Reviewed by Taylor Hoffman. Stargazing is almost impossible in urban areas with so much air and light pollution, but in the small mid-western town of Mukawgee, we can glimpse into the space between the stars in UFOlogy #1 (of 6). Here, we experience two narratives of high school kids who just want to be themselves or some sort of normal, though their life experiences are frustrating, confusing, and extraordinary. The expectations from school, parents, and classmates represent pressure from all sides, which immersed me into the book immediately. What really grabbed my attention was the amazing names attached and the clearly supernatural elements. This is not the normal sci-fi book, nor is it strictly horror — it’s fun, shocking, and entrancing. I’m now 100% emotionally invested.
WRITTEN BY: James Tynion IV, Noah J. Yuenkel
ART BY: Matthew Fox
PUBLISHER: BOOM! Studios
RELEASE: April 1, 2015
As this is the first of six issues, there’s a lot of introduction, but there’s never a boring moment nor is anything exactly as it seems. Does it seem like I’m over-hyping this title? I’m not, this is just one example of what I’ve been craving from comics for years. It’s a story that feels familiar, but takes the paranormal in a new, fun, and heartbreaking direction.
Matthew Fox’s cover transports us to the end of this first chapter, so we start without any context for the dazed girl, scared boy, and strange beam swirling into the sky from a vaguely Victorian house. Foreshadowing can be annoyingly overt, but I didn’t feel that anything was too obvious. Continuing with fantastic art, the first page opens with radio bubbles that are at first obnoxious – “EF-AR-EE-EE-KAY” radio? Sounds awful until you learn who’s behind the microphone. The sky fading from black to the soft pinks and purples of sunset or sunrise spreading over snow and highlighting the locus of our story, a remote small town splattered with multicolored stars swirling above. We’re provided with succinct exposition by the radio host and must decide throughout the book who is the reliable narrator, if there even is one yet.
Our protagonist, Becky, just wants to do things on her own terms like study law and, really, just be left alone. She’s stubborn with a resting bitch-face and it seems outwardly like she has everything and still doesn’t care about anything. Oh, but it’s not the case. Her story runs parallel to the slightly younger boy Finch, a rebel with a past that is inspired by Fox Mulder. These two and a special twist are the core of the story. Without revealing too much, Becky and her not-date explore an abandoned house to find that they are not alone and follow mysterious floating spores. An older man, well, demonic-ish alien, stands in the corner, glows green, speaks in an unrecognizable language, and spreads more spores. Becky is marked by the alien, but it’s “supposed” to be Finch.
Part of Tynion’s genius is his ability to write teenage narratives that are applicable to almost everyone. It’s so much more than teen angst and hormone driven drama. He demonstrates this talent in The Woods. Those essential connections are paramount to what makes his stories work so well. His comics present a reality that’s based in experience and knowledge that growing up is rough; furthermore, struggle to find one’s self is continually confusing and frustrating process. The characters in Tynion’s books are recognizable, they are more developed than the brat pack, yet embracing those seemingly cliché attitudes of those awkward years before what’s always been considered adulthood. I’m excited to see that co-creator and writer Noah J. Yuenkel (The House In The Wall) contributes to this mood so perfectly. It’s obvious that their voices flow together on the same level of the weird. Adam Metcalfe’s colors are surreal blue and pink hues that feels like we’re there, gazing as everything transforms in front of us that makes the uneasiness palpable.
UFOlogy brings weird slipstream fiction to the forefront of modern comics. There’s an evident love of Le Fanu and Lovecraft, the more modern works of China Miéville and Ray Bradbury, and the surge of pop-culture obsession with the paranormal of cult phenomena in the early 1990s with The X-Files and Twin Peaks. Now there are so many questions to be answered. Why here and why now? I want to believe that there is more out there, so now I want to see the proof in the next five issues.
If you don’t like it, well… “sure. fine. whatever.”
Taylor Hoffman is the newest member of our comics review team! She likes comics and weird fiction, and can be found on twitter: @taylorcheckers
The continuation of BOOM! Studios streak of phenomenal 80′s adaptations doesn’t seem to be letting up with next week’s “Escape From New York” #5. Christopher Sebela is doing a remarkable job at bringing the world of the first film to a much more interesting and satisfying place than the lackluster sequel Escape from L.A. After the conclusion of its first arc, Sebela has thrown Snake into the middle of a battleground in Siberia. Make sure to pick up the title next week to learn a little bit more about the world of Snake Plisskin.Escape from New York #5
Publisher: BOOM! Studios
Author: Christopher Sebela
Artist: Diego Barreto
Main A: Mike Henderson Main B: Robert Sammelin Variant: Joseph Michael LinsnerPrice: $3.99 Synopsis: New story arc! The government throws Snake out of a plane and into the middle of a battle in Siberia, right back into the war he thought he’d left behind.
Fear the cure.
Bleiberg Entertainment’s Compound has released the trailer for Strange Blood.
From producer Pearry Teo (Cloud Atlas), Strange Blood is the directorial debut of acclaimed photographer and music video director Chad Michael Ward, who has worked with Marilyn Manson, Slash, and Static-X amongst others.
“When a brilliant but obsessive scientist (Robert Brettenaugh) goes to extremes to develop a universal cure for all disease, he finds himself infected with a bizarre parasite that begins to transform him into a bloodthirsty madman. Time running out, and with the aid of his med student assistant (Alexandra Bard), he must find a way to stop the monster that is growing within and prevent the rest of the world from being “cured.””
Robert Brettenaugh stars alongside Alexandra Bard.
Check out a bunch of exclusive stills here.
RLJE/Image Entertainment is getting Infected on DVD June 2, 2015.
Bloody Disgusting has an exclusive look at the trailer for Andrew Gilbert’s indie starring Luke Hobson, Nicky Paul Barton, Roger Fowler, Samuel Hogarth, and David Wayman.
“An average day in a quiet suburb becomes ground zero for the end of the world that we knew. When a fast-spreading global pandemic turns ordinary people into flesh-eating monsters, a handful of terrified survivors and the remnants of an army squad find refuge in an elementary school turned emergency shelter. With the hordes of walking dead trying to get in, scarce weapons and a dwindling food supply, the embattled refugees begin to turn on each other. As they slowly perish, they desperately attempt to escape and determine if they are the last uninfected humans left on Earth.“
Last week Rob Zombie revealed his Doom-Head from his now-filming Halloween slasher 31.
This morning he told his loyal followers that there’s only two days left of filming, and as a treat shared a first glimpse at Judy Geeson as ‘Sister Dragon’, who runs Murder World alongside ‘Father Murder’ (Malcom McDowell), owner of the park.
In addition, below is some more old concept art showing three characters to be featured in 31.
“31 follows five carnival workers who are kidnapped the night before Halloween and held hostage in a large secret compound known as Murder World.
Once there, they have 12 hours to survive a terrifying game called 31 in which ‘The Heads’- murderous maniacs dressed as clowns – are released to hunt them down and kill them.”
