The Dames of ‘Sin City: A Dame To Kill For’ (Images)

bloody disgusting - Wed, 07/02/2014 - 11:35

Dimension Films’ Sin City: A Dame To Kill For unveils two new images of Rosario Dawson and Jamie Chung for the anticipated sequel from co-directors Robert Rodriguez and Frank Miller.

In theaters August 22, the film is about Dwight McCarthy planing to have his vengeance against the woman who betrayed him, Ava Lord, while Nancy is trying to cope with Hartigan’s death.

Mickey Rourke, Jessica Alba, Eva Green, Josh Brolin, Bruce Willis, Juno Temple, Jaime King, Rosario Dawson, Michael Madsen, Jamie Chung, Dennis Haysbert, Crystal McCahill, Christopher Meloni, Josh Brolin, Jeremy Piven, Julia Garner, Ray Liotta and Stacy Keach all star.

Categories: Horror News

[TV] Trailer For the Conclusion of “The Killing”!

bloody disgusting - Wed, 07/02/2014 - 11:31

Netflix just sent us the official trailer for “The Killing,” which premieres exclusively on Netflix on August 1. I refuse to watch the trailer because of spoilers, but damned if I can’t highly recommend you catching up on the previous seasons on Netflix Instant.

Joel Kinnaman will return for a final season, along with his partner, Sarah Linden (Mireille Enos).

In the slow-burn series, a police investigation, the saga of a grieving family, and a Seattle mayoral campaign all interlock after the body of 17-year-old Rosie Larsen is found in the trunk of a submerged car.

The fourth and final season of ‘The Killing’ picks up right after the season 3 finale. As Detective Linden (Mireille Enos) and Detective Holder (Joel Kinnaman) struggle to manage the fallout from their rash actions at the end of last season, they are assigned a new case — a picture perfect family is murdered, survived only by the son, Kyle Stansbury (Tyler Ross), who was shot in the head during the massacre. Joan Allen guest stars this season as Colonel Margaret Rayne, the headmaster of the all-boys military academy where Kyle attends. The new season also stars Gregg Henry, Sterling Beaumon and Levi Meaden.

Categories: Horror News

IDW's Terrifying New Tale Silent Hill Downpour: Anne's Story Reveals the Past

Dread Central - Wed, 07/02/2014 - 11:30

The nightmare-inducing series based on the hit video game series Silent Hill by Konami Digital Entertainment returns to IDW this summer with a brand new chapter, Silent Hill Downpour: Anne’s Story.

Featuring the dark origins of Downpour’s enigmatic antagonist, this new comic book series will delve deeper into the history of prison guard Anne Marie Cunningham as well as further explore the fog-shrouded haunted town that is caught between realities.

Introduced in Silent Hill Downpour, officer Anne Cunningham set out on a bloody quest for revenge. The mystery surrounding her journey to Silent Hill and the terrors she faced upon her arrival will finally be revealed, giving readers an entirely new perspective on the acclaimed video game.

Having written both previous Silent Hill series at IDW, Sinner’s Reward and Past Life, as well as co-written the video game Silent Hill Downpour, Tom Waltz returns to the foggy town that bleeds horror.

“This will be my fourth foray as a writer into the dark side streets and alleyways of everyone’s favorite haunted vacation town, and I couldn’t be more excited,” said Waltz. “More so because we finally get to share Anne Marie Cunningham’s canonical backstory, a mystery only hinted at until now. In our new story we can finally present all her grim and dirty secrets to Silent Hill fans, old and new alike.”

Diving head first into Silent Hill is Australian artist Tristan Jones (Ghostbusters, Hoax Hunters), who is handling covers and interior art.

Debuting this August, Silent Hill Downpour: Anne’s Story opens up a whole new experience for fans and players and stands tall as a horrifying tale all its own!

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Categories: Horror News

Artwork And Details Released For ‘Looper’ Vinyl OST

bloody disgusting - Wed, 07/02/2014 - 11:00

The full artwork for the upcoming Looper vinyl OST has been unveiled by director Rian Johnson via his Twitter feed and it looks rather stunning! Put together by Jay Shaw, the double gatefold limited 7″ comes wrapped in “blasted” burlap, which reveals the gold bar artwork underneath (those of you who have seen the movie will understand this reference). The movie was scored by Nathan Johnson (Brick).

Head below for images of the vinyl and keep your eyes peeled on Mondo for news on the release of this record, which is said to be highly limited.

Categories: Horror News

Love in the Time of Monsters Gets Distribution; New Stills

Dread Central - Wed, 07/02/2014 - 11:00

We've been talking about the upcoming Sasquatchploitation film Love in the Time of Monsters for some time now, and the good news is the film has found distro so we'll actually be able to see it, too! Oh, happy day!

From the Press Release
After a successful premiere at the Cinequest Film Festival and a recent screening at the Chinese Theater in Hollywood (through Dances with Films), Indican Pictures is proud to announce that they’ve secured the domestic distribution rights to horror comedy Love in the Time of Monsters.

“We just came to love this gem of a movie, and after watching it on the big screen with a riled up audience, I knew I had to have it!” (Randolph Kret, Indican Pictures VP)

Kane Hodder (Friday the 13th, Hatchet I, II, III, Daredevil, Wishmaster), Doug Jones (Pan’s Labyrinth, F/X’s "The Strain," Hellboy, Hellboy II, TNT’s "Falling Skies"), Michael McShane ("Whose Line Is It Anyway?," "Doctor Who," Spawn, A Bug's Life), and Shawn Weatherly (Former Miss Universe and Miss USA, "Baywatch," Police Academy 3) all star. Love in the Time of Monsters marks the first time both horror legends Kane Hodder and Doug Jones are appearing in the same film!

Synopsis
Love in the Time of Monsters is a suspenseful, campy, hilarious horror film that weaves an outrageous tale of love and zombie Bigfoots through the dark woods of Northern California. While Love in the Time of Monsters is violent and scary at times, its major themes are sacrifice, courage, and forgiveness; imagine if Peter Jackson and John Hughes co-created Night of the Living Dead or Aliens.

Two sisters travel to a cheesy tourist trap where they battle toxic monsters dressed in Bigfoot costumes in order to save the ones they love with the help of one of the redwoods’ most mysterious inhabitants.

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Categories: Horror News

Tattooist Creates Horror Works of Art

bloody disgusting - Wed, 07/02/2014 - 10:53

Bloody Disgusting reader Efrain Franco tipped me off to this Facebook page i which a tattoo artist has created some of the greatest works of art ever to hit the skin of a human being.

Paul Acker is the main artist and owner of Deep Six Tattoo in Philadelphia, PA, where he creates some astounding works of horror art from Freddy Krueger to Snake Plissken.

Check out some of his work below and get more at the above links.

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Post by Paul Acker.

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Post by Paul Acker.

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Post by Paul Acker.

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Post by Paul Acker.

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Post by Paul Acker.

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Post by Paul Acker.

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Post by Paul Acker.

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Post by Paul Acker.

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Post by Paul Acker.

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Post by Paul Acker.

Photos Source: Paul Acker and Deep Six Tattoo.

Categories: Horror News

[Video Review] Scarlett Johansson Gets ‘Under the Skin’

bloody disgusting - Wed, 07/02/2014 - 10:40

Scarlett Johansson stars as an alien seductress in the thriller Under the Skin, now on VOD platforms and arriving on Blu-ray and DVD July 15 from Lionsgate Home Entertainment.

Don Allen, our regular video reviewer, took a look at the film from visionary director Jonathan Glazer (Sexy Beast, Birth).

