Halloween Horror Marathon 2021
Posted: Sat Sep 11, 2021 10:03 pm
Halloween Horror Marathon '12
Halloween Horror Marathon '13
Halloween Horror Marathon '14
Halloween Horror Marathon '15
Halloween Horror Marathon '16
Halloween Horror Marathon '17
Halloween Horror Marathon '18
Halloween Horror Marathon '19
Halloween Horror Marathon '20
INT., LIVING ROOM
[We are ushered into a folksy, cluttered domicile. Through the windows, we witness the not-too-distant peaks of the COLORADO ROCKIES, barely visible through a curtain of fat, drifting snowflakes, as twilight begins to fall. The room is crammed full of various bric-a-brac, including a number of ceramic figurines, including that of a penguin with the legend "NOW MY TALE IS TOLD" printed across the base. These litter almost every available surface...except for a table in one corner, which is clearly the centerpiece showcase of the room. On this table are a large collection of BOOKS, both clearly well-maintained hardcovers and far more tattered paperbacks. The visible spines and covers of all of them sport two recurring names. One belongs to who we take as the heroine of this particular series, MISERY CHASTAIN, who is depicted as a busty blonde being ravished by a series of often-shirtless men by the cover artists of each volume. The other belongs to PAUL SHELDON, the author of the series. A FRAMED, AUTOGRAPHED PHOTO of said author is placed in the center of this shrine to bodice-ripping romantic trash. Another corner features a 20'' tube TELEVISION SET, with a set of bent rabbit ear antenna sporting balls of tinfoil at the end to increase the spotty reception common to TV viewing in the mountainous regions. On a shelf below the set has been set up a VCR recorder, with a stack of VHS tapes next to it.]
[Off-screen crash.]
ANNIE:Oh, poopy...!
[Into the living room comes the home's inhabitant, ANNIE WILKES, a heavyset woman in her mid-forties. Her hair hangs around her sallow, fleshy features in an unflattering bob, the bulk of her figure mostly concealed by a fraying bathrobe streaked with various dried foodstuffs. In her hands is a large tray covered with various, simple hors d'oeuvres, like pepperoni slices, Ritz crackers, and a gigantic bottle of PEPSI COLA. The heads of several SLIM JIMS poke out from the pocket of her robe as she sets the tray down on an end table next to the LA-Z-BOY recliner aimed at the set.]
ANNIE: [exasperated] Oh, Heavens to Betsy, I do hope that poopy stain comes out of the rug in the hallway. And with guests arriving soon, this will simply not do! I must rinse!
[Suddenly, the sounds of CRUNCHING GRAVEL can be detected from outside.]
ANNIE: Fiddlesticks...!
[Annie plods over to the window and looks into her driveway (which is currently receiving a fresh dusting of white, fluffy snow that will eventually dump more than a foot of snow onto the region). In the porchlight she witnesses a RED, 1958 PLYMOUTH FURY pulling up to the doorway, an almost leonine rumble emitting from under its cherry hood, dragon-like curls of smoke jetting from its tailpipes. It coasts to a stop (with zero evidence of skidding on the fresh coating of snow), and the four doors open. From the driver's seat emerges JACK TORRANCE, an axe slug over his right shoulder, a cocky grin on his features. From the front passenger side emerges JOHNNY SMITH, his pallid, unsmiling face framed by the vast collar of his dark overcoat. From the left backseat side emerges PENNYWISE, THE DANCING CLOWN, a red greasepaint leer of faux-merriment frozen on his face, tufts of orangey hair and the pom-pom buttons down the front of his silvery clown suit blowing in the freshening wind, and a half-dozen ripely enticing BALLOONS (all colors) floating up from strings clenched tightly in his right fist. And from the right backseat side bounds CUJO, a nearly 150 lb. SAINT BERNARD with rheumy, sullen eyes and dishwater-colored foam dripping from his mouth. He GROWLS in a voice that rivals the '58 Fury's mufflers (a sticker reading I BRAKE FOR NOBODY adorns the rear bumper), as Jack Torrance SLAMS the driver's side door, looking around the dooryard in the dimming light of day before leading his fellow carmates towards the front door.]
ANNIE: Oh me, oh my...!
