The Walker Horror Picture Show
Oct 26, 2021 11:06:04 GMT -6
Mundo Kindo, hachiman0, and 1 more like this
Post by Irina Ivanova on Oct 26, 2021 11:06:04 GMT -6
Following a brief commercial break, we return to tonight’s documentary special…
Night 25:
Early evening. The house is wrapped in a shroud of expectant tension. Odd smells pervade the home, stronger with each passing day. Stains have begun to seep through the wallpaper, a greenish-black ichor that responds neither to chemical cleaners nor thorough scrubbing.
Upstairs, the Thompson children try to focus on their homework, but soft whispers draw their attention elsewhere.
Alice, ever the dutiful wife, washes the dinner dishes by hand, staring through the window as she scrubs and rinses each cup and plate and utensil with single-minded care. Crimson eyes gaze back at her, glowing balefully in the night’s gloom. Her lips move in silent prayer.
In the living room, Danny Thompson sits, a book open on his lap, ignored. His expression is vacant as he rises from his armchair. The forgotten book falls to the floor with a dull thud.
“Yes,” he whispers, to no one in particular, and moves across the room; toward the stairs. The book’s pages riffle by a wind with no source.
A scream echoes through the house.
Night 26:
Alice sits before the webcam, both forearms bandaged from elbow to wrist.
“I… I don’t know what happened. I was just washing the dishes, you know, and then… Well, I must have blacked out, somehow. When I woke up, there was glass everywhere. And Danny, he just kind of stood there, looking at me like he was in some kind of trance. That’s when I saw the blood. I panicked. I screamed…”
CUT
Sue-Ellen Thompson, a generically pretty fifteen year old, looks away from the camera in dramatic shyness.
“Things have been really creepy since we moved here. This house is, you know, spooky and stuff. It started with the smell. And the noises. You can hear them, you know, in the walls. Scratching. Banging. Sometimes they talk to me, but I don’t know what they’re saying. They got Daddy. He’s not the same anymore.”
CUT
Danny glares at the camera, expression blank except for the hatred blazing in his eyes. He sits there, moment after moment, without saying a word.
NIght 28:
GET OUT
The words resonate in the minds of all four Thompsons…
… are scrawled across the wall in the dining room in congealing red blood…
… uttered on the tongue of the local priest as he is seized by a force more powerful than faith. His body goes rigid. The holy water sprinkler drops from his hand. His Bible is flung across the room. Wide-eyed, Father Delaney repeats the phrase in low, gutteral tones.
“GET OUT!”
The priest collapses to the floor, caught in the throes of a violent convulsion. Alice rushes to his side, trying to help, while the children look on in horror.
Danny simply watches, his eyes empty. Lips turn up in a mocking sneer.
Night 30:
“The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want…”
SHUT UP!
Danny Thompson growls at his wife. His eyes roll back in his head, leaving only the whites visible. She continues, voice quaking in terror. Wind howls outside. Thunder rumbles. Lightning flashes.
“...yea though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death --!”
Danny’s hand shoots out, gripping her throat to choke off the words.
“ -- I shall fear no Evil!” continues Sue-Ellen. “For Thou art with me. Thy Rod and Thy Staff, they comfort me!”
A chandelier crashes down, busting through the dining table, and shatters. Shards of glass fly in every direction.
CUT
Young Bobby Thompson, star quarterback of the local high school football team; all-state wrestling champion; star forward of the basketball team; the perfect jock, and the perfect son: covered in bruises and scratches, but not a single hair out of place. His chiseled jaw is set in determination. Blue eyes stare gravely into the camera.
“It’s been a nightmare, honestly. I almost had to miss practice tonight. Stupid haunting. That’s what it is, isn’t it? The voices and stuff breaking and the blood and the slime and the smells… I mean, it sucks. I can’t even bring my girlfriend over after games. We have to go to the malt shop! The MALT SHOP, for god’s sake! Do you know how lame that is? Do you know how hard it is to score after you take your girl out for a MALT? What even is that? If this ghost or whatever was corporeal, I’d kick its ass!”
CUT
Silence reigns. Outside, the storm has subsided. All four Thompsons lie on the floor, among the debris of the broken chandelier.
Red and blue light strobes against the walls. The door is forced open. A uniformed officer rushes in, then stops abruptly at the tableau before him. He fumbles for his radio.
“I’ve got four people down. I think it’s happened again. It looks like… wait, they might be -- NO! STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
A gunshot rings out.
Flashing lights reveal Danny moving in slow motion, a look of shock on his face.
A bloom of red blossoms across his chest.
The gun shakes in the policeman’s unsteady hand.
Night 31:
The house is calm. Quiet.
Half-packed boxes are strewn through every room.
A moving truck is parked in the driveway.
The Thompson family, however, is nowhere to be seen.
Only the production crew remains, hastily bundling equipment back into the truck. As they drive away, the departing vehicle reveals a brand-new sign staked out in the yard:
FOR SALE
Lightning flashes ominously overhead, and the scene fades to black.
A perfectly manicured hand reaches out to close the laptop. Irina shoots Viktor a puzzled look.
“So… you bought the Thompson house and now we stay overnight in it to prove Soviet superiority?”
Viktor shakes his head, waving his hand dismissively.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t need to prove anything. Those belts speak for themselves. I showed you documentary to illustrate the inherent weakness of your opponents. They are mindless drones, typical Amerikanski, driven by only the most basic of instincts. Think of it as metaphor.”
