Short Story Spotlight: "The Fence"

Neighbors.  They let their kids run wild.  They insist on mowing the lawn at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning.  They can't get into their own car without setting off the blaring alarm.  No doubt about it: neighbors have a knack for grating on our nerves.  This is a fact Belinda Frisch understands full well, as demonstrated in her delightfully nasty little tale published in the latest issue of Shroud magazine.

I can't go into too much detail about this story without spoiling things, so I'll just give a quick overview.  Beth is battling an ear infection, and her condition isn't helped by the pounding bass coming from next door, as neighbor Tim blasts the same song all night long.  Finally, Beth's exasperated husband John decides to take action: he is going to build a fence between the two houses.  But this proves to be no ordinary task, as Frisch gives a wicked twist to the old Robert Frost maxim, "Good fences make good neighbors."

According to her bio blurb, Frisch has published fiction in Deadly Dolls: Femme Fatales in Fright Fiction; she also received honorable mention in the genre short story category of the 76th Annual Writer's Digest Competition.  And judging from "The Fence," this is a writer ready to stake off some territory within the horror genre.  I'll certainly be keeping a lookout for her byline.

Countdown: The Top 20 Stephen King Works of American Gothic Short Fiction--#15

[For previous entries, click the "Top Twenty Countdowns" label under Features in the right sidebar]

#15. "Chattery Teeth"

King doubles the frisson in this Nightmares & Dreamscapes piece, melding the "psychotic hitchhiker" story with the tale of carnivalesque horror.  Traveling salesman Bill Hogan picks up two dangerous items when he stops off at the low-rent emporium known as Scooter's Grocery and Roadside Zoo.  The first is a cagey young drifter who dubs himself Bryan Adams (after glimpsing the singer's CD in Bill's van); the second is the eponymous novelty.  Bill and company set off on a ride through the Nevada desert during a mounting dust storm that turns the open road into a Gothic locale: "skirls of sand running across the desert floor" are likened to "fleeing ghost-children," and passing cars and trucks "loom out of the blowing sand like a prehistoric phantom with round blazing eyes."  The excursion takes an even darker turn when Bryan Adams proceeds to pull a knife on Bill; chafing at the attempted robbery (he's been victimized before by a hitchhiker), Bill wrecks rather than surrenders his van.

Angry as a rattler, Bryan Adams strikes out at Bill, who has been trapped in his seat belt by the accident.  But then our seemingly hapless hero receives some unexpected (by him, not the reader) aid: the presumed-broken, jumbo-sized Chattery Teeth come to life and attack Bryan Adams.  King's talent for transforming innocuous objects (e.g., cymbal-clashing monkeys, speed-ironing laundry machines) into terrible instruments is on full display in this Creepshow-esque climax of graphic comeuppance.  The Chattery Teeth hardly seem jokey when they clamp down on Bryan Adams's nose and then drop down to take a meaty bite out of another, below-the-belt protuberance (when "Chattery Teeth" was adapted for the TV-movie Quicksilver Highway, the castration scene was unsurprisingly cut out).  The last thing Bill sees is his ravaged assailant being hauled off the side of the road: "The Chattery Teeth were dragging Mr. Bryan Adams away to Nowhere, U.S.A."

But Bill hasn't had his last encounter with the Chattery Teeth.  When he returns to Scooter's nine months after the bloody incident, he finds that the proprietor Myra has been holding onto the teeth for him (she found them sitting on the porch the day after the storm, and figured that they had fallen through the bottom of the paper bag Bill had been carrying when leaving).  The dime-store item has turned up like a bad penny, yet rather than becoming unnerved by this uncanny development, traveling Bill is comforted by the idea of taking possession once more:

[...S]uddenly he found himself thinking of the kid.  Mr. Bryan Adams, from Nowhere U.S.A.  A lot of kids like him now.  A lot of grownups, too, blowing along the highways like tumbleweeds, always ready to take your wallet, say Fuck, you, sugar, and run.  You could stop picking up hitchhikers (he had), and you could put a burglar-alarm system in your home (he'd done that, too), but it was still a hard world where planes sometimes fell out of the sky and the crazies were apt to turn up anyplace and there was always room for a little more insurance.