A voluptuous woman of unknown origin (Johansson) combs the highways in search of isolated or forsaken men, luring a succession of lost souls into an otherworldly lair. They are seduced, stripped of their humanity, and never heard from again. Based on the novel by Michel Faber, Under the Skin examines human experience from the perspective of an unforgettable heroine who grows too comfortable in her borrowed skin, until she is abducted into humanity with devastating results.

Categories: Horror News

Nightmare Presents: The Black Window by Lane Robins

Dread Central - Wed, 07/02/2014 - 10:30

Dread Central is pleased to announce that we've teamed up with Nightmare Magazine to present new horror fiction to our readers. Once a month we'll be featuring a story from Nightmare’s current issue. Kicking things off is our July selection, “The Black Window” by Lane Robins.

We hope you enjoy it; please let us know what you think!

"THE BLACK WINDOW" by Lane Robins

The house looked like a sand castle after the tide had come in. Except sand suggested a crumbling grayness, and the tall, narrow house was a fresh white. A front porch was large enough for a swinging bench if I could bear that level of domesticity. Blue shutters marched from the ground floor to the third, and above that—

“. . . a finished attic,” the Realtor told me.

The house was . . . nice. Nothing I’d ever wanted. I loved my job, loved that my years were split between sublet apartments and archaeological digs around the world.

But things had changed.

New job, new town, new responsibilities.

“There are four bedrooms, two bathrooms,” he said, and ushered me in.

The house was simply laid out—a hallway, a room on either side, stairs at the end of the hall. The kitchen was to my left, and it might have been updated since the thirties, but nothing else seemed to have been. The floor was scarred hardwood, and the doors had actual keyholes. The dining room was dark. Windowless.

“That’s unusual,” I said, roused to comment.

The Realtor sighed. “The house was bigger once. There was even an attached stable. But time takes things away.”

That was the first utterly true thing he’d said. Six weeks ago, I’d been a daughter. Now, I was a parent to my fourteen-year-old siblings, Maddy and Aiden. Now, I was an orphan.

Six weeks ago, I’d been a footloose archaeologist. Now, I was trying not to let my grief sink me, starting a job as a community college teacher in Missouri, and taking on a mortgage.

The twins needed stability. I wished I could have kept them in their Chicago home, but our parents had double-mortgaged and I couldn’t afford the payments.

“There’s even a garden,” the Realtor said. “You like to dig, right?”

You like to dig. That was one terrible way to sum up my now-dead career as a field archaeologist. It wasn’t worth correcting him. Controlling my grief had ground me down to the essentials. I had to be strong for the kids. I had to make it work.

The second floor echoed the first: a regular bedroom on one side, a windowless bedroom on the other, stairs and bath at the end of the hall. “Isn’t there a law about windows in bedrooms?”

“Grandfathered in,” the Realtor told me.

It was good enough. A week later, we moved in.

• • • •

“Holly,” Maddy yelled from the floor above, “I’m claiming this room!”

It was the first thing she’d said to me since I’d told them about the new house. A miscalculation on my part. I’d accepted the necessity of moving; I’d expected them to have done the same. But Maddy had shrieked, thrown her purse at me, and stormed into her room, where she posted her displeasure on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, tagging me so I’d know I was ruining her life. Even Aiden had complained, just once, but bitterly—you’re getting rid of Mom and Dad’s house?

I’d been furious and hurt. Didn’t they understand what I’d given up? Didn’t they think I missed our parents, too?

Didn’t they know I was doing my best?

So now, with Maddy laying noisy claim to a room, I took it as a good sign. Maybe she’d forgiven me.

Aiden stood beside me, contemplating his sneakers. When I nudged him, asked, “Don’t you want to pick a room?” he looked at me blankly. His new normal. He used to be an expressive kid. There were pictures boxed somewhere in storage to prove it.

Another shout from above. “Holly, I can’t get a signal! I need the internet!”

“I’m working on it,” I shouted back. The local cable company had made soothing noises about super-fast cable, made less soothing noises about how soon it could be connected. “Can you wait a week?”

A wordless shriek was my answer.

Aiden didn’t weigh in one way or another. Then again, his laptop had broken and he wouldn’t let me get him another. Not even a tablet.

Aiden had been in the car when the truck plowed through the intersection. Dad had died behind the wheel, and Mom . . . Aiden had been playing with his laptop when the truck hit. His laptop had torn through the car like a missile, breaking Mom’s neck.

“C’mon,” I said. “Let’s go pick a room.” He pulled away when I touched his shoulder.

Maddy had picked the second-floor bedroom with the wide window, alongside the larger of the two bathrooms. It was a nice day and sunlight radiated brightly enough to penetrate through the hall and into the dark bedroom. I put my head in. Not as grim as I remembered. Still, I wanted Aiden to have real light if possible. I urged him upstairs.

Maddy said, “Why can’t he be down here with me?”

“Don’t you want your own bathroom?”

“I’ll have to share with you,” Maddy said. Her grimace made it clear what she thought of that.

I shook my head. I wanted to be on the same floor as Aiden. He needed looking after. “You can have it all to your lonesome.”

That didn’t make her happy either. She scowled and trudged up the stairs after Aiden. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong now, and gave up trying to figure it out.

Aiden ignored both third floor rooms, and peered up the narrow stairs. “There’s an attic? I always wanted to live in an attic,” he murmured, as if he’d nearly forgotten that desire. As if he’d nearly forgotten how to want things.

We went on up. The attic was spacious, shadowy beneath the slanted eaves, but dry and clean. The floorboards had been painted white, and unlike the lower floors, the west side of the attic had a window. In keeping with the blind walls below, the window had been painted black.

A small window on the north wall spilled light across the floor, raising dust motes. Aiden wandered the room, testing how far he could go before the slanting roof made it impossible to walk upright.

“Can I have this room?”

“There’s no bathroom up here. No outlets; it’ll be dark,” I pointed out. But this was the first thing Aiden had asked for since the accident. I wanted to give it to him. I had kept all my gear, had battery operated lanterns from my digs. We could make it work.

“I think it’s painted on the outside,” Maddy said. She picked at the glass with her thumbnail, but the black wasn’t coming off.

It was an odd window. The north window was the usual type of attic window, a wood-paned hexagon that didn’t open. The black window looked like a regular window, two large panes, one above the other.

Maddy shoved at the sill, grunting with frustration, and my heart skipped. “Don’t!” I imagined her falling through, another abrupt tragedy. My hands shook.

She huffed. “Jeez, calm down.”

Aiden ran his fingers along the join of frame and glass. “Maybe they caulked it shut.”

“You’ll roast during the summer,” Maddy predicted. “The whole attic’s gonna stink like sweaty boy.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ll be two floors away!” Maddy said, an edge in her voice. Her inevitable anger.

Aiden said, “You can text me.”

“You’re a dick,” she said.

“Hey,” I intervened. Maddy stomped downstairs, and I tried to remember that she was grieving, not just a pain in the ass.

I found a smile for Aiden. “You sure you want the attic?”

He nodded, studying the window.

“Maybe I can get the paint off.”

The air was cooler in the deep slant of the wall, and the black glass was blacker, the color deeper, dense. I ran my fingers over the glass, testing. It was cold even on the warm day. The glass didn’t have any of the streaks or bubbles I expected from paint. Stained glass, maybe.

I unclipped the penlight from my belt loop. The light bounced back, didn’t seem to penetrate.

I breathed against the glass, laid my palm against it. The window . . . twitched.

I jerked back, falling over my feet, dropping the light. It hit the floor, bounced, and disappeared into a gap between the wall and eaves.