Jeff Daniel Phillips will play ‘Roscoe’, the ass-kicking carney mechanic of Venus Virgo’s traveling show.
Malcolm McDowell plays ‘Father Murder’, the owner of Murder World for which the film is based.
Judy Geeson plays ‘Sister Dragon’, who runs Murder World alongside McDowell. She joins David Ury, who will be playing ‘Schizo-Head’, one half of murderous team of brothers living inside Murder World. Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs was recently cast as ‘Panda Thomas’, with Elizabeth Daily (E.G. Daily) playing ‘Sex-head’, and Torsten Voges as the insane partner of Death-Head. Ginger Lynn is featured as ‘Cherry Bomb’, a very special friend of Doom-Head (portrayed by Richard Brake), as was Jane Carr, who will portray ‘Sister Serpent’, a wicked cross of Satan meets Mother Goose. Pancho Moler will be seen as ‘Sick-Head’, and Tracy Walter stars as ‘Lucky Leo.’
Daniel Roebuck plays ‘Paster Victor’, an unfortunate participant in last year’s game of 31.
Lew Temple, Devin Sidell and Sheri Moon Zombie also star.
It took nearly 16-hours of television to deliver this insane death montage from “The Walking Dead”.
Have a look at a video that contains each and every (human and zombie) death from the fifth season of AMC’s “The Walking Dead”!
I stopped watched towards the end of the third season, and this video had me salivating for a return. Maybe I’ll play a little catch-up when it arrives on home video. I mean, seriously, the effects work looks pretty damn incredible, especially when they do a close-up (like in the scene pictured above). Damn, guys, this shit is on television? Awesome.
Personally, I can’t wait to see the undead ravage everyone on the west coast in “Fear the Walking Dead”, premiering this fall on AMC.
It was announced back in 2013 that US-based Epic Pictures Group partnered with Norwegian-based Yesbox Productions to finance and produce an English-language sequel to the internationally successful Thale (review), the mythological suspense thriller which was written and directed by Aleksander Nordaas.
Discovered over at NFI is some concept art that reveals a second mythical creature.
The sequel will again be written and directed by Nordaas, with Patrick Ewald and Shaked Berenson of Epic Pictures Group producing alongside Bendik Heggen Strønstad of Yesbox Productions. The original film played at both Toronto and SXSW in 2012 and became a worldwide hit, having been released in almost 50 countries.
In the original Norwegian film, “two crime-scene cleaners discover a mythical, tailed female creature in a concealed cellar. She never utters a word, unable to tell her story, but the pieces of the puzzle soon come together: she’s been held captive for decades for reasons soon to surface. Thale is based on a mythical character in Nordic folklore called the “huldra”. According to the myth, a huldra is a beautiful creature with female attributes living deep in the woods. It is said that it seduces men that works in the woods by humming a beautiful song, and they never return to their village. You can recognize a huldra by its cow tail.”
While there’s no U.S. release, the Charlize Theron-starrer Dark Places opens in France on April 8th. Here’s a series of new images, courtesy of Indiewire.
Old wounds are also opened up in the previously released Dark Places trailer that carries sort of a Zodiac vibe.
Charlize Theron is all grown up, but begins to investigate the murder of her family that she witnessed as a child.
It was recently announced that A24 and DirecTV acquired all U.S rights to Dark Places, based on the novel by “Gone Girl” author Gillian Flynn.
“Theron plays a survivor of the brutal killing of her family as a child who’s forced to confront the events of that day by a secret society obsessed with solving crimes.”
It also stars Chloe Grace Moretz, Nicholas Hoult, Christina Hendricks, Tye Sheridan and Corey Stoll, and was directed by Gilles Paquet-Brenner from his adaptation.
“If Siouxsie Sioux & Portishead made a baby while Blade Runner was on…”
That’s the self-description of Los Angeles-based goth pop group Ultra Violent Rays, who teamed up with us to bring you the exclusive music video premiere for their new single “Vegas”.
The video shows a secret poker game held up by two people who ultimately don’t realize what they’ve gotten themselves into. The track itself is a brooding, dark piece that electronically whispers and sizzles, aggressively baring its fangs as it builds for a strike.
You can purchase the “Vegas” single via iTunes.
No April Fool’s Day jokes here! Nope, what we have here is some more brand new fiction from Nightmare Magazine. This month’s selection is “The Island” by Desirina Boskovich. We hope you enjoy it – please let us know what you think in the comments section below.
I was five when we moved to the island.
Mommy and Daddy knew that the end was near. There were harbingers, omens, and dire events: poisoned apples, collapsing buildings, broken sidewalks, and the ever-present idiot boxes, a parade of heathens that prayed in tongues. A riot over papayas and saddle shoes broke out in the fifth quarter, and half the city burned. In a far-off desert, our soldiers fought the sand worms; we sent them care packages, stuffed with candy and thick socks. A wicked witch built a palace made from shoes; when they dug her out with the business end of a stiletto heel, they found she’d been orchestrating the fate of the world from behind an emerald curtain. When the curtain fell, it all fell apart; there was nothing left but darkness and ennui. Then a hole tore itself in the ozone, and crazy dust fell through — whomever it touched lost the power of speech. The earth rent her garments, and a jagged satellite of land mass broke off the coast and floated away.
I was five when we moved to the island. My sister Thea was three.
We loaded our lives into a tiny ship and set sail. We sailed the seven seas; we sailed for forty days and forty nights. We were tossed by strange creatures: eight-legged squid with suction-cup fingers, and city-sized whales with flapping tails. Grinning dolphins swam in our wake, leaping to say hello. Mommy and Daddy sat on the deck and played cards, talking about the life we’d build when we reached land. Thea and I sat at their feet. They told us stories about everything we’d escaped in The Outside World, everything scary that lay far away.
Now we’d always be safe.
On the forty-first day, the island peeked its head over the calm blue line of the horizon: an uninhabited jewel no more than a couple miles across, covered with sloping hills, lush forests, sandy beaches, strange flowers. A jutting cliff led down to a bed of rocks where the sea foamed and leaped. A fresh water spring trickled from the island’s obsidian heart, turning into a creek that ran toward the sea.
We called the island Treasure. We were home.
• • • •
We dismantled the ship and built a house. We planted crops in the lush glades, and searched the island for things that were good to eat: luscious fruits, speckled mushrooms, hearty nuts, savory turtle’s meat, and smooth seagull’s eggs. Wild sheep roamed the island; we caught them, corralled them, sheared their wool, slaughtered their rams, and drank their mothers’ milk. We slept on beds made from grass. On the radio, we listened to the events of The Outside World: a spreading epidemic that turned its victims pink before they dissolved into dust and floated away. A suicide cult that tattooed its members with sinister symbols in languages we’d inherited from foreign stars.
“Turn off the radio,” Mommy said. “Turn off that silliness.” So we did, and she gave us chores.
