt #3 from Hunter's Bluff, my attempt to return vampires to the state to which they rightfully belong, while at the same time hopefully injecting some new ideas.

(Enjoy, and feel free to offer any criticisms you may have.)


For those who can't be bothered checking over the other(s), I will give you a quick summation of what I have thus far posted:

The Summary of the Story Thus Far

Part 1:

-We met our group of vampires. Gideon, the leader, and the other two, Uriah, and Elijah.
-The vamps were exiled to a remote, small town after plotting against their leader
-The town is now abandoned
-The vampires live in a hierarchical social structure
-They prepare to head out for what could be another fruitless night of hunting, not realizing they have humans in their midst

Part 2:

-We met a few of the humans, but are not aware of their situation beyond the present
-Andrew, Sam, and Amanda are in a seemingly abandoned house
-Andrew and Sam are investigating upstairs, while Amanda sleeps listlessly on the couch downstairs
-They find the attic door open, and are greeted by the coppery, unmistakable smell of blood
-Sam begins to ascend the stairs.........
-Outside, Gideon hears a yell, and is filled with a triumphant sort of vindication as he realizes it's human
-Gideon heads towards the place from which the sound originated.....an abandoned house.....

And now, I give you part three of the saga:

Sam reached the top step and poked his head into the opening. He saw nothing at all. However, the smell of blood had grown stronger. Much stronger. He hoisted himself up into the attic and shined his light around. Nothing.

Andrew's voice rang out from below. “Sam!!” A second later, he called out again. “SAM!”

Turning around to the entrance, his flashlight beam caught something that made his heart stop and his breath catch in his throat. He gasped. There, in the small space behind the door, crammed into the corner, was what appeared to be a female in her early to mid thirties. She was either unconscious or dead, which of the two it was was not readily apparent. Sam tried to scream but couldn't muster the breath to do so. He was paralyzed by fear and disgust. This was the most pure, naked terror he had ever felt in his life.

Andrew materialized in the hole, his face fraught with fear. Seeing Sam standing there, frozen in place, a look of pure horror on his face, he started to climb up, while simultaneously asking what it was that Sam was seeing.

“What, what?” “What the fuck is it?? he asked, as he quickly climbed up the few steps. He stepped onto the floor and then turned around. When he saw the woman crumpled against the wall, head tilted to one side, dead, with a tourniquet over a half missing arm, another over a half gone leg, bite and claw marks covering her body, a gaping, poorly bandaged wound in her neck, and covered in blood, he screamed the scream that Sam had not been able to muster, and he screamed loud and long enough for the both of them.

---------------

Downstairs, Amanda woke up with a start.

---------------

Outside, Gideon smiled ruefully as he zeroed in on the location of what he planned to make the contents of his, and his fellow predators', next several meals. He quickened his pace to a near run. As he did so, he mentally channeled Uriah and sent him an order to round up Elijah and come to his location. He got the house in sight and charged at it full speed. He got within five feet of it and leapt.

---------------

In the house, Amanda was up and instantly alert. She screamed Andrew's name, and started to run, when she tripped and fell. She could not see much in front of her, so she turned back to the couch and groped around for her flashlight, located it,flipped it on, ran to the kitchen and grabbed one of the knives, and then ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time. She arrived upstairs and saw the ladder that led up to the attic. Without hesitation, she ran towards it and as she was climbing up, there came a terrible crash from the attic above her. The sound of breaking glass was enormous. She got high enough to see the backs of Sam and Andrew, and then from in front of them, came a voice that caused her entire body to run cold. It was the scariest sounding thing she had ever heard. It was deep and raspy, and it immediately conveyed to her that whatever possessed such a voice was evil, not human, and ancient.

“Gentlemen, pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Gideon, and I will be your host for the foreseeable future.” This was punctuated with a laugh that matched the voice for bone chilling coldness.

The End

Hope you enjoyed it. Please feel free to comment, critisize, praise, admonish, etc etc etc.

My Attempt To Return Vampires to Glory. Pt. 2

PLEASE NOTE: You should, before reading this, definitely read PART ONE if you already have not. I strongly recommend doing so. It will only take you a few minutes, and will greatly enhance the 'experience,' if you will, of reading this one. Thanks, and enjoy!