“You okay?” Aiden said. Not quite concern, not quite disinterest. At least he’d noticed.

“Bird must have hit the house,” I said. “Startled me.”

• • • •

I took a bedroom on the third floor, the better to keep an eye on Aiden. I chose the dark one in case Aiden changed his mind about the attic. I never knew what the teens were thinking, and half the time I figured they didn’t either—changing their minds as the wind blew.

It was nearly three am, after a brutally tough series of days—packing, moving out, the drive, moving in—and I couldn’t sleep because Aiden was doing . . . something . . . in the attic. Scrabbling and scratching and thumping.

I struggled up the stairs, leaden with exhaustion. “Aiden?”

He crashed about and swore, a flurry of noise, but no boy. I finally located him, a dark shadow beneath the dark eaves, glimmering light edging his face.

“My penlight . . .”

“I can’t reach it,” he said. “And I can’t sleep with it shining.” He sounded as tired as I felt, near tears.

The penlight had caught somewhere beneath the black window—even more eerie at night, velvety matte and as deep as a starless night. I tore my eyes away and tested the gap between the wall. Two inches. Wide enough to swallow the penlight, too narrow to get a hand down there.

I sat back, tried to think. My penlight had a carabiner at the end of it, making it easy to hook to things. “Get me a wire hanger.” Aiden did, and I pressed my shoulder against the window, trying to get the angle right. Metal grated, wire catching. I pulled.

In my ear, the window sobbed. Something like a dying foghorn over distant waters. I nearly lost my grip. Just the wind, sighing through the eaves outside. Nothing more.

I yanked the hanger up; caught on the end was a small book with a metal clasp.

“What’s that?” Aiden asked, peering over my shoulder.

“Old,” I said, my fingers sandy with dust. “Guess we’re not the first one to lose stuff here.” I passed him the journal and went back for the flashlight.

Once I had it snagged, I switched it off and left us in the dark.

“Can you sleep now?”

“I’ll try,” he said.

“You want me to stay until you do?”

“No.”

Quick, heartfelt. Hurtful. A clear rejection.

“Sleep well,” I told him, and sought the hall below. The strange wind, that breathless sob of air, seemed to follow me. I shuddered. It took me far too long to realize it wasn’t the wind. I opened Maddy’s door, and her sobs hitched, broke. “Get out!”

Her face was blotched and swollen with tears. When I hesitated, she threw her pillow at me and said, “I hate you! Get out!”

I got.

Mom would have known what to say; she would have soothed Maddy’s tears. Dad would have jollied Maddy out of them, fed her ice cream and made her laugh so hard she nearly puked chocolate sauce. They’d done the same for me once upon a time.

I lay in my bed, in the darkness as absolute as a tomb, and refused to cry. Above me, the window keened.

• • • •

The next night, Maddy got over her huff enough to boot me out of the kitchen when she declared my pizza making skills “pathetic.” I climbed the stairs into Aiden’s attic. He jerked away from the window and I felt that familiar swoop of anxiety.

The window was still sealed. No four-story drop for him.

I wondered if I’d ever get free of that sick sense of terror, that at any moment I was going to lose Aiden or Maddy.

“Hey,” I said. “Pizza in ten or twenty or whenever Maddy gets bored of playing chef.”

Aiden pointed at the black window, greased with his earprint, and said, “Do you hear that?”

He gestured me over to the window. Reluctantly, I put my ear to the glass—so strangely cold on a warm night—and I heard the whistle and suck of a vast wind, stronger and louder than it had been last night. Not just a wind, but a gale. I retreated, went to the other window, and peered out. Late spring evening, the sun still high, and the trees . . . motionless.

“It’s not windy outside.”

“Not here,” Aiden said. “The window goes someplace else.”

“That’s not possible.”

I put my hand back on the black glass, leaned closer, rested my forehead against it, trying to look through. The window shivered; vibrations moved through my skull. I pictured black storm clouds in a black sky, a whole range of inky colors, rising and falling. It wasn’t wind, I thought. It was like whale song, the cries of some enormous beasts some enormous distance away.

I shivered. I’d had this same cold feeling once on a dig in the Yucatan, right before I saw a jaguar stalking our camp. The hind-brain recognized threats before the conscious mind could.

“I think you should move downstairs,” I said slowly.

“What? No.”

“Please.” I looked at the attic room, at Aiden. He seemed small and lost in this space, dwarfed beside the window. We’d rigged lights but all they did was cast shadows. Aiden crossed his arms over his narrow chest.

“No. I like this room. I like the window.”

“I don’t think it’s safe.”

“Driving down the street’s not safe,” Aiden said. He sounded tired and bitter.

Maddy poked her head into the room. “I’ve been calling and calling . . . what’s going on?” Suspicion crawled across her features, shifting quickly to anger. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” I said, just as Aiden said, “The window.”

Maddy glared at me and stomped over beside her brother. “What about it?”

“It’s weird,” he said.

“Weird how?” she snapped.

“I think it goes someplace else,” Aiden told her.

Maddy wrinkled her nose. “Like where?”

“It’s got to be a trick of architecture,” I said, trying for rationality. “No wind outside, but maybe beneath the eaves?”

Aiden didn’t even look at me. “Just someplace else.”

“What’s that?” Maddy asked. She pounced on Aiden’s bed, dragged a book out of the tangle of sheets. I recognized it when she brought it up, and forgot about the window for a moment.

“Oh, the book?” I held out my hand, but Aiden snatched it from Maddy.

“It’s about the house,” he said. “About that window.”

The window loured behind us, black and cold. I thought about that bluster of wind, about the sounds that traveled thinly through the glass. “The book’s about the window?”

“I just started reading,” Aiden said.

I licked my lips. I itched to have the journal in my own hands, but Aiden cradled it close. Maddy shifted to stand at his shoulder. A united force.

“You tell me what you find out,” I said. “And don’t mess with the window.”

• • • •

Aiden delved into the journal with all the fervor of a born-again into the Bible. At first, I was glad to see it—I wanted to know about the window just as much as he did. Was it paint or some special glass that made it so dark? What made the winds—an accident of architecture, or design? I imagined the three of us talking about it, bonding. But though Aiden spent all his time with the journal, he shared nothing with me. When I asked him direct questions, his answers were unsatisfying, and full of covert glances at Maddy. He was talking to her, but not me.

After six meals spent in attempted interrogation, while Aiden ignored me and Maddy rolled her eyes and bitched about the food, I gave up. At least, I gave up asking Aiden. All he’d coughed up was that the window had been in the stables and was moved to the main house after the stable came down.

I decided I’d have to read the journal myself. Easier said than done. Aiden guarded the book zealously. I was determined. I couldn’t let it go. Now that I’d heard the winds behind the black window, I couldn’t stop hearing them.

At night, in my room, the sound crept through my walls, moaning like the spirits of the forsaken. When I wasn’t listening to the window, I was listening to Aiden cry out in his sleep, to Maddy sobbing in the dark.

I was equipped to solve old mysteries. To be a parent? I was ill-equipped, digging without a plan.

When Aiden was out of the attic, I was in it, poking at the window. The glass stayed cold, but when I breathed on it, the glass refused to let my breath touch it. The sounds outside were louder, it seemed, or maybe I was just . . .

The window scared me.

The black window felt like a threat, a looming storm over our heads.

The next time Aiden headed for a shower, I braved the black window’s judgmental eye and tossed his room ruthlessly. I found the journal with my fingertips first—the cracked leather binding, the thick paper, crumbling at the edges—and pulled it out from his pillowcase. I locked myself into my bedroom, journal in hand.