My brother Rock was born. Rock belonged to the island; he’d never known another home. Whether under sunny blue skies or torrential summer rain, he thrived. He grew so fast it was uncanny. From the beginning, he followed Daddy everywhere. Together, they figured out how to catch the biggest fish, how to fell the widest tree, how to build the hottest fire that would keep us warm all night.
Thea and I wanted to go on forest expeditions, too. We wanted to capture the wriggling, rainbow-skinned gods that breathed their last on the beach. But Mommy needed us at home. We washed our clothes in the creek and beat them clean on the flat rocks. We sheared the sheep and spun the wool into thread and knitted it into cloth. We cooked fish and turtle legs together in stews that steamed and bubbled all day, seasoned with wild herbs.
My brother Leaf was born. He was a weird baby; the island was in his blood. He never laughed and never cried. He only surveyed his family with a placid contentment, as if to say, “I am here, you are here, everything is fine.” He would only eat fruit. As he grew, he tagged along with Rock, who was tagging along with Daddy.
My brother Bug was born. He was an angry baby; he screamed for hours on end. We did our best to entertain him, dangling charms of iridescent shells, tickling his toes with the fallen feathers of seagulls, singing him songs about the island, full of gibberish and nonsense words. He still screamed. Maybe he was just mad that his name was Bug. He grew fastest of all, and in no time at all he was tagging along with Leaf, who was tagging along with Rock, who was tagging along with Daddy.
Thea and I cooked fruit into jam, washed the clothes in the stream, sheared the sheep of their winter wool, scoured the iron cauldron with sand, and fought all the time, because she kept hanging her hammock too close to mine.
Our parents still said they loved each other, but Daddy spent all his time somewhere else, and Mommy kept waking up from nightmares to insist that it was all a dream, that we were not her children, and that she’d never lived on an island named Treasure. Daddy kissed her and brought her guava juice but she knocked it out of his hand. He shook his head, and walked away. He walked until he reached the other end of the island, where he sat at the edge of the cliff that looked down on the pointed rocks and the spraying sea. There, he thought about what would happen if he jumped.
Back at our home by the hammocks and the hearth, Mommy tore the low-hanging branches from the trees; she chased us with the branches, and she hit us as hard as she could, trying to turn us into the children she remembered.
When Daddy came back to camp, he saw our fresh bruises, our black eyes, our scratched and bleeding arms. He shook his head, and took Rock to the water’s edge to fish.
My sister Violet was born. I took her into my arms the way a younger girl would have taken a doll; I knew that in some way she would always be mine. Patiently, I turned the radio dials, looking for a song I knew, a song to sing her to sleep. Finally, out of the static and whine of the space between signals, a few strains of a familiar melody emerged: The Temptations, singing “My Girl.”
It was a sign. Thea and I hung Violet’s hammock between our own, even though she was too small to sleep in it.
“Turn that off,” Mommy said. “I hated that song.”
I turned off the radio and stroked the fine dark hairs on Violet’s sweet-smelling, satin-soft skull.
By this time, we all belonged to the island.
• • • •
But something strange happened the night that Violet was born.
It began with a storm. When you live on an island, you can see a storm coming from a long way off. All day, as Mommy writhed and cried and cursed and pushed, we’d seen the storm as it moved over the water and gathered strength. During the day it came as a dark cloud against the light-filled sky; during the night it came as flashes of lightning that cracked in jagged branches against the darkened clouds. At night, as we slept, the storm broke. It raged with such delirium, it seemed that our Treasure would break apart. Thunder louder than the Fourth of July fireworks I remembered from so long ago in The Outside World; lightning bright as a bonfire that illuminated the entire island for one razor-edged moment before the darkness returned with demonic depth. Wind screamed and howled through the trees. Rain poured down on us in buckets, thick as soup, teeming with small creatures from the shallow waters: plankton and krill.
A horned owl hooted mournfully in the distance, terror in his call. The sheep stampeded across the island and we could feel the vibrations of their pounding feet. Leaf and Bug climbed into my hammock and huddled against me. Violet cried. Thea buried her head under her pillow. Only Rock was unafraid.
Then the island shuddered and quivered and bucked. A crack rang out like cannon fire. And just like that, the winds died down, the rain faded away to a drizzle, and the storm was gone. My fitful sleep that night was filled with dark dreams.
The next day we woke to find the island changed. A lightning-struck tree at the highest point on the island had spread fire from branch to branch, burning a dark circle in the center of the forest before the heavy rains could extinguish the blaze. And a crevice had opened in the center of the island, ripping a chasm across a sunny meadow. Rock found it first, and came running back to tell us what he’d seen.
We stood on the edge, staring down. The crevice seemed to continue for miles. We could not see the bottom; it disappeared into darkness. If I squinted, I thought I could see the shadows squirm and shift.
“You should have known,” Mommy told Daddy.
“How could I?” he said. “How could I have known?” He shook his head and walked away. Rock followed him. Together they built a fire on the beach. They caught and killed a baby boar and stuck it up on a spit: a feast to celebrate the newest addition to our family.
All day we frolicked on the beach, basking in the sweet smells of fresh fruit and roasting meat. Thea collected shells. Rock poked and stirred the flames with a pointed stick. Leaf combed the tide pools for new species of crab. Bug mixed sand and dirt and water to make mud. I tried to build a palace out of sand. Together we held hands and waded out into the waves, against the incoming tide.
All day we watched a speck of darkness on the water. It grew and grew. It was coming closer.
It was another ship.
The ship made landfall as day turned to night. We sat on the beach, warmed by the rays of the setting sun, feasting on the rich meat of the roasted pig, and watched the ship as it cast anchor in our bay.
• • • •
They were travelers like ourselves, a family in search of their own small island to make a home. We informed them that our island was named Treasure, and it was ours alone, but they were welcome to stay for a night or three. They shared their story, and we shared our feast.
Their name was Robinson. They had four children; the oldest was younger than me, but older than Thea. The youngest was the same age as Bug. We’d never met children like us before. We ran wild, running in looping circles across the beach, inventing pretend games that no one else could understand, playing hide-and-seek in every nook and cranny. Thea told the newcomers a story about a pure white horse with a pink crystal horn, a beast of perfect nobility and grace. She said that if you glimpsed the white horse, you dreamed the most joyful dreams for a week. She said she’d only seen it once. The newcomers believed her; I think Leaf and Bug believed her, too, even though they knew it wasn’t true. The kids put together a hunting party to comb the island.
I felt much older than the rest. I knew that Thea’s story was fantasy, and I didn’t want to play make-believe. Instead, I sat on the beach, listening to the parents as they talked about the world beyond the seas.
A new epidemic raged; this disease turned its victims a pale yellow-green, then shriveled them like raisins until they were nothing but skin. The wars in the deserts continued, and they’d built a McDonald’s on the moon. The prophet my parents had once followed was now in prison for tax evasion and child rape. The sky was dead: aliens from Alpha Centauri had slipped through the hole in the ozone and injected a poisonous gas into the clouds.