[Annie runs a hand distractedly through her unkempt hair as she rushes to greet her guests. A LOUD, POUNDING KNOCK at the front door starts up.]
JACK [off-screen, through door]: I'll HUFF...and I'll PUFF...and I'll BLOWWWWWWWWWWW your house in...!
[Annie opens the door to greet her houseguests. Jack stands in the doorway with his ax hanging casually down by his side, drumming his fingers on the doorframe.]
JACK: Howyadoin', Annie?!
ANNIE: Jack, so glad you could come! Please, come in out of the cold.
[Jack walks in, plunking his ax down next to the door and kicking some errant snow off his shoes. John Smith and Pennywise enter behind him. Trailing the three is Cujo, who shakes himself off in the doorway (splattering the walls and rug with melted snow and doggy slobber).]
JOHNNY: Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss. WIlkes.
[Johnny holds out a hand, which Annie takes as they shake. Suddenly Johnny JERKS VIOLENTLY, and gives Annie a queer look.]
JOHNNY [to Annie, under breath]: You have WHO in the guest room...?
[Annie gives Johnny a swift "I'll explain later" glare before smiling at Pennywise, whose batch of balloons has drifted up the ceiling.]
ANNIE: And you must be...oh, I know this...Pennyface, correct?
[Pennywise throws his head back and emits a bark of laughter at the ceiling.]
PENNYWISE: Penny-*wise*, my dear girl, but you can call me Mr. Bob Gray, if that suits you more!
ANNIE: My Apologies. Do come in and make yourselves at home!
[The group enters the living room. Cujo immediately finds a spot in front of the couch, walks in circles a few times, and settles down with a snort. Jack, John and Pennywise settle onto the couch.]
ANNIE: Would anyone like some refreshments, or something to drink?
PENNYWISE: Pardon me, miss, but you have...Prince Albert in a can?
[Jack and Johnny roll their eyes in anticipation of a very old punchline.]
ANNIE: [being a good sport] Yes, I think so.
PENNYWISE: [delighted] You DO?! Well, you better let the poor guy out...! [Pennywise throws his head back and bellows laughter at the ceiling, showcasing some rather sharp teeth] Whuh-HA, whuh-HA, whuh-HA...!!!
JACK: [dropping a sly wink] I'll have a beer, Lloyd...I mean, Annie.
JOHNNY: [rubbing one temple with two fingers of his right hand.] Nothing for me, thanks.
[Johnny steals a glance at the guest bedroom, and gives Annie another look. Annie leaves and re-enters a minute later with a six-pack of Budweiser, which she hands to a very grateful Jack as Pennywise starts attacking the hors d'oeuvres tray.]
ANNIE: I was worried that the weather might have deterred you all. It's gonna be a big ol' oogy mess out there by morning.
PENNYWISE: [through mouthful of crackers and cheese] Oh, Christine is as sure-footed as a mountain goat!
ANNIE: [brow creases] Christine...?
JACK: [popping tab of his first beer can of the night] Oh, that's the lovely lady parked in your driveway, Annie my dear. Ain't she a peach?
[Annie pulls the drapes aside to give the Plymouth Fury in the dooryard an appraising glance. Suddenly the car's HEADLIGHTS come on, filling the window with hellishly bright light.]
JACK: Now, Annie...you're not the jealous type, are you...?
ANNIE: [letting curtain fall back into place] Certainly not. That's a fine car you have there, Jack.
JACK: *She's* a fine car.
ANNIE: [suppressing a gulp] *She*, then.
[The car headlines snap off, allowing the living room to fill with shadows in the corners again.]
JACK: Better. [he slugs down the last gulp of beer, tosses the can onto the cluttered end table beside the couch and pops open the tab of the next can.]
ANNIE: Well...[clears throat] Now that we're all here...
[Suddenly, from the hallway, emits the click of HOOVED FEET on the floorboards. These belong to Annie's 150 lb. prize sow MISERY, who enters the room with a series of snuffling oinks. The pig stops dead as Cujo lifts his shaggy head up and fixes her with a BALEFUL GLARE, a growl rippling up from his immense chest. Misery immediately turns curly tail and exits the room with a series of alarmed squeals.]
JACK: Sorry you couldn't bring the bacon home tonight, Annie, but ol' Cujo here hasn't been feeling very well lately. Must have eaten something that disagrees with him, didn't you, boy...?
