Free B-Movie War by Alan Spencer Page B

Trance!”
    Scattered about the theatre, death choked voices demanded the same.
    â€œ Tit Trance! Tit Trance! Tit Trance! SHOW US TITS!”
    It made Penny wonder how many people were still alive in the theatre and how many had been killed. And how many had come back to life to demand more horror movies!
    The theatre throbbed with their ruckus. It killed her ears.
    â€œTIT TRANCE! TIT TRANCE! TIT TRANCE! TIT TRANCE! SHOW US TITS!”
    The end credits for Dr. Hackemov came to a conclusion. Cutting right to the next movie, the screen focused on a woman in a blue shirt. The shot panned to her bust. Creepy synthesizer music blared, Brooooooooong! Then a guy saying, “Take off your top, sexy.” The woman lifted up her shirt to bare her double D breasts. Then bloody letter font splattered onto the screen, spelling TIT TRANCE.
    â€œYEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! TIT TRAAAAAAAAAANCE!”
    The theatre was active with whistles, shouts and cheering. It was like a professional football game, and the home team was kicking ass.
    So many dreadful horrors to experience before midnight, Penny knew, before The Final Flesh . Time didn’t seem to move like it should. It should’ve been midnight hours ago.
    Every once in a while, a set of nurses dressed in black fishnets and a bodice top that was all white with red crosses over each breast would arrive to drip saline solution into her eyes.
    â€œWe can’t have your peepers drying out. The show is far from over. Your uncle would hate it if you missed a single minute of the marathon.”
    â€œWhat do you know about my uncle? What have you done with him? I want to see him. Let me see him! Damn you, come back here. COME BACK AND TALK TO ME!”
    â€œ She’s got tits to make you dream. Keep those eyes peeled, because she’s about to show you heaven.”
    The woman standing on top of the sports car in cut-off jeans and a sports jersey lifted up her top. Two glints of light like a mirror reflecting the sun whited out the theatre’s screen.
    Then the shot panned to the watcher digging out his eyes with his own fingers. “Oh God, the agony! The p-aaaaaaaaain! Run, Jeff! Don’t look at her tits!”
    The male usher closest to Penny had a woman’s severed head in one hand with long brown hair. The usher kept brushing the head’s hair and whistling to himself. The usher’s eyes widened for no reason. Penny realized the brush was made of sharp needles. The brush severed scalp and chunks of hair with each cutting stroke. It wasn’t until the head was bald and had a pink mudslide of gore spilling down its face that the usher shrieked in delight and tossed the head across the theatre.
    The movies kept rolling.
    A new movie now.
    â€œFreddy’s in the fryer. I know that mole on his ass from anywhere! Quick, let’s get out of the Grease Trap before it’s too late. This fast food joints giving me the creeps. Look!”
    Carol, the screaming head chef, was thrown head first into the pool-sized vat of boiling hot grease. Her screams escalated. Greasy Gus, the skinny man whose clothes were dripping with an oily mess, stood above Carol as her body turned crispy. Gus used a wooden oar to stir the corpse back to the surface. “Shame I didn’t get to beer batter the bitch first. Damn shame.”
    The film Grease Trap kept rolling. Penny found herself clinging onto her sanity. She had wet herself in the seat not out of fear but out of necessity. After holding it for hours, her body made the decision for her. Humiliated, exhausted, questioning how much longer she would survive this terror show, it wouldn’t be too much longer before The Final Flesh premiered.
    Chainsaw Ballerinas played next.
    Not The Final Flesh .
    â€œ My God, Deputy, those bitches sliced and diced every member of this town. I’ve burned them. I’ve shot them. I tried to smoke ’em out with tear gas. Nothing works. I’ll be knee high to a