Still, despite these setbacks, humanity survived.
“I thought by now they’d all be dead,” Daddy said, dejected.
“Any day now,” Mr. Robinson said. “Any day.”
“Maybe the quickening is farther off than we thought,” Mommy said, and went off into the darkness to let Violet nurse.
As promised, the Robinsons stayed for three days. Meanwhile, my parents whispered and hissed their way through a protracted fight. Mommy was lonely; she wanted the Robinsons to stay.
But Daddy had seen the way Mommy and Mr. Robinson looked at each other across the fire’s dying flames. He didn’t say anything, but he wouldn’t let the Robinsons remain here.
“I hate you,” Mommy said. “I hate you, and I hate this island.”
Daddy shook his head and walked away. He took Mr. Robinson on a tour of the island, showing him the structures he and Rock had built with a saw, a hammer and some nails.
Mommy and Mrs. Robinson stayed at the camp and made stew. I stayed too, while the rest of the kids played games with pebbles and sticks. With a dulled knife, I struggled to cut and peel an assortment of strange tropical fruits.
• • • •
On the third day we gathered on the beach to say goodbye. We gave them more food for their journey, and some seeds we’d saved from our island’s bounty of native fruits. In return, they gave us some things my brothers had never seen: a television and a phone. “It might get lonely on your island,” Mr. Robinson explained. “So here’s something. With this teevee, you can learn about what’s going on in The Outside World. It will tell you if everyone is dead. With this phone, you can call your friends.”
“We have no friends,” Mommy said.
“You can call your family.”
“We have no family.”
“Well, you can call us.”
We played with the teevee and the phone, and we watched as the Robinsons climbed into their ship and sailed away.
• • • •
Things continued as before, but the island had changed. The crevice at the center was growing; it got wider by the day. The bottom was still too far away to see. But the dark things, wriggling in that depthless gloom — they seemed to be growing, too. If I looked closely, I could make out tails, and eyes, and wings. Other times, I couldn’t see a thing. I thought my eyes were playing tricks.
The sheep were never the same after their panicked stampede. In the spring, six lambs were stillborn; only three survived, and they were sickly and weak.
The boars that roamed the island had also been spooked. One day, beneath a clear blue sky, a hawk wheeled too close to a suckling. The mother boar screamed in warning, and her shriek set off a riot. The boars ran as if the devil were branding their backsides; they ran and ran until they reached the cliff that overlooked the pointed rocks and the spraying sea, then kept running, and plunged off the edge, one by one. They died in a screaming nightmare below, and the waters foamed red with blood until their bloated bodies washed out to sea.
The blackened circle on the island’s highest point remained dead and charred. A poisoned fungus grew in the ashes and spread outward, infecting the trees; each autumn it gained more ground until the forest was nearly decayed.
Daddy and Rock had fished too much in the streams, and now the waters ran barren and clear; the only fish to be had were the canny, cunning ones that hid carefully in the sea.
It seemed the island was turning against us. It was staging a revolt; it was going strange. We had to work much harder to survive.
Luckily, we were older now; we could work as a team.
Thea could make anything; with her nimble fingers she crafted comfortable clothes and lovely necklaces and wonderful boxes full of shells. She’d developed storytelling into an art, and when we sat around the fire cracking nuts or filleting fish, her silly anecdotes and fanciful tales kept us entertained while our hands did tedious work.
Rock was taller than me, strong as could be, and good at everything he tried. He could leap farthest, run fastest, and climb the highest trees. His quick wit and clever mind kept us laughing all the time. Even when we were sad, or hungry, or fighting, Rock could always make us laugh. He taught Leaf and Bug all the things that Daddy had taught him; he wrestled them on the beach for the entertainment of their sisters, so that they might grow as tall and strong as he.
Leaf remained as even-tempered as he’d always been; it was impossible to make him angry. We teased him mercilessly, but he just laughed. He read all the books we’d brought from The Outside World. There were only a dozen, but he read them cover to cover. Through those books, he came to understand what made other people feel as they did. He watched and listened, as he always had, and soon he understood us all. He knew why Rock still got angry, even though he was the strongest. He knew why Daddy spent so much time sitting on the cliff’s edge, staring out at the sea. He knew why I went on longer walks every night, ranging ever farther from the hammocks and the hearth.
Bug still hated his name. Bug. Like Leaf, he read all the books cover to cover. But while Leaf learned about humans, Bug learned about the world. The books were his atlas, his dictionary, his encyclopedia. When he’d finished with the books, he surveyed the island. Soon he knew the location of every rock, every stream, every tree. He knew all the edibles — what they were called, and where they lived. He knew the history of The Outside World, and whenever we spoke of the things we’d learned from our parents, he corrected us: there had never been an emerald curtain, it was always made of iron. There had never been a disease that turned people into raisins or dust. We told him he was living up to his name, and he stalked off to fume by the fire.
Violet grew from a baby into a girl, and she was the sweetest child there could ever be. She was smart, and funny, and wise. She loved everyone, and there was nothing we wouldn’t do for her. Secure in the knowledge that she was adored by all, she had endless amounts of love to give.
But once, when we were gathering gooseberries on the hillside, I caught her staring into the crevice; it was wider than ever, and darker than night. And, from a place so far down it couldn’t even rightfully exist, I could hear the buzzing and humming of locusts, the croaking of odd and twisted birds.
Violet stood on the edge. She gazed into the blackness, twisting the curling tip of one pigtail around her tiny fingertip. Her look was far, far away.
“Don’t look in there,” I scolded her. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
I thought my brothers and sisters were the five most perfect people who ever lived.
• • • •
Mommy and Daddy were fighting all the time. They fought about the storm, about the earthquake, about the teevee, about the phone, about the radio, about the Robinsons, and they fought whenever there wasn’t enough to eat. They fought about the hammocks, which were falling into disrepair, and they fought when the fire went out.
Finally they agreed to disagree. Daddy went to live on the far side of the island, where the cliff overlooked the pointed rocks and the spraying sea. Mommy went to live on the near side of the island, where tall grasses grew and vivid flowers bloomed. Daddy took the teevee. Mom took the phone.
They left us the radio, the hammocks, and the hearth.
We would have lived like wild things except for Thea, who made sure we went to bed on time and woke with the sun. Thea gave orders to Leaf and Bug, who kept the fires lit at night and kept away the beasts. I swept the hearth and made the stews. Rock brought firewood and hunted the boars, which were surlier than ever. He seemed older now; overwhelmed with responsibilities, he was no longer so quick with a joke. Violet scavenged for berries and tried to make us smile. We did, but only because she asked. We were all tired, and we felt broken inside — our island was damaged, and so were we.