It's a sad time to be a fan of vampire lore. They started off so well. From Bram Stoker to Anne Rice, vampires have become entrenched in our consciousness, and for good reason. Terrifying yet alluring, these creatures who roam by night and sleep by day strike both fear and curiosity into those who encounter them.

But now......

Now Hollywood has taken vampires and comepletely ruined them. Vampires to not go to school. They do not engage in teen romaces. The certainly do not glitter in the sunlight!

Vampires should be nasty creatures who can put on a veneer of civility if it suits them. They are essentially undead psychopaths. There have been varying iterations of these creatures throughout the years, sarting with Bram Stoker's vision of a refined gentleman living in a gothic castle who harbored a......nasty little secret, and unfortunately culminating in the affront to the horror genre we see today:


Really, what the hell is that?

My personal idea of what vampires should be is a cross between Stoker's original vision and the nasty, viscious creatures seen in the movie 30 Days of Night:

Now THAT'S a Vampire!

And so, with this in mind, I bring you a second excerpt from my entry into last years' 3 Day Novel contest. The entry is a short novel, written in 3 days, as per the rules, so it's definitely a bit rough around the edges, but I believe it turned out rather well for a 3 day marathon effort. So, without further ado, I give you excerpt #2 from Hunter's Bluff, my attempt to return vampires to the state to which they rightfully belong, while at the same time hopefully injecting some new ideas.

(Enjoy, and feel free to offer any criticisms you may have.)

In the house, Amanda rolled over in her sleep. Andrew and Sam were just reaching the top of the stairs. Eyes moving in all directions, breathing rapidly, they stopped, listening. Again, they heard nothing. They reached the top of the stairs. Sam looked left, and Andrew went right. Sam began to think he may have imagined the sound after all, when Andrew gave a yell. Startled, he turned quickly around, instinctively raising the knife over his head, his grip on it so tight that his knuckles were turning white.

Andrew was looking at the door at the right end of the hall, mouth agape. Sam followed his gaze and he too dropped his lower jaw. The door in question was at the very end of the hall, and it led upwards, into the attic. It was also slightly ajar. Both of them thought this very odd, as they had searched the entire house upon entering it, before settling in the kitchen, and the attic door had not been open then. They hadn't bothered to enter it, since they'd thought of no reason to do so. But they knew for sure that the door was not open when they had been upstairs earlier.

There's someone in there, Andrew thought.

Something's in there. But what? Sam.

They looked at each other, unsure of what to do. They stood silent, eyes never leaving the door that led to the attic. They had no idea what to expect. There were no sounds coming from the attic. The door was still, not opening further, nor slamming shut. No hand reached out to beckon them in.

Nothing. Totally silent, motionless. The door hung ever so slightly agape, binding them to the spots in which they currently stood. Immobilizing and perplexing them.

Daring them to enter.

Sam was the first to move. With the knife still held above his head, he stepped around Andrew and dared to take three steps towards the attic, and then froze, waiting for something, anything to happen, some sort of indication as to whether or not the attic was actually occupied. A few dozen seconds passed, and nothing happened. He turned to Andrew and whispered.

“Maybe the door is just loose.”

At this, Andrew felt some of the fear dissipate. He immediately agreed with this proposition. Whether it was because it seemed the likeliest or because it served to alleviate fear and take his mind off of some alternatives, he did not know. Just to prove that this was the explanation, he approached the attic door and reached up to close it. And that was when he smelled it. Something metallic.

Coppery.

Blood. He stepped back from the door and turned to Sam.

“What is it, what, what?” Sam couldn't take it anymore. His fight/flight response had been triggered for and he was ready to just pick one course of action and commit to it.

Andrew looked at him, his eyes wide with fear. “Blood,” he whispered, “I smell blood.” He stammered. “I-I don't under-,” he shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. “Let's go, NOW!” He rushed down the hall, towards the stairs. As he neared Sam, Sam grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“Just wait a second, there might be someone in there that needs help.” He wasn't sure what was up there, but he know that it was possible there was someone up there that needed assistance, and he was not going to abandon them if he could help it. He also knew Andrew would feel the same, it was just that he was overcome with fear. Sam himself was terrified, but he also knew that the possibility that some crazed killer was hiding in the attic of the house just biding his or her time waiting for someone to walk up there was pretty outlandish.

Ah, but it's possible, his mind interjected.