[Jack leans over and roughly pats Cujo on the shoulder blades, causing the dog to turn his glare upon him, his growl intensifying momentarily before he lowers his head to rest upon his forepaws again.]
ANNIE: Sorry to hear that. Well, anyways...[collects thoughts]...it's the last weekend of October, so it's time for our annual binge of scary movies.
PENNYWISE: [with ample good cheer] Splendid...!
ANNIE: Now, I know that pickings are slim at the video store right now, but I've gotten several good titles, many of which you haven't seen. Even some written by that scary book author...you know Steven Prince, or something.
JOHNNY: [distractedly] The books...are better.
ANNIE: [miffed at the interruptions] Be that as it *may*...there are some classic movies on tap -- [Jack looks up with a hungry gleam in his eye at the mention of "tap", his third beer held in the fork of his crotch] -- this year. There's some slasher movies, some sci-fi, some monster flicks...
JACK: Just so long as there's none of that artsy-fartsy stuff.
PENNYWISE: Or anything aimed at tasty, tasty children...
[Jack and Johnny give him a look]
JOHNNY: Or anything with sappy romance.
ANNIE: Well, I can't *promise* that a few movies won't have elements of any of those...
[groans from the group]
ANNIE: ...but there's pretty much something for everyone this year. So gather your snacks, everyone, because the show's about to start!
[Annie pushes the first VHS tape into the player and then settles into her La-Z-boy with a satisfied grunt. She picks up a dish of melting, gooey ice cream festooned with whipping topping and chopped nuts and digs out a heaping spoonful, which she shovels into her mouth as the familiar FBI warnings start up on the tape. Jack pops open his fourth beer, already toasty. Pennywise shovels more snacks into his distended jaws, his silvery clown suit littered with crumbs. Cujo opens one bleary eye to take in the screen, lets out another soft growl, and shuts it again. Johnny sneaks another glance at the closed guest bedroom door before returning his gaze at the screen, where the fuzzy image of the FBI copyright fine print fades away to reveal...the 2021 Halloween Horror Marathon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This year's marathon is dedicated to the memories of Richard Donner and Marilyn Eastman.
Halloween Horror Marathon '13
Halloween Horror Marathon '14
Halloween Horror Marathon '15
Halloween Horror Marathon '16
Halloween Horror Marathon '17
Halloween Horror Marathon '18
Halloween Horror Marathon '19
Halloween Horror Marathon '20
INT., LIVING ROOM
[We are ushered into a folksy, cluttered domicile. Through the windows, we witness the not-too-distant peaks of the COLORADO ROCKIES, barely visible through a curtain of fat, drifting snowflakes, as twilight begins to fall. The room is crammed full of various bric-a-brac, including a number of ceramic figurines, including that of a penguin with the legend "NOW MY TALE IS TOLD" printed across the base. These litter almost every available surface...except for a table in one corner, which is clearly the centerpiece showcase of the room. On this table are a large collection of BOOKS, both clearly well-maintained hardcovers and far more tattered paperbacks. The visible spines and covers of all of them sport two recurring names. One belongs to who we take as the heroine of this particular series, MISERY CHASTAIN, who is depicted as a busty blonde being ravished by a series of often-shirtless men by the cover artists of each volume. The other belongs to PAUL SHELDON, the author of the series. A FRAMED, AUTOGRAPHED PHOTO of said author is placed in the center of this shrine to bodice-ripping romantic trash. Another corner features a 20'' tube TELEVISION SET, with a set of bent rabbit ear antenna sporting balls of tinfoil at the end to increase the spotty reception common to TV viewing in the mountainous regions. On a shelf below the set has been set up a VCR recorder, with a stack of VHS tapes next to it.]
[Off-screen crash.]
ANNIE:Oh, poopy...!
[Into the living room comes the home's inhabitant, ANNIE WILKES, a heavyset woman in her mid-forties. Her hair hangs around her sallow, fleshy features in an unflattering bob, the bulk of her figure mostly concealed by a fraying bathrobe streaked with various dried foodstuffs. In her hands is a large tray covered with various, simple hors d'oeuvres, like pepperoni slices, Ritz crackers, and a gigantic bottle of PEPSI COLA. The heads of several SLIM JIMS poke out from the pocket of her robe as she sets the tray down on an end table next to the LA-Z-BOY recliner aimed at the set.]