Aiden shouted through the door, but I ignored him. Did him good to get upset about something other than our parents for once. Besides, he’d lied to me when he said he hadn’t read far into the journal. Aiden had bookmarked dozens of pages—the journal bristled with curling scraps of paper. He’d read it through more than once.

Maddy joined Aiden, drawn up the stairs by his unexpected fury, and she added her protests to his. “It’s not funny, Holly!” she shouted. “Give it back. It’s not for you!”

“When I’m done!”

As I read, my outrage at Aiden’s lies turned to a brittle anxiety. Aiden had bookmarked it like a textbook, studied it. And the material was . . . disturbing. Each scrap of paper marked another horrifying entry about the window.

The window had been in the stable. But no one knew who had put it in. The stable hand said it just appeared one night. It had been a mystery, but a benign one.

Until the stable hand disappeared.

The horses shrieked and Annabel fled the supper table, gathering the boys as she went. I followed, quick as my bad leg would allow. I feared fire, but what we found was something peculiar. The horses frothed with terror, and Annabel and the boys hastened to get them to the paddock. I lingered, and when I saw . . . when I understood, I fell back against the doors, numb and bewildered.

Our stables are small, as befit our small family. Eight stalls, eight horses. Yet, the eighth stall had vanished as if it had never been.

Four stalls along one side; three along the other, a smooth expanse of sanded wood where there should be another space, and Edward and Pretty, the spotted mare, vanished along with that eighth stall.

My breath failed as I saw the unaccountable window had not disappeared with Pretty, but moved, closer to the house, settled into the first stall.

I read on; apparently the horses never recovered their nerves and Annabel had the stables torn down, the land given over to a much needed vegetable patch. I checked the date—1942—the midst of World War II, and the homeowner’s bad leg probably a result of World War I.

The pounding on my door stopped.

I flipped to the next bookmark, though my fingers were numb from clutching the book so tightly. The paper fluttered free and I lost the spot.

I browsed roughly, the pages tearing beneath my fingers, scanning the tiny text. The page that I stopped on was a faded sketch of a house plan. I recognized the tower at the end—where we lived now—but most of the page was taken up by the main house. The western wall of the house was marked with a black X. The note alongside it was laconic, a simple—the window is returned here.

I flipped the page, read more crabbed text.

The boys are fascinated by the black window, though Annabel tries to keep them from it, mindful of Edward’s incomprehensible fate. We have sealed off the parlor, much to the relief of the daily girl whose job it was to clean beneath that window’s gaze.

Though we have barred the door, the boys prove most enterprising at finding the key. How many mornings must I drag them out of there? They wait to see how daylight fails to seep through the darkness, and wonder at the shadows untouched by the sun’s rays. Annabel is distressed, nearly to hysterics. She has locked the room once more, and thrown the key away. Perhaps that will be the end of it, and we will, like one of Poe’s tales, have this room bricked in.

The next page dropped a photograph into my lap, showed me the family. Mother, father, two boys about Aiden’s age.

They looked nice, I thought and cringed. There was disaster looming on every page of the journal—the main house gone, the black window moved to the attic.

I opened to the next marked page, close to the end. The handwriting, tidy through all previous pages, was pen scratchings and damaged paper here.

The boys went through the window. I woke this morning certain that something was wrong. Houses become a part of you. Our breath lingers in the halls, our hearts beat in the empty spaces, our nerves search out the measure of our walls like they are our skins. I knew, even as I woke, that the house had changed. It was too empty, too small, too . . . terrible. A silence had crept inside where there should have been boyish voices.

The dining room was vanished. Only a smooth expanse of faded wallpaper remained. The boys . . . I knew they were gone. That they had managed to coax the window open. Annabel came upon me there and screamed. She tore through the house haranguing the servants to “look for the window! The black window!” By the cook’s shrieks, we found it, a black gloss in the pantry, shelves missing where the window had come to rest.

Annabel is determined to retrieve them, and may the good Lord forgive me, but I can not encourage her. The boys are lost to us; I know that. Nothing lives behind that false glass. I have heard the eerie cries, seen the darkness massed behind the window. It is the land of the dead waiting there, and nothing living can abide in it. But she will not be swayed.

I will use the servants’ exodus as cover for our own. I will plunder the house of our possessions; I will send Annabel to the church to pray and prepare for her rescue attempt. While she is out, I will fire the house and see if fire will do what tearing down could not.

The next pages proved that he had followed through, that he had burned down their home, and that Annabel had not forgiven him. She left him in the ashy rubble and returned to her family.

He moved into the ramshackle tower—the only remnant of his home.

I had cause to store all my goods in the attics while the rebuilding occurred—a rebuilding I had no desire for, but the community pitied me and in a paroxysm of civic duty subjected me to a welter of dust and noise, the chatter of strangers who commiserated with me over the loss of my family, and would not see that I had become that most useless of citizens: An old man who wants to be left alone. An old man with a secret.

The black window, you see, returns; it always returns. I have barricaded it behind furniture and hope that left alone, it will sleep. That it will remain unopened.

I closed the journal. I didn’t want to read more; I didn’t need to. So much of Aiden’s obsessiveness made terrible sense. The land of the dead? Aiden was still young enough to believe what was written. And Maddy—she hated me, sided with Aiden no matter what.

Panic broke through me, a lazy roll deep in my guts.

The house was silent. Aiden had stopped yelling at me. Maddy had stopped trying the door handle. When?

Aiden hadn’t wanted me to read the journal. Why?

Because I would stop him.

Would stop them.

But now they knew I knew.

I was on my feet, fumbling with the door latch, the slippery key, the old knob fighting me. I clung to hope. Aiden might be grief-stricken, guilt-mad, despairing, but Maddy . . . she was so angry. She wouldn’t let him go; she’d already lost so much, our parents, her friends, her school, her home . . .

I had climbed rock-strewn hills alongside goats, navigated tight underground caverns with ease, but I made a series of pratfalls as I raced out of the room, toward the attic. Toward the faint sounds that told me I wasn’t too late, wasn’t too late—

Glass cracked like a gunshot. Like a broken window.

• • • •

When I burst into the attic, Aiden was just dropping my wood ax to the floor. Beside him, Maddy held a lumpy woven coil that I recognized—the rope ladder from my field gear.

A silvery crack raced across the pristine blackness of the window, like a zipper pulling apart.

The space beyond moaned, hungry.

“Don’t,” I whispered, breathless. “Please, don’t.”

The window tore. Darkness spilled into the attic, icy and thick as fog banks. Maddy spun and hurled the rope ladder into the darkness. Aiden slipped over the side, vanishing like he’d been swallowed whole.

“We just want Mom,” Maddy said, her voice as broken as the glass. “We want Dad. It’s okay, Holly. You tried.” She slung a leg over the sill.

I forded the room, blackness spreading like ink over my legs, sneakers, ankles, jeans, coiling hungrily around my hips. I caught Maddy’s arm, but she slid from my grasp, sucked out into the eclipsing darkness. My nails left rake marks on her flesh, and her blood spotted the floor between us.

Then they were both gone.

• • • •

I went after them though my legs shook and tears slicked my face. I crossed the sill, and slung myself down the first rungs.

Maddy and Aiden were so young. They believed blindly. If some delusional writer said it, it must be true. It could be built on. The land of the dead? A fact; therefore, our parents would be waiting for them.

The ladder’s rope steps curved and swayed beneath me as I climbed down into . . .