And the war between our parents raged on. Each tried to lure us to their side of the island. Daddy had the teevee; he invited us to his cliff to watch the game, even though the signal took six months to reach us, so the fate of the players was already long decided in The Outside World before it reached our shores. Mommy had the phone; she never called anyone, but she kept saying she might call the Robinsons. She said we could go live on their island and start a new life — so we should stick with her.
Back at the camp, we fiddled with the radio, but nowadays nothing came through but crackles and static and whispers. If I leaned in close, I could hear the same distended whirs and shrieks that came from the crevice in the middle of the island.
Mommy and Daddy sent Violet back and forth across the island, bearing messages between them. Violet told Mommy about the games we’d watched on Daddy’s teevee; she told Daddy what Mommy had been saying about the phone. She didn’t mean to stir up trouble, but she was still quite young.
One night, when the moon was no more than a sliver, Mommy crept over to Daddy’s side of the island, where he slept on the rocks in a shack made of driftwood. She tossed the teevee over the cliff, and its broken shards floated out to sea.
When Daddy discovered what she had done, he was very angry. He marched over to her side of the island, where she slept in the grass in a hut made out of sticks and leaves, and smashed the phone against the rocks.
Furious, she stormed over to our camp and smashed the radio to pieces, too. She said she didn’t want him to take it; she was getting to it first.
It didn’t matter, anyway; it had been a long time since we’d heard anything from The Outside World.
Bug and Leaf blamed Violet for making our parents fight; in turn she became sullen and cross. She refused to do her chores or eat her stew. She told Bug he was ugly, and when Rock told her to apologize, she said she hated us all and ran away. We stayed up all night looking for her. When dawn came, we found her curled inside the mouth of the island’s one small cave. Rock picked her up and carried her home.
• • • •
Creatures kept crawling out of the crevice. Things that made horrible noises in the dark; we could hear their poisoned laughter, just outside the ring of firelight. We could hear the screams of birds and the shrieks of piglets and the warning calls of owls as the things ranged across the island, feasting at will. And sometimes, as they rustled and scratched in the dark, we could smell them: an acrid stink, like rotting, burning flesh.
“If only we had that phone,” Thea said wistfully, as we sat around the fire one night. It was our nightly ritual. We watched the glowing embers and the flickering flames, and we talked about how to save our island. Occasionally we wondered about The Outside World.
“Maybe everyone’s dead,” I said.
“If only we had that phone, maybe we could find out.”
“Maybe it doesn’t matter.”
Of all of them, I was the only one who remembered The Outside World. I didn’t think it was the answer to our problems. I wanted to save the island, whatever the cost.
• • • •
A few nights later, as we sat around the fire, Violet announced: “I want to go live with Mommy.”
“You can’t do that,” Bug said.
“Because that’s not how it’s supposed to be.”
“I don’t care,” Violet said. “I like it there. There are flowers. The things aren’t there. I want to go.”
“If you’re going to live with Mommy, then Leaf and I are going to live with Daddy.”
“You can’t do that,” Thea said.
“Because we won’t have anyone to stir the fire or sit watch at midnight or throw rocks at the things to make them stay away. We won’t have anyone to help cut the branches to fix the hammocks. We won’t have anyone to bring seagull’s eggs,” Thea said.
“Because we’ll be all alone,” I said. “Three isn’t enough.”
“How much is enough?” Leaf asked, as if he was talking to himself. “How many, I mean?”
“Only six is enough,” I said.
“Only six is enough,” Thea agreed.
“Enough is enough,” Rock said. “I’m sick of all of you.” He got up and stalked away from the fire.
Violet started to cry. Leaf and Bug told her it was her fault, and she cried harder. Thea told them it was their fault, and Bug got mad, and Leaf got annoyed, which was the angriest he ever got. Their argument grew louder and louder until it filled the night, drowning out even the weirdest and cruelest noises from the dark.
“Shut up, all of you,” I shouted. “I’ll go talk to Rock.”
I wandered off into the darkness to look for him. I knew that whatever he said, he would never desert us. His loyalty to us was so fierce, his care so necessary, that it made him angry sometimes. He was bound by a desperate love that could never be ignored.
I found him sitting on the beach, watching the dark waves sliding quietly in and out, lit only by the brilliance of the full moon.
I sat beside him.
“I have a plan,” I said. So I told him. He listened. We were silent for a while, then we spoke for a while, and then we were silent again.
After a long time, we returned to the campfire. Violet had fallen asleep. We told Bug and Leaf to go away; we had something to talk about with Thea. They were upset all over again. They insisted they deserved to hear as much as anyone else. They asserted that they belonged to the island, too. We told them no, and they huffed away.
I had to speak, because I was the oldest, and besides, it was my idea.
“We must kill our parents,” I said.
• • • •
We did it that night, while Leaf and Bug and Violet lay in their hammocks asleep. Mommy first. We dashed out her brains with a rock. We dragged her body to the crevice and left it lying on the edge of the abyss. Daddy second. Before the rock fell, I felt a moment of pity; I was the oldest, so I remembered. I knew he’d never really wanted to come to the island. But then I remembered all the times he’d seen our bruises, our black eyes, our scratched arms, and looked away. The curse was half his. He let out a strangled snore, and we dropped the rock onto his skull.
We dragged his body to the other edge of the crevice. Then, we said the prayer that they’d taught us long ago. We sang a song we’d written about the island, one of those songs we used to sing to make Bug stop crying for just a minute or three. Then we tipped their bodies into the deep.
The sounds were appalling. Those sounds were not sounds made by our parents, who were already dead. Those sounds were the screeches and yelps of hideous creatures that fought over our parents’ bones and brains and blood.
I hoped we could appease the island. I hoped with this sacrifice, the curse would stray, and our island could be whole, the brilliant Treasure it had been when we were young. But when I heard the satisfied braying of creatures from another place, I was afraid I’d been wrong. Maybe we’d only fed them. Maybe they’d only grown stronger.
We returned to the shore, and in the early light of dawn, we cooked breakfast on the beach. When Leaf, Bug, and Violet woke with the sun, we beckoned them down and told them what we’d done.
They cried, but they understood, as we’d known they would. We belonged to the island more than we’d belonged to our parents. And we belonged to each other most of all.
“Now we can start from scratch,” I said. “No more overfishing. No more forest fires. No more stampeding sheep. No more haunted boars.”
Thea broke in: “And hopefully, no more of those . . . things.”
• • • •
After we killed our parents, the island began to recover. The small flock of sheep multiplied in the spring; the ewes all lived through birth and the lambs thrived to the last woolly one. The wild boars birthed kinder, calmer sucklings; they were becoming tame. The poison fungus on the mountaintop crept backward in the direction it had come.
Leaf found a few freshwater fish, stranded and sleeping in a shadowy cove in a trapped inlet of the creek. He caught and released them into the wilds of the stream, and soon they were doing what fishes do; in a season or two we could begin fishing again. Bug wrote a natural history of the island, cataloguing each of its myriad species for future generations. (Not that there would be any. We loved each other, but not like that.) Thea taught Violet to sew. Rock collected all the driftwood and lumber he could find, and began building a gazebo that we called “the church.” I dug deep into the pouches of preserved seeds, and cultivated a garden that was better than any we’d grown in years.