He pushed away the thought. “Wait here.” Gripping the knife as tightly as possible, he approached the attic door, and slowly, slowly, reached an arm up to grab hold of its bottom. It was an old style one with a ladder attached to it. He hesitated with his hand on it. He counted to five.

So far so good.

He pulled the door all the way down and slid down the ladder, trying to be as quiet as possible. Both he and Andrew winced at the sound it made hitting the floor. Again he counted silently to five.

And again, nothing. No sound, no movement, no crazed killers' face or groping hand with an iron grip.

Sam began to ascend the stairs.

----------------------------------------------

Outside, Gideon froze. He had heard something. A yell, coming from somewhere close by. It was faint, coming from inside somewhere and probably not very loud, but for him, it was perceptible. Faint, and although he wasn't able to zero in on its location, he knew he'd definitely heard something, and it came from somewhere close by.

And it was human.

A feeling of triumphant vindication and excitement rose up within the ancient creature. Even after hundreds of years, the thrill of the hunt still appealed to him, still aroused the senses. And now, in his current state of hunger, how fortuitous that a human, no, more than one human, should suddenly materialize in his little corner of the world? He had been correct, the other human had not been alone.

Such predictable little gnats they were. To think he himself once had been a member of their ranks. The thought was nauseating. Humans were stupid, despicable, scurrying, worthless creatures. But they were tasty.

Oh yes. And he shall have that taste again, and soon. It had been a long time prior to this evening. He had gone hungry for human flesh and blood for some time, and what he'd had this so far this evening was but a taste. He'd survived for nearly two months on the wildlife in the surrounding area. Whatever little creatures he could catch. They provided enough sustenance to sustain life, but it wasn't enough. He'd been hungry, and he hadn't enjoyed a hearty meal in quite some time.

But now, he had stumbled upon a veritable feast of flesh. He wasn't naive enough to believe that there was some being out there, looking out for him, and making provisions, but in this moment, he could understand why the stupid humans fooled themselves with such pitiful and petty indulgences of thought.

He started to head in the general direction from which the sound had originated.

EDIT: Here's PART THREE

My Attempt To Return Vampires to Glory. Pt. 1

It's a sad time to be a fan of vampire lore. They started off so well. From Bram Stoker to Anne Rice, vampires have become entrenched in our consciousness, and for good reason. Terrifying yet alluring, these creatures who roam by night and sleep by day strike both fear and curiosity into those who encounter them.

But now......

Now Hollywood has taken vampires and comepletely ruined them. Vampires to not go to school. They do not engage in teen romaces. The certainly do not glitter in the sunlight!

Vampires should be nasty creatures who can put on a veneer of civility if it suits them. They are essentially undead psychopaths. There have been varying iterations of these creatures throughout the years, sarting with Bram Stoker's vision of a refined gentleman living in a gothic castle who harbored a......nasty little secret, and unfortunately culminating in the affront to the horror genre we see today:


Really, what the hell is that?

My personal idea of what vampires should be is a cross between Stoker's original vision and the nasty, viscious creatures seen in the movie 30 Days of Night:

Now THAT'S a Vampire!

And so, with this in mind, I bring you an excerpt from my entry into last years' 3 Day Novel contest, still in the judging phase. The entry is a short novel, written in 3 days, as per the rules, so it's definitely a bit rough around the edges, but I believe it turned out rather well for a 3 day marathon effort. So, without further ado, I give you an excerpt from Hunter's Bluff, my attempt to return vampires to the state to which they rightfully belong, while at the same time hopefully injecting some new ideas.

(Enjoy, and feel free to offer any criticisms you may have. If this garners enough interest, I'll post more, so let me know if you're interested or not.)

As the shadows grew longer and longer in Hunter's Bluff, and as the night began to take over the day, there grew a certain restlessness. In a cave at the south end of the city, the existence of which was and always had been completely unknown to all humans; the entrance hidden in the underbrush of the forest at the city lines, creatures, centuries old and confined to slumber during the day, began to awaken, slowly, in stages. Muscles began to contract as nerve impulses were sent, readying them for the mobility which was soon to come. Dreams of splendor and feasting were broken up and dissipated, giving rise to a growing consciousness as these creatures, anxious to begin an evening anew, awakened from their slumber. These particular few, however, drew from their slumber as though drunken. Weary, weakened, they rose unsteadily to their feet. Some more so than others, as all were in various stages of starvation. These few, however more fortunate than some of their comrades who now, unbeknownst to them, lay dead on a highway, were much less fortunate than their former kin, who lived a life of spoil and splendor, in parts of the world long left behind, feeding upon humans, drinking their maddeningly tasty, nourishing, rejuvenating blood.