I wanted to think ‘void’ but void suggested emptiness and this place was anything but empty. It was black and cold and so full of dark, broken things that the air vibrated with their passings and collisions. So crowded that I felt my lungs constrict. My bird’s eye view was dark, dark, dark, but there were shapes moving around me, above me, below. And threaded beneath all of that movement, other dark lines. Buildings? Roads? Nothing I understood.

Something bellowed in the darkness, a foghorn burst of loss and hunger, a cry that weakened my bones.

Maddy’s pale hair was an unmoving beacon. My hands and feet were slow to move me down one rung to the next. Maddy clung, shaking, to the ladder. When I reached her, she launched herself at me, holding hard enough to bruise.

“Go up!” I told her. Tried to tell her. The words were torn from my lips and shredded. Nothing human was welcome here. I shoved Maddy upward.

We both looked up, and there was nothing to see, no sign of the window to our world. Her face contorted, terror and fury and betrayal—this wasn’t what she’d wanted.

I had to believe we could escape; I shoved harder. “Go!”

Her lips moved, Aiden, and I nodded.

She climbed slowly, so terribly slowly, and I felt all of that black within the black swooping around us, noticing us . . .

I forced myself downward. Aiden had been just a moment before us on the ladder. He couldn’t be too far . . . Unless he’d fallen.

My throat and eyes burned.

This place felt like it was eating away at my bones from the inside. Some sizzle in the air made my lungs ache. I leaned into the ladder, coughing. I rubbed my face on my wrist and left it smudged black.

I went down.

Hand under hand, foot below foot, I went, swaying through the caustic air, buffeted by cold, fume-laden winds.

I nearly stepped on Aiden’s head, his pale hair coated with black streaks. He clung to the end of the ladder, a flutter of cauterized nylon dangling below us, into an abyss.

He stared down, hypnotized, one foot free. Ready to step off.

Wanting to believe.

His wrist felt like it was in rigor, ice cold and stiff. I recoiled, then seized hold again. He turned his head, slowly registering my presence. His eyes were black holes in a black-smeared face. His lips moved. I thought I saw the word why, the word find.

Below, the darkness shifted, revealing a landscape so inhospitable, the last of my breath went.

Aiden leaned forward, the ladder swaying, shifting with his weight, leaning over the darkness like a lure above black waters. I had one hand locked on his wrist, the other on the ladder. I tried to pull us up even one rung, but he resisted.

It was the final shock, piled on all the others. I couldn’t save him. No matter how desperately I wanted to. I couldn’t drag him up the ladder if he wouldn’t go.

I rested my face against his cold cheek and sobbed, the cries scoured out of my throat. “Please, please, please. They aren’t here. They’re gone. All we’ve got is each other.”

He couldn’t hear me. But he could feel my tears on his skin.

A cold touch on my hair, not a creature passing too closely by, not a gust of that foul, cold wind, but Aiden’s tentative fingers. An awkward pat. Offering comfort.

Aiden’s eyes glittered with tears, damp black streaks on his skin. The first connection I’d made with him since the funeral, and it was over the grief I’d been refusing to let him see.

I had been an idiot.

I pulled at the rung above, staring at his tear-stained face, and after a long, painful moment, Aiden did likewise.

We scaled the ladder, the fabric of it thinning, wearing beneath the constant winds.

We climbed and we climbed, stiff, cold marionettes. We climbed, sobbing and scared. We climbed. Just when I decided the window had vanished and left us stranded, clinging to the ladder, Maddy reached out her hand.

I pushed Aiden through the window, followed after. The attic was creaking and dead around us, the boards gone silver and cracking beneath the dark fogs.

“Hurry, hurry!” Maddy croaked.

We staggered from the attic, down the stairs, and out into the afternoon light. The kids looked like hell, skin grayish, lips and eyes stained black. Twin streaks of blackish blood ran from their noses, their lips. I didn’t feel much better. My nail beds were black and my breathing bubbled.

We huddled against each other, watching the house, watching the attic disappear.

• • • •

We ended up in the hospital for three nights, coughing up blood and bile and something that tasted like machine oil. The doctors were horrified as well as bewildered, though they assured us we were recovering.

Maddy and Aiden refused to leave my side so they found us a room to share. Aiden whispered on our second night, “Do you think Mom and Dad were there?”

“No,” I said.

“But it was dead there. It was the land of the dead,” Maddy said. She sounded like a two-pack-a-day smoker. “The book said so.”

“The book was wrong,” I managed. “I’ve seen humanity in every stage of ruin. There was nothing human over there.” I took a needed breath. “If it was the land of the dead, it wasn’t our dead.” I had been dreaming of what I’d seen, waking shuddering and anxious.

Maddy shivered, fell silent. She should have been the healthiest of the three of us, but the long minutes alone in the attic had done their own sort of damage.

We’d all come out with damage, but I reminded myself of the key part. We’d all come out.

• • • •

Three months later, Maddy and Aiden came home from a field trip and said they’d driven past our old house. They said it was being sold as a one story cottage, and that the front window was black.

[end]

Nightmare Magazine is edited by bestselling anthology editor John Joseph Adams (Wastelands, The Living Dead). This story first appeared in Nightmare’s July 2014 issue, which also features original fiction by Mari Ness (“Death and Death Again”), reprints by Denis Etchison (“Talking in the Dark”) and Tom Piccirilli (“The Misfit Child Grows Fat on Despair”), the latest installment of the horror column “The H Word,” plus author spotlights, a showcase on the cover artist, and a feature interview with Del Howison of the legendary Dark Delicacies bookstore in Los Angeles. 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. It's a great issue so be sure to check it out. And while you're at it, tell a friend about Nightmare!

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Categories: Horror News

Bigfoot DNA Samples Prove People Will Believe Anything

bloody disgusting - Wed, 07/02/2014 - 10:21

Back in October we reported on a group who claim to have found proof of the existence of Bigfoot, which became a household name in 1967 with the Patterson–Gimlin film (footage I’ve personally heard was faked by an unconfirmed horror legend).

Bigfoot is so famous that he’s been spoofed all over in Hollywood, while also inspiring in a wide variety of films from Harry and the Hendersons to the upcoming Exists. But what if he isn’t real, and mankind would believe just about anything (no way, right?).

Science Magazine took historical evidence and embarrassed believers across the globe by reporting that these humanoid creatures are nothing more than bears, horses, and dogs.

In North America, they’re called Bigfoot or Sasquatch. In the Himalayan foothills, they’re known as yeti or abominable snowmen. And Russians call them Almasty. But in the scientific laboratory, these elusive, hairy, humanoid creatures are nothing more than bears, horses, and dogs. That’s the conclusion of a new study—the first peer-reviewed, genetic survey of biological samples claimed to be from the shadowy beasts.

“There are very few reputable scientists who have ever been willing to go publicly on record as far as Bigfoot and yeti,” says anthropologist Todd Disotell of New York University in New York City, who was not involved in the new work but has performed unpublished analyses of anomalous primate samples in the past. “This study did it right, reducing contamination and following all the standard protocols.”

Supposed evidence for Bigfoot and its ilk comes from observers who spot apelike creatures darting through the woods or who find giant footprints in the mud. Bigfoot believers have various ideas about what the animals are, often revolving around the survival of a prehistoric humanoid. Yet many sightings have later turned out to be hoaxes, and scientific support for the existence of the primates is scant.

Click the above link for the entire article and tell me, do you still believe?

Categories: Horror News

[TV] “Nathan For You” Helps Haunted Realtor With An Exorcism!

bloody disgusting - Wed, 07/02/2014 - 10:08

I’m going to jump at any reason to write about Comedy Central’s “Nathan For You”, easily the funniest show on television.