ANNIE: [exasperated] Oh, Heavens to Betsy, I do hope that poopy stain comes out of the rug in the hallway. And with guests arriving soon, this will simply not do! I must rinse!
[Suddenly, the sounds of CRUNCHING GRAVEL can be detected from outside.]
ANNIE: Fiddlesticks...!
[Annie plods over to the window and looks into her driveway (which is currently receiving a fresh dusting of white, fluffy snow that will eventually dump more than a foot of snow onto the region). In the porchlight she witnesses a RED, 1958 PLYMOUTH FURY pulling up to the doorway, an almost leonine rumble emitting from under its cherry hood, dragon-like curls of smoke jetting from its tailpipes. It coasts to a stop (with zero evidence of skidding on the fresh coating of snow), and the four doors open. From the driver's seat emerges JACK TORRANCE, an axe slug over his right shoulder, a cocky grin on his features. From the front passenger side emerges JOHNNY SMITH, his pallid, unsmiling face framed by the vast collar of his dark overcoat. From the left backseat side emerges PENNYWISE, THE DANCING CLOWN, a red greasepaint leer of faux-merriment frozen on his face, tufts of orangey hair and the pom-pom buttons down the front of his silvery clown suit blowing in the freshening wind, and a half-dozen ripely enticing BALLOONS (all colors) floating up from strings clenched tightly in his right fist. And from the right backseat side bounds CUJO, a nearly 150 lb. SAINT BERNARD with rheumy, sullen eyes and dishwater-colored foam dripping from his mouth. He GROWLS in a voice that rivals the '58 Fury's mufflers (a sticker reading I BRAKE FOR NOBODY adorns the rear bumper), as Jack Torrance SLAMS the driver's side door, looking around the dooryard in the dimming light of day before leading his fellow carmates towards the front door.]
ANNIE: Oh me, oh my...!
[Annie runs a hand distractedly through her unkempt hair as she rushes to greet her guests. A LOUD, POUNDING KNOCK at the front door starts up.]
JACK [off-screen, through door]: I'll HUFF...and I'll PUFF...and I'll BLOWWWWWWWWWWW your house in...!
[Annie opens the door to greet her houseguests. Jack stands in the doorway with his ax hanging casually down by his side, drumming his fingers on the doorframe.]
JACK: Howyadoin', Annie?!
ANNIE: Jack, so glad you could come! Please, come in out of the cold.
[Jack walks in, plunking his ax down next to the door and kicking some errant snow off his shoes. John Smith and Pennywise enter behind him. Trailing the three is Cujo, who shakes himself off in the doorway (splattering the walls and rug with melted snow and doggy slobber).]
JOHNNY: Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss. WIlkes.
[Johnny holds out a hand, which Annie takes as they shake. Suddenly Johnny JERKS VIOLENTLY, and gives Annie a queer look.]
JOHNNY [to Annie, under breath]: You have WHO in the guest room...?
[Annie gives Johnny a swift "I'll explain later" glare before smiling at Pennywise, whose batch of balloons has drifted up the ceiling.]
ANNIE: And you must be...oh, I know this...Pennyface, correct?
[Pennywise throws his head back and emits a bark of laughter at the ceiling.]
PENNYWISE: Penny-*wise*, my dear girl, but you can call me Mr. Bob Gray, if that suits you more!
ANNIE: My Apologies. Do come in and make yourselves at home!
[The group enters the living room. Cujo immediately finds a spot in front of the couch, walks in circles a few times, and settles down with a snort. Jack, John and Pennywise settle onto the couch.]
ANNIE: Would anyone like some refreshments, or something to drink?
PENNYWISE: Pardon me, miss, but you have...Prince Albert in a can?
[Jack and Johnny roll their eyes in anticipation of a very old punchline.]
ANNIE: [being a good sport] Yes, I think so.
PENNYWISE: [delighted] You DO?! Well, you better let the poor guy out...! [Pennywise throws his head back and bellows laughter at the ceiling, showcasing some rather sharp teeth] Whuh-HA, whuh-HA, whuh-HA...!!!