Bill pockets his newfound insurance policy and drives off contentedly.  He's no longer defenseless against the predators haunting the open road.  In fact, you could say that he's armed to the teeth. [cue Cryptkeeper cackle]

Carnivale Revisited--"After the Ball is Over"

Episode Guide--Season 1, Episode 2: "After the Ball is Over"

Questions proliferate in this second episode of the series.  What is the significance of the phrase "Every prophet in his house" that Brother Justin keeps hearing?  How is it that people's secret sins are being revealed to the preacher?  Why is "Management" hidden within a curtained compartment in his trailer?  Does such a figure even exist, or is Samson the real leader of the carnival?  Who/what caused the appearance of the ghostly baggage trailer that Ben explores?  Why is the carnival going to deviate from its circuit to head south?  And how/why does the presumably catatonic Apollonia rise from her bed, seek out Ben, and then express "You are the one"?

Fortunately, the episode also provides viewers some answers to its various mysteries.  The tuxedoed figure who appears in Ben's and Brother Justin's dreams is identified as Henry Scudder, an ex-carnival member who performed as "The Gentleman Geek."  More importantly, Ben discovers that Scudder has a connection to someone from his own past.  And finally, a key clue is revealed in the last shot of the episode; keep an eye out for what Ben notices about Management's trailer.

The characters grow more familiar to the audience in this episode, as does the world they inhabit (a detailed milieu wonderfully conveyed by the show's sets, props, and vintage clothes).  Modern viewers are transported to another era, and learn what daily life was like in the 1930s--for Dust-Bowl-crossing carnies as well as constituents of a quaint California community.  Carnivale's flights of dark fantasy no doubt prove even more amazing because the series itself is so firmly grounded in historical reality.

Haunted Jaunts--"Bodies: The Exhibition"

Today's post delivers the first installment of Haunted Jaunts, my personal reports on Things to Do and Places to See in Gothic America.  The inaugural jaunt: a trip to South Street Seaport in New York City to see Bodies: The Exhibition.

Bodies, basically,  is a museum of human beings--a cross between Madam Tussaud's and the gross anatomy lab.  The collection of plastinated corpses and extracted organs is presented as an educational experience (the exhibition is extremely informative), but let's be honest here: the reason the attraction has proven so successful is that it appeals to people's morbid curiosity.  The opportunity to stare death in the face--but from a safe distance--is what draws us to gawk at these flayed figures that look like refugees from a Hellraiser movie.  Many of the glass-cased specimens--the gigantically-swollen thumb, the unfurled intestines, the smoker's lungs and the cirrhotic liver--give the exhibition a sideshow vibe, and the bottled fetuses prove eerily reminiscent of that carnival mainstay, the pickled punk.  And even I have to admit, there's something  ghoulish about having the opportunity to pose for a gift-shop photo with one of the preserved cadavers (incidentally, it's hard not to suspect a mordant sense of humor behind the above advertisement for the exhibition--where the proclamation "Now Open" is placed right alongside a dissected figure whose viscera are conspicuously visible).

This exhibition will not be to everyone's tastes (some might protest that such naked display strips the deceased of not just their skin but also their dignity).  Still, for those of the right age (I wouldn't bring young children) and temperament, Bodies will be an unforgettable experience: you'll realize what an incredibly intricate machine the human body is, and marvel that it does not break down more often.  I recommend checking out the exhibition at one of its nearly dozen locations nationwide if you ever have the chance.  A few words of advice, though: when purchasing your ticket, you'll be given the chance to pay extra for the audio-guided tour, but the exhibition is well mapped out and can be navigated just fine without the listening device.  I'd also suggest attending at an off-peak time (not on a holiday weekend, like I did), so you won't be elbowing other patrons to view the exhibits and read the placards.  Lastly, be forewarned that you are NOT allowed to photograph, let alone touch, the Bodies.  There are lab-coated guards standing by, and these grim Igors look like they'd have no qualms about incorporating you into the next exhibit if you violated the rules.  So be sure to resist your impish impulses, lest no one be able to find hide or hair of you.

Monster Bash

Yesterday I celebrated my birthday, so today I would just like to post about some of the gifts my wonderful girlfriend Michele gave me.  She always likes to have a theme when she buys me presents; this year, along with the The Wolf Man Headknocker (I like to collect the Universal Monsters), she got me the DVD for Moon of the Wolf--a made-for-TV horror movie that first aired during the month/year I was born (no, weisenheimers, the movie's not in black and white, but I will admit it's a bit of an oldie).  Michele happened to get us tickets to go see Larry the Cable Guy as well, and boy was she pleased when I pointed out that Universal's Wolf Man character was also named Larry.  Serendipity in the Macabre Republic!