For those of you unacquainted, the gimmick is that comedian Nathan Fielder uses his “business degree” to help local mom and pop shops with their promotions. If you’ve never seen the show, I highly recommend hunting down last season’s episode in which he helps a gas station offer a rebate.

Anyhow, last night was the Season 2 premiere, which saw Nathan helping a Los Angeles-based realtor by turning her into the first ever Haunted Realtor, in which she sells houses “guaranteed free of spirits and demons.” Shit gets crazy when he he hires an exorcist to rid a house of an incubus, which rapes women to death. Six minutes of the segment is available online below. You’re about to get hooked.

In a house Nathan hopes to advertise as ghost-free, a psychic discovers an evil presence.

Categories: Horror News

White Sea Release Mysterious, Creepy Video For “Prague”

bloody disgusting - Wed, 07/02/2014 - 10:00

I’m not sure if this video falls under the “horror” category or not but I spent enough time thinking about it that I wanted to get your opinion. It has a serious David Lynch dream-like vibe, with slow, sensual shots mixed with strange visuals. So, below is “Prague”, the newest video from White Sea (Morgan Kibby of French electronic group M83).

The track comes White Sea’s debut album In Cold Blood, which you can snag on iTunes.

Categories: Horror News

The Gasp Menagerie: Teenagers Hospitalized for Possession!

Dread Central - Wed, 07/02/2014 - 10:00

This story comes out of Mexico, and it's a doozy. There's a moment at the beginning of The Conjuring that made me sure I'd love the movie because it nails Ed Warren exactly. When the co-eds say they invited the spirit to live in the doll, Annabelle, Ed says (in the film), "You did WHAT?!?"

That, my friends, is Ed Warren, And that is my exact response to this story.

Alexandra Huerta is a 16-year-old orphan living with family in remote Tepotzlan, Mexico.

After voicing a desire to speak to and know her dead parents, who died when she was a baby, her guardians suggested she use a ouija board combined with a drug called Brugmansia. Brugsmansia, also called Angel's Trumpet, is used in shamanistic black magic rituals common in the rural areas surrounding Tepotzlan.

Alexandra, her brother, and her cousin brewed the traditional tea from the flowers of the plant, ingested it, and began using the ouija board.

You did WHAT?!?

Within minutes, they were all overcome. Speaking in voices not their own, they proceeded to attempt to harm themselves, even using kitchen utensils. The paramedics were called when attempts to rouse the teens from their horrific behavior failed. One paramedic took a two-minute video you can watch below... and be warned it is not for the faint of heart.

Writhing and saying that she's going to die, Alexandra is behaving, well, possessed.

The teens reported symptoms including horrific visions, numbness, and muscle spasms. They came out of the apparent effects of the possession while in the hospital. Their current condition isn't known, as family won't allow them to speak to outsiders. However, they say they fear they are still possessed.

According to the story, a local priest refused to perform an exorcism because they didn't attend his church, then stated a special priest from the city is required for exorcisms.

Is this a case of unsuspecting teenagers sent into madness by a natural drug concocted from the Angel's Trumpet flowers? Was their behavior just the effect of a strong hallucinogenic drug, or is there something more sinister at work? Did their attempt to reach the dead while dropping their mental and spiritual defenses lead to a flood of what can only be called the demonic?

Man, Ed, we miss you. You and Lorraine are needed in Mexico.

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Categories: Horror News

Starz Developing Neil Gaiman's American Gods with Hannibal's Bryan Fuller

Dread Central - Wed, 07/02/2014 - 09:30

Back in November of 2012, it looked like an adaptation of Neil Gaiman's American Gods was heading to HBO, but things have changed a bit with the potential series now in the works at Starz with "Hannibal" creator Bryan Fuller co-writing the pilot.

From the Press Release:
Starz has announced a script to series development of FremantleMedia North America’s (FMNA) adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s acclaimed urban fantasy novel American Gods.

The pilot script will be penned by Bryan Fuller (“Hannibal,” “Pushing Daisies,” “Heroes”) and Michael Green (“The River,” “Kings,” “Heroes”), who will also showrun the series. They will executive produce along with Gaiman. FremantleMedia North America will produce the series.

Starz Managing Director Carmi Zlotnik said, "American Gods is a project that deserves to be made. With our partners at FremantleMedia and with Bryan, Michael, and Neil, we believe we can create a series that honors the book and does right by the fans and viewers."

Commented Gaiman, "When you create something like American Gods, which attracts fans and obsessives and people who tattoo quotes from it on themselves or each other and who all, tattooed or not, just care about it deeply, it's really important to pick your team carefully: You don't want to let the fans down or the people who care and have been casting it online since the dawn of recorded history. What I love most about the team who I trust to take it out to the world is that they are the same kind of fanatics that American Gods has attracted since the start. I haven't actually checked Bryan Fuller or Michael Green for quote tattoos, but I would not be surprised if they have them. The people at Fremantle are the kinds of people who have copies of American Gods in the bottom of their backpacks after going around the world and who press them on their friends. And the team at Starz have been quite certain that they wanted to give Shadow, Wednesday, and Laura a home since they first heard that the book was out there. I can't wait to see what they do to bring the story to the widest possible audience able to cope with it."

Thom Beers, CEO, FremantleMedia North America said, "Neil Gaiman’s American Gods is pure genius, and we couldn’t be more thrilled to bring this classic to life on screen. Craig Cegielski and Stefanie Berk have put together a dream team with Fuller and Green joining Gaiman on this amazing journey. Coupled with Starz’s shared passion for this project, we’re confident this combination will raise the bar for drama.”

Commented Fuller, "Neil Gaiman has created the holiest of holy toy boxes with American Gods and filled it with all manner of magical thing, born of new gods and old. Michael Green and I are thrilled to crack this toy box wide open and unleash the fantastical titans of heaven and earth and Neil's vividly prolific imagination."

The 2001 novel has been translated into over 30 languages and earned numerous accolades including Hugo, Nebula, and Bram Stoker Awards for Best Novel. The plot posits a war brewing between old and new gods: The traditional gods of biblical and mythological roots from around the world are steadily losing believers to an upstart pantheon of gods reflecting society’s modern love of money, technology, media, celebrity, and drugs. Its protagonist, Shadow Moon, is an ex-con who becomes bodyguard and traveling partner to Mr. Wednesday, a con man but in reality one of the older gods, on a cross-country mission to gather his forces in preparation to battle the new deities.

FremantleMedia North America’s Thom Beers, Craig Cegielski, and Stefanie Berk will executive produce the series along with Bryan Fuller, Michael Green, and Neil Gaiman. Vice President of Original Programming Ken Segna will be the Starz executive in charge of "American Gods." Starz will retain all network pay TV and SVOD rights to the project. FremantleMedia will distribute the series worldwide.

"American Gods" is part of the rich scripted slate that has been growing at FremantleMedia North America since CEO Thom Beers appointed Craig Cegielski as Executive Vice President, Scripted Programming, and Stefanie Berk, Senior Vice President, Scripted Programming in June 2013. The company is currently in production on the cable scripted series "The Returned."

Book Synopsis:
Shadow is a man with a past. But now he wants nothing more than to live a quiet life with his wife and stay out of trouble. Until he learns that she's been killed in a terrible accident.

Flying home for the funeral, as a violent storm rocks the plane, a strange man in the seat next to him introduces himself. The man calls himself Mr. Wednesday, and he knows more about Shadow than is possible.

He warns Shadow that a far bigger storm is coming. And from that moment on, nothing will ever be the same...

