Free B-Movie War by Alan Spencer Page A

as Lunatic Receptionist played to its savage finale.
    Penny had watched three films up to this point. Terror at Blood Manor was currently playing, a film about the maids of the mansion rising up against their rich bosses. She had seen severed heads bobbing about in a bubbling Jacuzzi tub and a pitchfork dropped from four stories high onto a preppy boy’s head as he tried to flee the premises of the estate. The details of the plot were a blur. She was in-and-out of wakefulness. The next movie that played was Dr. Hackemov Kills Again .
    The hospital’s intercom rang out: Dr. Hackemov, you’re needed in the recovery word .
    Dr. Heckemov: “I’ll be right there, Nurse Green. Keep the patient comfortable. I’m ordering an autopsy for my patient.”
    Nurse green’s eyes bulged in terror. “What are you saying Dr. Hackemov? Why would you order an autopsy? The patient isn’t dead!”
    The movies won’t stop , Penny thought. This will keep going until midnight. How many movies will that be? What happens when The Final Flesh plays?
    The ushers remained in place like sentries. Were they real people? The zombies in the back room earlier and the vampire women couldn’t be real, Penny thought. But they were right in front of her. What allowed them to exist? Why were they subjecting all of these unfortunate people to a forced marathon of bloody movies? The whole point of this torture was beyond her.
    Don’t fall asleep. Don’t scream. Don’t make a sound.
    She kept telling herself these things as she had trouble staying awake. Her legs needed to move. Pins and needles nagged at her arms and legs.
    â€œI think mouth-to-mouth is going to be necessary to revive our patient, Nurse Mitchell.”
    Screaming, “But Dr. Hackemov, why on earth are we giving mouth-to-mouth to the corpses in the morgue?”
    It was stifling hot in the theatre. The moment she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep, the usher at the front row immediately took notice.
    â€œNurse Randall, in order to save this patient, I’m going to require you to strip down to your undergarments. Don’t think. If you want them to live, you must strip.”
    The sound of ripping woke Penny.
    Rrrrrrrrrip!
    Rrrrrrrrrip!
    Duct tape was stuck above and below her eyes, stretching the skin and fully exposing her eyes. The callous usher was a female in blue doctor’s scrubs. Her black hair was extended as if she’d just been jolted by high volts of electricity. She had the face of a garishly made-up hooker who’d stayed out in the rain, mascara gumming up her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. She wore a belt of scalpels. Each scalpel owned different curvatures and capabilities. Duct tape also held down her arms to the chair’s arm rests. Penny thrashed and couldn’t free herself. She was forced to watch the film with wide open eyes.
    The usher demanded, “Stay still and watch the feature presentation.”
    A young man in his twenties darted towards the exit of the theatre. He had charged down the stairs from the fifth row. He made it onto the last step before the female usher pointed her flashlight at him. The light was electric blue and sawed through his middle, separating his torso from his legs with a gushing of sparks and the wild flecks of spurting red.
    â€œ Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! ”
    The man collapsed into two pieces, each half flung about three feet apart. His guts were kicking up steam, singed by the strange flashlight’s beam. One usher picked the dead man up by the top half, the other by the bottom, and another held the guts in place so they wouldn’t slither free. Dead, and in two pieces, they put the patron back into his seat.
    Minutes later, Penny heard the dead man speak. He wasn’t angry or scared. Instead, he was happy. Pumped up. The credits to the current movie were rolling. The dead man chanted, “Tit Trance! Tit Trance! Tit Trance! Show us Tit