JACK: [dropping a sly wink] I'll have a beer, Lloyd...I mean, Annie.
JOHNNY: [rubbing one temple with two fingers of his right hand.] Nothing for me, thanks.
[Johnny steals a glance at the guest bedroom, and gives Annie another look. Annie leaves and re-enters a minute later with a six-pack of Budweiser, which she hands to a very grateful Jack as Pennywise starts attacking the hors d'oeuvres tray.]
ANNIE: I was worried that the weather might have deterred you all. It's gonna be a big ol' oogy mess out there by morning.
PENNYWISE: [through mouthful of crackers and cheese] Oh, Christine is as sure-footed as a mountain goat!
ANNIE: [brow creases] Christine...?
JACK: [popping tab of his first beer can of the night] Oh, that's the lovely lady parked in your driveway, Annie my dear. Ain't she a peach?
[Annie pulls the drapes aside to give the Plymouth Fury in the dooryard an appraising glance. Suddenly the car's HEADLIGHTS come on, filling the window with hellishly bright light.]
JACK: Now, Annie...you're not the jealous type, are you...?
ANNIE: [letting curtain fall back into place] Certainly not. That's a fine car you have there, Jack.
JACK: *She's* a fine car.
ANNIE: [suppressing a gulp] *She*, then.
[The car headlines snap off, allowing the living room to fill with shadows in the corners again.]
JACK: Better. [he slugs down the last gulp of beer, tosses the can onto the cluttered end table beside the couch and pops open the tab of the next can.]
ANNIE: Well...[clears throat] Now that we're all here...
[Suddenly, from the hallway, emits the click of HOOVED FEET on the floorboards. These belong to Annie's 150 lb. prize sow MISERY, who enters the room with a series of snuffling oinks. The pig stops dead as Cujo lifts his shaggy head up and fixes her with a BALEFUL GLARE, a growl rippling up from his immense chest. Misery immediately turns curly tail and exits the room with a series of alarmed squeals.]
JACK: Sorry you couldn't bring the bacon home tonight, Annie, but ol' Cujo here hasn't been feeling very well lately. Must have eaten something that disagrees with him, didn't you, boy...?
[Jack leans over and roughly pats Cujo on the shoulder blades, causing the dog to turn his glare upon him, his growl intensifying momentarily before he lowers his head to rest upon his forepaws again.]
ANNIE: Sorry to hear that. Well, anyways...[collects thoughts]...it's the last weekend of October, so it's time for our annual binge of scary movies.
PENNYWISE: [with ample good cheer] Splendid...!
ANNIE: Now, I know that pickings are slim at the video store right now, but I've gotten several good titles, many of which you haven't seen. Even some written by that scary book author...you know Steven Prince, or something.
JOHNNY: [distractedly] The books...are better.
ANNIE: [miffed at the interruptions] Be that as it *may*...there are some classic movies on tap -- [Jack looks up with a hungry gleam in his eye at the mention of "tap", his third beer held in the fork of his crotch] -- this year. There's some slasher movies, some sci-fi, some monster flicks...
JACK: Just so long as there's none of that artsy-fartsy stuff.
PENNYWISE: Or anything aimed at tasty, tasty children...
[Jack and Johnny give him a look]
JOHNNY: Or anything with sappy romance.
ANNIE: Well, I can't *promise* that a few movies won't have elements of any of those...
[groans from the group]
ANNIE: ...but there's pretty much something for everyone this year. So gather your snacks, everyone, because the show's about to start!
[Annie pushes the first VHS tape into the player and then settles into her La-Z-boy with a satisfied grunt. She picks up a dish of melting, gooey ice cream festooned with whipping topping and chopped nuts and digs out a heaping spoonful, which she shovels into her mouth as the familiar FBI warnings start up on the tape. Jack pops open his fourth beer, already toasty. Pennywise shovels more snacks into his distended jaws, his silvery clown suit littered with crumbs. Cujo opens one bleary eye to take in the screen, lets out another soft growl, and shuts it again. Johnny sneaks another glance at the closed guest bedroom door before returning his gaze at the screen, where the fuzzy image of the FBI copyright fine print fades away to reveal...the 2021 Halloween Horror Marathon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This year's marathon is dedicated to the memories of Richard Donner and Marilyn Eastman.