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Categories: Horror News

[BD Review] ‘Deliver Us From Evil’ is Striking But Uneven

bloody disgusting - Wed, 07/02/2014 - 08:00

I’ve been thinking about this review for the past two weeks, so I guess you could say that it’s been haunting me. But, with the film’s release merely hours away at the time of this writing, I have to finally put pen to paper. Let’s see how it goes.

With Deliver Us From Evil writer/director Scott Derrickson (sharing a screenplay credit with Paul Harris Boardman) has delivered a hugely ambitious horror film that (largely successfully) sets out to balance supernatural horror with a gritty widescreen police procedural. It’s a film that works in many ways, but I emerged from my screening split down the middle. I had been looking forward to this movie for over a year since visiting the set, and what I wanted it to be kept butting up against what it actually is. As a fan of the imagery and tone of Sinister (Derrickson’s prior film), I was looking forward to a bigger budget extrapolation of that exact aesthetic. And that’s not what Deliver Us From Evil is.

But is Deliver Us From Evil good on its own terms? Mostly. From a technical standpoint, it is certainly better constructed than most horror movies. It also follows through on its thematic intent with a clarity that’s lacking in most genre films. But it still kept me at arm’s length. It’s hard to chalk this up to any one element though some of the film’s expository dialogue lands poorly and there’s a music cue at the end that robs a climactic scene of some of its mysticism. There’s also a great Indiana Jones character beat that’s paid off and then set up, which kind of made me gnash my teeth at the missed opportunity. But, ultimately, at 118 minutes, there’s simply too much stuff that works “well enough” intermingling with the stuff that actually works really well. It’s this oscillation between compelling and competent that lends Deliver a somewhat lurching quality that I couldn’t quite embrace.

The good news is that the stuff that’s compelling is truly effective. An opening raid on Iraq (a nice hat tip to The Exorcist that also manages to achieve its own significance) is excitingly staged and provides a more epic sense of scope than you’d expect. And, as with Sinister, there’s no shortage of haunting and effective imagery. Almost any scene with Sean Harris (playing a discharged veteran who didn’t quite emerge from Iraq the way he went in) pops with admirable menace. There’s a decency and compassion in the handling of Eric Bana’s arc (playing a fictionalized version of Sergeant Ralph Sarchie) that I really admired. And the buddy cop element works almost exactly as you’d expect in a Jerry Bruckheimer production, which is to say brisk and fun.

As I said earlier, I left Deliver Us From Evil split down the middle to the extent that I wanted to see it again to truly find out which side of the fence I fell on. While I haven’t been able to make that happen, two weeks have passed and I’m not mad at it the way I normally am with films that betray the audience or take them for granted. Deliver Us From Evil isn’t lazy. Its aim is true. And it has enough good, nasty stuff bubbling up inside of it to recommend to the vast majority of horror fans. I have a nagging suspicion most of you guys will embrace it and wonder what the hell my problem is.

Categories: Horror News

I Hope You Weren’t Excited for That ‘Doom 4′ Reveal

bloody disgusting - Wed, 07/02/2014 - 01:16

In news that’s likely to cause a bit of frustration for eager Doom fans, Bethesda has announced that the Doom 4 reveal they teased us with last month will be exclusive to QuakeCon attendees. This means unless you’ve booked a trip to Dallas, TX on July 17, you’ll have to wait with the rest of us to see what id Software has been working on for all these years.

Or I suppose we could all just wait for the inevitable leak onto the Internet, likely courtesy of a shaky mobile phone. That works too.

“This an exclusive thing we are doing for attendees as part of our annual QuakeCon Welcome presentation,” Bethesda explained in a post on the Bethblog. “We’ll have plenty more to show everyone at a later date, but we didn’t want another QuakeCon to go by without doing something special for the amazing QC community and id supporters that have been with us for more than 20 years.”

That’s it, folks. I suggest you smother any pent-up excitement you may have had for seeing something from the next Doom later this month, because Bethesda won’t be sharing it with us after all. How does this make you feel?

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And here’s the game’s E3 debut, if you missed it or simply want to watch it again (I wouldn’t blame you if it’s the latter).

Categories: Horror News

[Interview] Scott Derrickson On ‘Deliver Us From Evil’!

bloody disgusting - Tue, 07/01/2014 - 21:15

Writer/director Scott Derrickson (The Exorcism of Emily Rose, Sinister) sees his new, ambitious horror film Deliver Us From Evil hit theaters tomorrow, July 2nd. The film stars Eric Bana, Joel McHale, Olivia Munn, Edgar Ramirez and Sean Harris.

By the time I saw Deliver Us From Evil it had been almost a year since I visited the set of the film. And… without getting into a review (still working on that one), I was mixed. There’s a whole lot to like about the film and I think Derrickson takes some interesting risks, but it didn’t click for me 100% right away. I say this not to steer you away from the movie (I think most of you guys will really like it), but to give you some context for the following interview, because it starts out with a conversation I wasn’t expecting to have.

Derrickson had heard that I was mixed on the film, and he brought it up. I don’t think he jumped on the phone expecting to have this conversation either, it just kind of came about organically. What follows is easily one of the most frank interviews I’ve ever conducted, and therefore one of my favorites. In the interest of full disclosure I should note that Derrickson and I are on friendly terms. We don’t hang out socially, but we occasionally discuss books and movies via email and this conversation actually felt a little bit like an extension of that.

Check it out below. There are some slight spoilers.

I’m having kind of a Scott Derrickson week actually. I just watched Devil’s Knot on Netflix.

How was that?

I liked it.

So you liked Devil’s Knot and not Deliver Us From Evil?

What do you mean?

I had heard that you’re not a big fan of Deliver Us From Evil.

There’s a lot about it that I like. And I certainly respect it because I know what your intentions were with it. There are just some elements that didn’t work for me.

Believe me, I don’t mean to put you on the spot. I am plenty comfortable with this conversation. This is what we do. Those of us who talk online about movies, this is what we do.

My issues, and this is still a movie I support, are with some exposition and tonal stuff. The Doors thing at the end threw me a bit, even though you were building to it in the rest of the film.

Are you talking about in the exorcism?

Yes.

I almost pulled that out. It’s in there for a very short amount of time. So far everyone seems to like all the Doors stuff but, for whatever it’s worth, that’s something that the test screenings proved people genuinely liked. So I left it in. But I also had mixed feelings about it.

I do like the “People Are Strange” moment in the hallway quite a bit.

That’s my favorite use of it. That’s the one I was the most protective of. That and the end credits.

It’s the kind of movie that’s super ambitious and I may need to see it again before I can soak it all in.

I think the thing I would say about it, and this is a good jumping off point for the discussion – and this is where I’ll disagree with you – is that it definitely achieves what I was going for. You might not like the target, but I hit the target I was aiming for. When I got into the process of working on this and working on the script with Bruckheimer and coming back to it after several years of being away from it, what became interesting to me was taking a little bit of the kitchen sink mentality. Maybe this is a movie where I can not only cross genres between a police procedural and a horror film, which is the obvious part, but also imbue it with some real action, like the knife fighting. And some real humor. And a 4 minute dialogue conversation about God in a bar between a priest and a cop.

Which I quite liked.

That was the goal. And to do it all in a sort of glossy Bruckheimer date movie kind of way. It’s certainly intended to be a much louder, faster and thrilling kind of horror film than something like Sinister, which is a much more quiet, artful introspective movie.

Absolutely. And before we go further I should note that some of the contrast between my opinions on Devil’s Knot and Deliver is due to expectation. Devil’s Knot is a quiet movie I caught up with on Netflix, whereas Deliver Us From Evil is something I’ve been thinking about since I visited the set a year ago.

Isn’t that the way it is? If only all movies were seen within a certain context.