Best of all, the crevice began to close. At first it moved so slowly it seemed impossible; I dismissed it as wishful thinking. But then the movement became unmistakable. It moved by three inches; then five. The gash was healing.
But even as it creaked closed, something was growing inside of it. When the fissure was no more than three feet wide, it emerged. We called it the tree. It did look like a tree — from some angles.
Sometimes it looked like a tower. Sometimes it looked like a mushroom. Sometimes it looked like a giant. Sometimes it looked like the beanstalk that a boy once climbed, to meet a giant on the other side. Sometimes it looked like a skyscraper. Sometimes it looked like a monster.
But mostly, it looked like a tree.
By the time two summers had passed, the crevice had closed completely, and there was nothing left but the tree. In the third summer, it reached maturity. Hanging from the tip of each of its six branches was a cotton-wrapped sack, and struggling in those sacks were six sick creatures, cocooned but growing. Occasionally we could see their mouths, opened in hopes that an insect or a baby bird would blunder in.
Then another ship arrived.
It was the first ship we’d seen since the Robinsons had lifted anchor and sailed away. We were wild to meet them, and from the moment we spotted the ship, we waited on the beach, preparing a feast that rivaled all feasts before it. We lit a huge bonfire to draw them near. We danced and sang songs, even while Rock prepared a miniature arsenal, just in case they were enemies and not friends: we knew nothing now about The Outside World.
They made landfall as night fell. Two men and a woman: travelers like my parents had once been. They were my age. They were fascinated by us, and entranced by our island. We invited them onto the beach, and informed them that this island was called Treasure and it was ours alone, but they were welcome to stay a night or three. We shared our feast with them under the brightening stars. The roast lamb and grilled fruits tasted like the food of the gods.
As the visitors ate, they told us they were looking for some long-lost cousins of theirs: a family called Robinson.
“I thought you looked familiar,” I said. I remembered the Robinsons’ wide blue eyes and white blond hair.
“Is there still The Outside World?” Bug asked.
They said that there was.
After the food was finished, the man leaned forward, ready to ask what they’d all been wondering.
“You’re all so young,” he said. “How long have you been stranded here?”
Everyone looked at me, waiting for me to answer.
“We have always lived on the island,” I said.
• • • •
That night, we waited until the visitors fell asleep. Then we crept, slowly and silently, to the beach where they dreamed. We dashed out their brains with rocks and fed their bodies to the tree.
Nightmare Magazine is edited by bestselling anthology editor John Joseph Adams (Wastelands, The Living Dead). This month’s issue also features original fiction by Charles Payseur (“Spring Thaw”), along with reprints by Usman Malik (“Ishq”) and Nancy Kilpatrick (“The Age of Sorrow”). We also have Seanan McGuire penning the latest installment of our column on horror, “The H Word,” plus author spotlights with our authors, a showcase on our cover artist, and a feature interview with author and founder of Cemetery Dance Publications, Richard Chizmar. You can wait for the rest of this month’s contents to be serialized online, or you can buy the whole issue right now in convenient eBook format for just $2.99. You can also subscribe and get each issue delivered to you automatically every month, for the discounted price of just $1.99 per issue. This month’s issue is a great one, so be sure to check it out. And while you’re at it, tell a friend about Nightmare!
The post Nightmare Presents: The Island by Desirina Boskovich appeared first on Dread Central.
This is the episode of The Returned I’ve been waiting for. There were a few deviations from Les Revenants and plenty of revelations were made about various characters. Characters are starting to merge into each other’s storylines, which is a huge plus. The pace has definitely started to pick up a bit and for the first time, I’m actually kind of excited for where the series is headed!Victor
We finally learn how Victor died in the opening of tonight’s episode. 29 years ago, two men broke into his house and murdered his entire family. The twist in this is that one of the men is none other than Peter (Jeremy Sisto)! This is the same thing that happened in Les Revenants, so it wasn’t much of a surprise to me, but I forgot how early this reveal is made. Things are definitely starting to piece together with Victor, but we have yet to learn why he was on the road the day of the bus crash four years ago. Might this be revealed soon?
Also, Julie’s neighbor Annie was murdered and her tongue was ripped out (her cats were eating it!). I can’t say I’m going to miss her. She was a pain. If there’s one good thing to come from this, it’s that when Nikki (Julie’s cop ex-girlfriend) cam t investigate the murder, she found Victor. She (like all viewers of this show) realized how insane it is that Julie has been keeping a child she just found on the side of the road, so she took him into custody and delivered him to the community center, which is overseen by Peter.
The reveal of Peter being one of the thieves from the night Victor was murdered was perfect (albeit a direct copy of the reveal from Les Revenants) and was a fantastic way to end the episode. I’m not sure what victor is going to do to Peter, but it can’t be good. This was the first episode to give some answers on Victor and it was well worth the wait.Camille
Over in Camille-land, Tommy interrogates Jack regarding Lucy’s attack (which we still haven’t been given a lot of information on). This leads him to confess to Claire that he was sleeping with Lucy because she claimed to have her “gift.” Claire is flabbergasted that he would ever believe someone could communicate with the dead only while mid-coitus and tells Jack as much. There are many flawed characters making poor decisions on The Returned, but that is what draws me into it. It’s difficult to watch characters make stupid decisions and behave irrationally, but that is how some people react when they are grieving. It is difficult yet fascinating to watch.
Lena’s scar is still giving her trouble, but it leads to my favorite sequence from the episode. In a flashback to the night of the bus crash, we see a younger Lena sneak into the morgue with Ben to see her sister’s body. It is too much for her and she breaks down over the corpse and proceeds to hug it. This is when we are shown that Camille’s corpse had the same wound on her back that Lena has in the present day. This revelation is unique to the American version (I think), and I like it. Some might say that it is over-simplifying the symbolism of Lena’s scar, but I’m okay with the series giving us at least one concrete answer (something Les Revenants rarely did).
Speaking of revelations, Rowan had a few of her own. After keeping Simon hidden in her attic (and having sex with him while Tommy was at work), she discovers the security cameras Tommy had installed (after Chloe pointed to it). Again, I feel like all happened very quickly, but the impact was great. Rowan’s confrontation with Tommy was like a kick to the guy, made even worse when he tells her that Simon didn’t just die, he committed suicide by walking in front of an 18-wheeler on their wedding day.
Winstead’s character is probably the most heartbreaking on the show. Of all the people that have come back from the dead, Simon is the only one who was someone’s significant other (besides Helen), and he was the only one to commit suicide. Watching her deal with everything, which I would argue is worse than what any other character has had to go through so far, is fascinating. I’m very much looking forward to her confronting Simon next. He has some explaining to do.Helen
Helen’s storyline this week is all about her questioning the purpose of resurrection. The conversation she has with the priest is fantastic (and Forbes is great in the scene). There isn’t really much else to her scenes, except to reveal that she is now staying at the same community center where Victor is, which could prove to be a dynamite pairing. The two most mysterious/vague characters on the show in cahoots? I’m in.