No, these few were confined to this reclusive little town by a master incensed by their audacity. For these few, along with their fallen brethren, had dared to challenge his authority, had even the tenacity to try and overtake him. Their former master, whose very name they dare not speak, for it can burn the tongue it crosses, or so it has been said, had, approximately a year and a half earlier, banished the ungrateful few to a remote area with a limited food supply and left them to their fates.

The group of exiled creatures had totaled eleven. Their numbers had been reduced down to three by this day. Five had, due to starvation once the human and animal food supplies had started to run thin, ventured off, at varying times, to try and locate another town that some had believed existed somewhere nearby. Some among their ranks believed this was nothing but a myth. No one who had ventured out had ever returned. None knew for sure what this meant. One other had died of starvation, and two others had died by turning on another one of their kind and trying to feed, which was fatal for these creatures. They had been cognizant of this fact, but the poisoned blood had proved to be too tempting for these frantic, blood thirsty creatures.

The remaining three creatures, now awakened, were a fearsome looking group, even in their compromised conditions. They were as tall as any human revered for height, and stronger and more agile than any human could ever be, although these attributed had been diminished somewhat, to varying degrees, due to their malnourishment. They had complexions so fair they were almost translucent. As they rose from their slumber, there was a sing song of gnashing teeth. Teeth so sharp they could, and have, cut through bone. Teeth hungry for flesh and palettes quenched only by the taste of blood. Teeth that were sharpened to a point.

They had wispy, jet back hair, and black eyes that struck a deep, all encompassing fear into anyone unfortunate enough to be gazing into them. Their arms were unsettlingly long, and they ended in clawed hands with yellowed, razor sharp nails. They were dressed all in black. They looked identical, save for their differing body weights due starvation. However, although their appearance would lend the impression that there are no differences between them, they still had a hierarchical social order, and this division was based mainly upon intelligence. They all possessed a savage brutality, an unquenchable blood thirst, but some possessed enough intelligence, cunning, and foresight to formulate plans and think ahead, and, when they determined it to be advantageous, they had the ability to exercise restraint. This use of this ability had become more useful, but harder to employ, as their food supply dwindled.

This social order had been headed up by their former master, and this had been the arrangement for centuries until the group of eleven had dared plot against him. This order had been broken and the eleven had been banished to Hunter's Bluff, to fend for themselves until eventuality had run its course. Amongst the eleven, there had remained a hierarchical division, and even now, with that broken down to three remaining members, there still existed a for of that hierarchy. The most intelligent of the three, Gideon, was the leader. He stepped forward, fully aroused from his slumber, and called two the other two, Uriah, and Elijah.

“Come.” He beckoned to them, his voice raspy and very deep. Uriah and Elijah, shaking off the last of their sleep, heeded his call.

Elijah was by far the least intelligent of the three, and he mainly operated on instinct, allowing his hunger to dictate his behaviour. If left unchecked, that is. In the situation they had been thrust into, Gideon had to keep control of him, for all their sakes.

Uriah's level of intelligence was much higher than Elijah's, but he did not possess the mental prowess that Gideon did. He lacked much of the foresight, and some of the restraint. He was able to rein in his hunger when needed, but he had been known to slip, especially in the early part of their ordeal, when they had first arrived here at Hunter's Bluff. He had, with Gideon's help, learned to control it, and often times found himself helping to rein in Elijah.

Now, the three of them stood together, awakened, ready to stalk the night in hopes of locating some animals on which to feed. The wildlife supply in and around the town was dwindling, and some nights passed without a single feeding. Animal blood fulfilled their nutritional requirements, but it was human blood that brought ecstasy. Human blood was divine. It had been fifty-seven days since they'd had the opportunity to feed on a human, a fact that escaped none of them. At this moment, facing the possibility of another night gone by with nothing to eat, the idea that there were four humans ripe for consumption would have brought tremendous excitement. However, at least for now, these three hideous, horrifying creatures did not realize they had humans in their midst. And so it was that they stepped out into the night expecting yet another uneventful evening.

NOTE: Here is PART TWO if you are interested in reading more. Thanks, and I hope you enjoyed this.