“So who are we in this metaphor, Viktor?”
“Isn’t it obvious, my Angel?”
He gives an exaggerated wink and freezes as credits begin to roll.
Night 25:
Early evening. The house is wrapped in a shroud of expectant tension. Odd smells pervade the home, stronger with each passing day. Stains have begun to seep through the wallpaper, a greenish-black ichor that responds neither to chemical cleaners nor thorough scrubbing.
Upstairs, the Thompson children try to focus on their homework, but soft whispers draw their attention elsewhere.
Alice, ever the dutiful wife, washes the dinner dishes by hand, staring through the window as she scrubs and rinses each cup and plate and utensil with single-minded care. Crimson eyes gaze back at her, glowing balefully in the night’s gloom. Her lips move in silent prayer.
In the living room, Danny Thompson sits, a book open on his lap, ignored. His expression is vacant as he rises from his armchair. The forgotten book falls to the floor with a dull thud.
“Yes,” he whispers, to no one in particular, and moves across the room; toward the stairs. The book’s pages riffle by a wind with no source.
A scream echoes through the house.
Night 26:
Alice sits before the webcam, both forearms bandaged from elbow to wrist.
“I… I don’t know what happened. I was just washing the dishes, you know, and then… Well, I must have blacked out, somehow. When I woke up, there was glass everywhere. And Danny, he just kind of stood there, looking at me like he was in some kind of trance. That’s when I saw the blood. I panicked. I screamed…”
CUT
Sue-Ellen Thompson, a generically pretty fifteen year old, looks away from the camera in dramatic shyness.
“Things have been really creepy since we moved here. This house is, you know, spooky and stuff. It started with the smell. And the noises. You can hear them, you know, in the walls. Scratching. Banging. Sometimes they talk to me, but I don’t know what they’re saying. They got Daddy. He’s not the same anymore.”
CUT
Danny glares at the camera, expression blank except for the hatred blazing in his eyes. He sits there, moment after moment, without saying a word.
NIght 28:
GET OUT
The words resonate in the minds of all four Thompsons…
… are scrawled across the wall in the dining room in congealing red blood…
… uttered on the tongue of the local priest as he is seized by a force more powerful than faith. His body goes rigid. The holy water sprinkler drops from his hand. His Bible is flung across the room. Wide-eyed, Father Delaney repeats the phrase in low, gutteral tones.
“GET OUT!”
The priest collapses to the floor, caught in the throes of a violent convulsion. Alice rushes to his side, trying to help, while the children look on in horror.
Danny simply watches, his eyes empty. Lips turn up in a mocking sneer.
Night 30:
“The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want…”
SHUT UP!
Danny Thompson growls at his wife. His eyes roll back in his head, leaving only the whites visible. She continues, voice quaking in terror. Wind howls outside. Thunder rumbles. Lightning flashes.
“...yea though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death --!”
Danny’s hand shoots out, gripping her throat to choke off the words.
“ -- I shall fear no Evil!” continues Sue-Ellen. “For Thou art with me. Thy Rod and Thy Staff, they comfort me!”
A chandelier crashes down, busting through the dining table, and shatters. Shards of glass fly in every direction.
CUT
Young Bobby Thompson, star quarterback of the local high school football team; all-state wrestling champion; star forward of the basketball team; the perfect jock, and the perfect son: covered in bruises and scratches, but not a single hair out of place. His chiseled jaw is set in determination. Blue eyes stare gravely into the camera.
“It’s been a nightmare, honestly. I almost had to miss practice tonight. Stupid haunting. That’s what it is, isn’t it? The voices and stuff breaking and the blood and the slime and the smells… I mean, it sucks. I can’t even bring my girlfriend over after games. We have to go to the malt shop! The MALT SHOP, for god’s sake! Do you know how lame that is? Do you know how hard it is to score after you take your girl out for a MALT? What even is that? If this ghost or whatever was corporeal, I’d kick its ass!”
CUT
Silence reigns. Outside, the storm has subsided. All four Thompsons lie on the floor, among the debris of the broken chandelier.
Red and blue light strobes against the walls. The door is forced open. A uniformed officer rushes in, then stops abruptly at the tableau before him. He fumbles for his radio.
“I’ve got four people down. I think it’s happened again. It looks like… wait, they might be -- NO! STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
A gunshot rings out.
Flashing lights reveal Danny moving in slow motion, a look of shock on his face.
A bloom of red blossoms across his chest.
The gun shakes in the policeman’s unsteady hand.
Night 31:
The house is calm. Quiet.
Half-packed boxes are strewn through every room.
A moving truck is parked in the driveway.
The Thompson family, however, is nowhere to be seen.
Only the production crew remains, hastily bundling equipment back into the truck. As they drive away, the departing vehicle reveals a brand-new sign staked out in the yard:
FOR SALE
Lightning flashes ominously overhead, and the scene fades to black.
A perfectly manicured hand reaches out to close the laptop. Irina shoots Viktor a puzzled look.
“So… you bought the Thompson house and now we stay overnight in it to prove Soviet superiority?”
Viktor shakes his head, waving his hand dismissively.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t need to prove anything. Those belts speak for themselves. I showed you documentary to illustrate the inherent weakness of your opponents. They are mindless drones, typical Amerikanski, driven by only the most basic of instincts. Think of it as metaphor.”
“So who are we in this metaphor, Viktor?”
“Isn’t it obvious, my Angel?”
He gives an exaggerated wink and freezes as credits begin to roll.