A faster paced episode with some major revelations and deviations from its source material helped make this the best episode The Returned has had yet. Let’s hope next week’s episode keeps it up!
- Camille is thrilled to see how many nice things people have to say about her on her Facebook page.
- More black sludge is coming out of Helen’s sink. It’s really gross.
- Julie still doesn’t understand the seriousness of her kidnapping offense. She should have turned Victor over to the police in the first episode.
- Michelle Forbes needs more screen time. She is amazing and I love her.
- Rowan tells Chloe that Simon is actually an angel and she believes it. Are children that gullible? I mean, Chloe was smart enough to spot a security camera in her fire alarm when Rowan couldn’t. So I feel like Chloe would be smarter than that.
- Love that Claire admits she might not know if Lena was hurt by somebody. You always see parents in film/TV be overly protective and claim to know where their teenager is at all times so it was refreshing to see a TV parent admit that they aren’t perfect.
- Claire makes note that Camille is eating “again.” I noticed how Simon was eating a lot in his titular episode, and now Camille is. Is there significance to that? I think so!
- Next week’s episode is titled “Tony and Adam.” Some of you might not know who those characters are (unless you read my reviews), but you will be happy to find out next week!
April Fools isn’t something I’ve celebrated here for two long years. It feels good to be back, and I don’t only mean that because I have a paltry 17 hours left to be apologetically silly with stories about easy targets like Uwe Boll. This is the one day you shouldn’t take what you see on the Internet too seriously, since much of it will be comprised of jokes, parodies, satires and my least favorite, the fake news stories.
The talented folks at Rebellion have done something magical with the undead hordes and assorted skeletons that populate the Zombie Army Trilogy. I don’t think I could love this video for the Zombie Army THRILLogy unless it was a real thing.
I’d play that. I’ve never been particularly adept at rhythm games, but I think my problem is that I’ve been exclusively playing against the living. A ghoul could never hope to beat me. I never thought I’d say it, but horaaay for rigor mortis!
The Zombie Army Trilogy is available now on PC, PS4 and Xbox One.
I have some good news, and I have some bad news. It’s been my experience that most people choose the bad news first because no matter how bad it is, you still have something good to look forward to. So here’s the good news. Capcom has more Resident Evil remasters in development, and they’re coming soon. The bad news is while the oft-requested Resident Evil 2 remaster is among them, we won’t be seeing it anytime soon.
A few days ago I passed Capcom president Haruhiro Tsujimoto in the wood and screws aisle of a Home Depot. I didn’t immediately recognize him because I was having trouble seeing anything over all the buckets I was carrying, but when I did, my journalist instinct took over and I asked if he could A some of my Q’s. Before I could begin, Tsujimoto told me no one is doing the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge anymore, so I sat them next to a crate of wrenches, fishing lures and sandpaper so we could begin.
“We know exactly what our fans want,” Tsujimoto whispered into my ear. I was so busy admiring Home Depot’s abundance of competitively priced workman’s boots and transmission fluids that I didn’t see him walk up to me. “This is why we’ve kept an ear close to our community, because we want to deliver the Resident Evil experience our community hungers for.”
That’s when he told me everything. The meaning to life, the coordinates for the hidden treasure chest he saved up back in his pirate days, and, of course, Capcom’s two-year plan.
Coming in 2015 is a remaster of Resident Evil 0, now with 200% more leaches. It will be followed by a re-release of Resident Evil 3 that he promises will look better on modern TVs than it did on CRT televisions back in the day. Bringing 2015 to a close will be a current-gen port of Resident Evil 4, now with added support for PS4 and Xbox One, but little else.
Next year is where it gets really exciting. Kicking off the year is the Resident Evil 5: Even Golder Edition. The only difference is they’ve edited out Chris Redfield for that boulder punching scene in the volcano, and replaced him with Goku from Dragon Ball Z. Next up is more Resident Evil 4, which Capcom plans to drop on whichever platform they feel like bringing it to at the time.
Oh yeah, then we get Resident Evil 2 HD. I wasn’t able get a straight answer from Tsujimoto about a release date for RE2, but he did give me a somewhat nebulous 2016-2018 release window.
“We’ve thought about it for a long time, and we’ve decided that bringing the Resident Evil franchise back to its roots in survival horror is going to take a crazy amount of work, so rather than waste our time and yours with something like Resident Evil 7, we’re just going to keep doing this remaster thing.”
“We may even revisit that Operation Raccoon City game that no one liked, because you’re probably going to buy that,” Tsujimoto added. When I asked him about any plans they might have to return to the Outbreak series, he had disappeared.
At some point in the near or distant future, pre-orders will be available wherever it is that pre-orders are sold. Should you run into any trouble, just tell them Adam sent you. That got me into a Burger King once. They even let me seat myself.
Remember all those horror games you didn’t play even though they looked great, because they came first, or sometimes even exclusively, to the Wii? Don’t fret, you’re not alone. Lots of horror fans had to deal with this when the demand for Nintendo’s insanely popular console was at its highest, because that was when some publishers came up with the underdeveloped idea of making horror games for it.
To understand why they did it, all you need to do is ignore the Wii’s target demographic — casual gamers, families, kids — and the alarming number of third party games that failed because most Wii owners wanted something with Mario in the title. It took a long time to realize that “Wii owner” and “horror enthusiast” are labels that can rarely be used to describe the same person.
Dooming these mostly fantastic games to a life of neglect and layers upon layers of dust as people forgot they existed because they were too busy playing whatever game Nintendo just released was clearly a mistake. It’s also one that they’re looking to fix with the just-announced Spooky Scary Shooty collection for PS4 and Xbox One.
Referred internally by the codename “Wow, We Done Goofed”, this bundle includes remastered versions of several horror shooters, including Dead Space: Extraction, House of the Dead: Overkill, Resident Evil: Umbrella Chronicles and ZombiU.
A few of these titles would eventually make their way to other platforms only to get overlooked again, but I did overhear a conversation between myself and the roommate of someone who once saw games industry analyst Michael Pachter on TV who claimed to have inside knowledge that it probably won’t happen again.
I decided to ask Ubisoft why ZombiU — a Wii U exclusive — was also included in the bundle, and one of their representatives got to me just as my pinky was hovering above the Publish button. For Ubisoft, the decision to include ZombiU was an easy one to make. “Our decision to publish the game as a Wii U exclusive was super dumb. We hope this will bring our fanboys community one step closer to forgiving us.”
The bundle arrives tomorrow, April 2, for the PS4 and Xbox One.