I didn’t expect for the conversation to start out like this.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to catch you off guard. I got emailed a thing this morning that had different reactions and I read through them. Because we’re friends and have a history, it doesn’t bother me at all.

Oh so you read the brief thing I sent to Sony after the screening. That had some good stuff in it too.

Yeah.

One of the things I liked was the imagery. Like Sinister, there’s some really striking stuff. Like that shot of Sean at the zoo, and keeping him almost a silent presence through the rest of the film.

A lot of that was designed after Sean had come over from the UK. Casting Sean Harris was probably the best bit of casting I’ve ever done because I cast him without reading him and I cast him off of Harry Brown. And I just knew the guy could do it. And boy does he just deliver in the exorcism scene. The look of him was really just based off of meeting him and seeing up close the angularity of his face and the intensity of who he is. And conceptually, with the character, one of the reasons I was interested in doing the movie is that I was fascinated with the idea of having a character where it’s not the typical possession movie where you have the girl in the bedroom. Where weird paranormal things happen and she gets freakier and twistier. It wasn’t that. It was this man who is calculated and dangerous and lethal. And so, starting with the face paint in Iraq, Sean and I talked about the idea that he was still painting it. That the paint was almost blending with his face.

I had written in the script for him to have body paint when he’s shirtless. And Sean was like, “what if he’s cut himself up?” And I said, “what if he’s carved all of the runes into his body?” And little did we know that was going to be 245 prosthetics. But we just went and did it.

The Bruckheimer element really sticks out to me. I was curious to see how his influence would play beyond protecting you from the studio, but I could feel a stylistic presence as well. To me a lot of the car stuff, a lot of the transitions and a lot of the energy in the first act feel like a Bruckheimer film.

Everything you said, and I’m not just being flattering, is incredibly incisive. Because the things that you name are exactly the things that he really focussed on in the making of and the editing of the movie. The car scenes, the transitions. The speed of the first act, the speed with which you get into the story – that was all incredibly important to him. His quality control is focused on the director of photography, the costume designer, the art director… he was so deeply committed to vetting those people and getting the best ones possible for the budget. The movie’s only like $18million below the line. It feels bigger than it is. But he approached it like he does all of his movies. And I wanted it that way. Because it has all of the horror and suspense and action, I wanted it to have kind of a glossy feel to play off the gritty qualities of the Bronx. That was something we talked about specifically and we definitely achieved it.

I haven’t read “Beware The Night” yet, but I have to imagine the specifics of this film are not present in Sarchie’s book. The Iraq stuff and this particular demon.

It’s all a fictional narrative used to tie together certain mood pieces from his book.

Was that added in your pass on the script?

You know it was actually David Ayer who came up with the Iraq stuff. David Ayer did the first rewrite after my draft in 2003 or 2004. Then there were three writers and a dozen or so drafts over the next 7 or 8 years. Then I came back and read all of those drafts and the Iraq opening was one of the few things that I kept. I thought it was an interesting way to justify the origin of this demonic presence.

It’s a nice tie to The Exorcist in a lot of ways.

Totally. Some people, Jerry included, were a little nervous that it was too direct. People will get it. And Iraq means something different now. This isn’t an excavation, this is an invaded country.

There’s so much going on in the exorcism scene, how did you construct it?

It was very difficult because we were in such a tight space and there were all of these beats we had to get through. We had to control the escalation and pacing of it. The idea was always to make it kind of a boxing arena where these three thoroughbred actors could unleash and do what they do best. I think the big surprise of it was Sean Harris. From the night that we shot the stigmata scene all the way through to him speaking all of those Spanish lines, the guy literally went into a trance. He went into a weird trance state and he was not himself. He was retching between takes and he very was sleep deprived. It was scary. What he was playing was scary, even though he was dying the lines it was really weird. When they were taking off his prosthetics he was speaking in tongues and freaking out the makeup guys. I had them take him home and he fell asleep and, the next morning, he didn’t remember shooting the scene.

Categories: Horror News

[Fantasia '14] Love ‘Summer of Blood’ to Death

bloody disgusting - Tue, 07/01/2014 - 20:35

The 18th annual Fantasia International Film Festival is gearing up to take Montreal by storm with three weeks of inspiration and excitement starting July 17 until August 5, 2014. The full 2014 lineup of programming and special events will be revealed shortly, but in the meantime, here’s some new imagery to whet your appetite.

Here’s one new look at Summer of Blood, the hilarious hipster horror film that Patrick Cooper raved about out of Tribeca.

Directed and written by Onur Tukel, “Misanthropic and immature Eric faces a premature mid-life crisis after his girlfriend leaves him. With no career and even less charisma in bed, it seems like this loveable loser is beyond hope, until one fateful summer night when a vampire bites him in a Brooklyn alleyway. The next day, Eric finds his confidence invigorated and his stomach in excruciating pain that can only be cured by one thing…blood.

Onur Tukel also stars in this dark comedy about love, lust, and humanity.

For the full list of Fantasia titles announced thus far, click here and here.

Categories: Horror News

Exclusive Video Interviews - Deliver Us From Evil: Eric Bana, Olivia Munn, and More!

Dread Central - Tue, 07/01/2014 - 19:44

We are getting closer to the release of Scott Derrickson's new chiller Deliver Us from Evil, and to help usher the film in, we have several video interviews for you guys to digest as our own Staci Layne Wilson sits down with the principals!

Joel McHale, Sean Harris, Edgar Ramirez, and Olivia Munn star alongside Eric Bana. The film is a paranormal thriller produced by Jerry Bruckheimer Films. Scott Derrickson directs a script he and Paul Boardman (The Exorcism of Emily Rose) wrote.

Look for Deliver Us from Evil in theaters on July 2, 2014.

Synopsis
New York police officer Ralph Sarchie (Bana), struggling with his own personal issues, begins investigating a series of disturbing and inexplicable crimes. He joins forces with an unconventional priest (Ramirez), schooled in the rituals of exorcism, to combat the frightening and demonic possessions that are terrorizing their city. Based upon the book, which details Sarchie’s bone-chilling real-life cases.

For more info "like" Deliver Us from Evil on Facebook.













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Categories: Horror News

Tom Berenger Finds Terror on the Highway in Amber Alert

Dread Central - Tue, 07/01/2014 - 19:19

Not to be confused with the god-awful found footage film with almost the same name, on tap right now we have the artwork and trailer for Amber Alert: Terror on the Highway, which is headed our way courtesy of Nasser Entertainment.

George Mendeluk directs. Tom Berenger, Torri Higginson, and Britt McKillip star.

Synopsis
Larsan is a man on the edge, making a dead rush for Mexico and kidnapping two young girls along the way. He is hotly pursued by Police Chief Martha Geiger, herself a mother of two. Using the Amber Alert system, Geiger constructs a psychological trap that will brutally punish the man who came in to mess with her town.

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Be on the lookout in the comments section below!

Categories: Horror News

Yep, That’s a Lyre Made From a Human Skull

bloody disgusting - Tue, 07/01/2014 - 18:03

Because the world is and forever will be a source of creations that are both wonderfully bizarre and thoroughly ghastly, we can always look forward to things like this, a lyre crafted from a human skull, antelope horn, skin, gut, and hair. Whoever donated their headpiece — whether or not they were willing — has been forever immortalized in something that is officially, in my humble opinion, the very definition of metal.

If you’d like to see this creepy 19th century musical instrument, you’ll have to wait for the Metropolitan Museum of Art to take it out of storage. I’d go on, but I think I just found the perfect birthday gift for Jonny B…

Categories: Horror News