When it comes to Germany’s least accomplished director, the only thing that people hate more than his movies is Uwe Boll himself. He’s been churning out awful movies for years, yet somehow, the highlights of his career include films like House of the Dead, Alone in the Dark and three goddamn BloodRayne films. If you’re wondering just how in the hell BloodRayne managed to get two sequels, it has everything to do with Uwe Boll.
The most impressive thing about Boll’s career is how adamantly he’s defended it. He even invited critics who weren’t fans of his films to engage in a few rounds of fisticuffs with him. He’s obviously an intelligent guy. An idiot wouldn’t have known to hide their inability to construct coherent thoughts with the threat of imminent violence. That’s something a jackass would do, but not an idiot.
I had been wanting to sit down and chat with the director since he first started ruining good horror franchises, my only hesitation was my deep lack of respect and admiration I have for Boll’s work. Curiosity eventually got the best of me, so I went about summoning him by speaking his name five times into a dirty bathroom mirror to get some answers.
“Slater’s a big star and he’s been in the business a long time. He’s always in a good mood and easygoing but he takes his character very seriously,” Boll explained after the fissure that summoned him had finally closed, muffling the screams of countless tormented souls.
Looking into his dead eyes, I knew I’d have to draw upon my 36 years of hard-hitting, investigative journalism. I swished my hair to let him know I meant business, than I met his gaze and asked my first question.
He looked at me like a child who had just been given approval to stay up an hour past their bedtime, then he added, “I think the Matrix effect is over-used and I don’t do it anymore.” He paused for a few moments after that to give me time to let that thought simmer before he continued, saying “Interview with a Vampire was lots of sex, so I’m not sure.”
I started wondering whether I should take out the Boll removal spray I had purchased because it was on sale at Walmart or wait for him to give me something useful when Boll finally broke. “Who am I kidding? I am so fucking bad at this.”
I was so distracted by his Interview with a Vampire comment and if it meant I should suggest he watch the first four seasons of True Blood — I wouldn’t wish the other three on my worst enemies, not even Uwe Boll — so it took me a few beats to register his sudden admission.
“I’m terrible at this. Unless you count Sandalen porn, I’ve never even seen a movie.” he then turned to a corner of the room where he must’ve thought I was hiding a camera to say “If you’re a fan of one of the games I’ve ruined, I’m so sorry for being such a talentless, narcissistic dickhead.”
I had my answer, so I sprayed Boll directly in the eyes, yelled “VETAI GLEI KISTARRH ME’LAH!” and watched as he melted into nothingness.
The 80′s were a glorious time of hairspray, colorful costumes and music we’re forced to label as “classics” just because they’re old. I was born in time to catch the final two years of the decade, and they must’ve been crazy, because I don’t remember any of it.
I suppose I could relive that era by enduring an 80′s movie marathon, but I’d almost definitely just end up re-watching The Thing, A Nightmare On Elm Street, Evil Dead, because if there’s one truth about that decade, it’s that it was an amazing time to be a horror fan.
I’m nearly a full month late in finding out about this, but I can’t find any stories that mentioned it, so I figured I’d share this with you, even if it is old and almost definitely irrelevant.
When Thor Chris Hemsworth hosted an episode of “Saturday Night Live” last month, he starred in a skit that was set in a spaceship run by a chicken. Like, a literal chicken. It has feathers and everything. But before the poultry gets its screen-time, we’re treated to a subtle Dead Space cameo.
If you look closely at the emblems that have been stitched onto the crew outfits you may recognize the symbol as the same one that represents the Church of Unitology from the Dead Space series. You may also recognize it as the source of every bad thing that happens in those games.
I know this sounds very much like an April Fools prank, so here’s some proof.
Thanks, Reddit user 0ptimisticZombie!
If you’re going to perpetuate an April Fools’ joke that has been going on for the past several years, why not perpetuate it yourself? That’s what Puscifer, the side project of Tool frontman Maynard James Keenan, did by “releasing leaked Tool music”, which they claim needs to be spread like herpes. Oh, and the release date of said leaked music? “3-32-2015″. Nailed it.
The funny thing is that I could honestly see Tool putting something like this as an interlude on an album, if they went back to a more AEnima-styled album. Imagine if this track came up and suddenly, just like “Intermission” leading into “Jimmy”, it got really sinister and dark. I’d be completely okay with that.
The nifty thing about developer Erin Reynolds’ psychological horror game Nevermind is that it’s primary objective isn’t to scare players, but rather, to try and help them solve a problem. Because while roughly 100% of humans suffer from some amount of stress and/or anxiety, we have yet to come up with an effective solution that doesn’t require medication or ridiculous amounts of money.
In an effort to help people cope with these negative feelings in an easier way, Reynolds has developed a psychological horror game that uses biofeedback to monitor a player’s stress level. The more overwhelmed they gets, the more difficult the game becomes.
Eventually, progress is only possible until after the player has calmed down. This is the concept that Nevermind was built on, and if it works, it could be the first in a new wave of horror games that aim to help people in real ways.
I’m glad this game hasn’t gotten lost in dreaded development limbo. Its first crowdfunding effort raised $130k. An impressive achievement, but it didn’t quite reach the $250k Reynolds needed. Its second campaign was successful, raising just over its more modest $75k goal.
For more info on Nevermind, I recommend you take a look at its official website.
Just how crazy is the final season of NBC’s “Hannibal” going to be? Well, what if I told you that Guillermo del Toro – best known for Blade 2, Cronos, The Devil’s Backbone, Pan’s Labyrinth and even Pacific Rim – was directing one of the final three episodes?
According to Fashion & Style, De Laurentiis Company’s April newsletter arrived a bit early, and with it, the names of the directors helming the final three episodes of Season 3 of “Hannibal”.
“Shooting back-to-back, the last three episodes of the season are being directed by Guillermo del Toro, Guillermo Navarro, and Michael Rymer.”
Navarro, meanwhile, directed several Season 1 episodes of “Hannibal,” and worked with del Toro on several of his films. Rymer is also a “Hannibal” alum, directing a handful of episodes (including the penultimate Season 2 episode).
Created by Bryan Fuller and produced by the Dino De Laurentiis Company, the series stars Mads Mikkelsen, Hugh Dancy, Laurence Fishburne and Gillian Anderson.
“Hannibal” returns June 4, 2015.
Here’s some previously reported casting news to look forward to:
Richard Armitage was recently cast to portray serial killer Francis Dolarhyde, a.k.a “The Tooth Fairy.” Rutina Wesley, of “True Blood,” signed on for the role of Reba McClane, a blind woman who is Dolarhyde’s last chance at humanity.
“True Detective” villain Glenn Fleshler portrays Cordell, the attentive and creepy doctor in Season 3, they explain. A character from Thomas Harris’ “Hannibal” novels, Cordell cares for the disfigured Mason Verger.
The show also replaced “Boardwalk Empire” actor Michael Pitt with Joe Anderson for Verger’s role.
Zachary Quinto will appear in at least one episode go “Hannibal” as a patient of Bedelia (Gillian Anderson).