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[professionalhorror]

Attack of the Jack O’Lanterns for the win

I’m fine with that

[professionalhorror]

Are You Alone?

There were a lot of advantages to working in a small, three person office; no gossip, no drama, and a grateful, genuinely kind boss who recognized how vital her two employees were to keep things running. There were downsides, too, like not having anyone new, or at least different, to talk to for forty hours a week and the generally slow nature of the business, which meant I probably spent more time surfing the net than I did doing actual work.

In the beginning, it was pretty much ideal; I did the work that came my way and then spent the rest of my day doing whatever I wanted (within reason, the boss lady still liked to believe I was being productive). After a couple years, however, it had started to get pretty old. The job was dull and unfulfilling and I got zero satisfaction out of it, but I was far too loyal to Tanya to leave, so I was stuck in a sort of limbo.

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[professionalhorror]

Have You Seen This Painting of A Hallway?

I got this package in the mail from my dad: brown paper wrapping, large but flat, with the word “FRAGILE” written on it in black ink. When I unwrapped it, it was this big, acrylic painting, framed in some sort of bronze-gilded plaster.

The painting itself was of this long hallway full of doors, kind of like you’d see in a fancy hotel. The walls had edging about halfway up, the upper part was painted sort of an off white while the lower half was a crimson red that blended into the carpeting. Between each door was an up-turned light, as well as on the far wall at the end, where the corridor seemed to connect to another hallway running perpendicular to it, disappearing around a corner.

It was really amazing detail, though I wouldn’t call it life-like by any means. Just the sheer amount of intricate pieces to each aspect of the scene showed that the artist really paid attention to every little thing, like somewhere in the world was this hallway, and you could stand in it and hold the painting up in front of you and if it weren’t for the border and the clearly stylized art, you wouldn’t be able to tell where the canvas ended and the real world began.

I called him up and thanked him immediately.

“But where’d you find this?”

“I got it at an auction.”

I kinda figured as much.

So I hung up the painting in my office, just behind my desk, which I realized later wasn’t the best place for it because in order to actually look at it, I had to swivel completely around, but there wasn’t anywhere better really, and once I’d gotten it hung up, I felt less willing to take it back down, so I just left it there. It kind of hung out over my shoulder and watched me work, and every now and then I’d turn around and stare at it and get entranced by it, feeling like I could get up and put my hands in the frame and climb into the painting as if the frame were a window.

Of course, I wouldn’t be writing this if something weird didn’t happen as a result of the painting.

We had a couple friends over, Marc and Sabina, and Marc and I went into my office when the women-folk started talking about knitting, which has become my wife’s new favorite hobby. I went and sat down at my laptop to find a video I had been telling Marc about, and Marc wandered over and started admiring the painting.

“Where’d you get that?”

“My dad bought it at an auction and gave it to me.”

“It’s creepy.”

“It’s not that creepy. It’s kind of… I don’t know.”

“Hypnotic?”

“Yeah.”

I turned around to look at it with him while the video loaded. He got up close and was running his finger over the canvas, feeling the raised acrylic, and I just let my gaze wander over all the details again.

“Huh, I didn’t notice that before.”

“What?”

“At the end of the hall, there’s some sort of light coming from around the corner, and it’s casting a shadow on the floor.”

I got up and looked closer, because I really hadn’t spent a lot of time studying the far end of the hallway. There was definitely some yellow and some darker colors making what looked like the shadow of a person coming from around the corner. I even reached out and touched it to make sure it wasn’t some trick of the light in the study making it just look like there was this shadow in the painting, but I felt the paint and sure enough it was actually there in the painting.

“See what I mean?” Marc said, “Creepy.”

I genuinely felt weirded out by it. It was one of those moments where you start thinking, Why didn’t I notice this earlier? Was it there to notice?

A couple days later, I was working on a project in my study, and it was like 9:30 at night, and I just couldn’t focus, so I spun around in my chair to look at the painting and I felt this sudden vertigo effect, like the ground wasn’t there and I had to grab my chair to keep from tumbling into emptiness.

You wouldn’t have noticed it if you hadn’t looked at the painting a hundred times like I had. The hallway was long, with exactly six doors. I remember, because I counted them the first day. three on the left, three on the right, each with a little shiny, metal doorknob.

Only now there were seven doors. Three on the left, four on the right. It didn’t make sense. Everything looked proportionally exactly the same, and the far end of the corridor was just as far away, and yet there was a fourth door in the right side of the hallway, with its little metal doorknob. I don’t even know which door was the fourth door, that’s how well it blended in, I just know that there were four doors where once there were three.

“What the hell is going on?”

I turned away in my chair and back to check several times and make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me, but the number of doors remained constant.

I called my dad again and I asked him, “Is this a trick painting you sent me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it keeps changing. I can see it changing.”

“Not as far I know. It was just one in a bunch I picked up all at the same auction.”

After I got off the phone I took the painting down and checked the back for some some of mechanical or digital hocus pocus, but it was all soft canvas so I left it on the floor behind my office chair with the painting facing the wall because the thought of it was freaking me out.

The next day I pulled my wife into my office and held the painting up so she could see it because she hadn’t had a chance to before.

“How many doors are there?” I asked.

She looked it over for a moment. “Seven.”

“When I first got this, there were six.”

She just looked at me like I was being a goofball. “Okay, so which one wasn’t there before?”

“I have no idea.”

“You don’t know which door magically appeared?” and she laughed and gave me a kiss and went back into the other room.

It gets worse.

The next time I chatted with Marc, I told him about the extra door in the painting.

“Are you sure there weren’t seven doors to begin with?”

“Well, I would swear I counted six.”

“Well, if another one shows up, at least Melissa counted seven, and can confirm it then. You know what you should do? You should take a photo of the painting so you can prove it if anything else changes.”

What a great idea, so I got my phone and took a photo of the painting.

Two days went by. Nothing.

On the third day, I walked into my office and there was a man staring at me. Well, I mean… it wasn’t… I can’t say that it was a man or a woman. Hell, I can’t say that it was human. There was a shape at the end of the hallway in my painting. It was oddly lacking in the detail that the rest of the painting had, like someone had hurriedly painted it on. I even ran my hand over it to make sure it wasn’t fresh, that someone hadn’t actually come in and painted over my painting to drive me crazy.

It was really there.

And the look of it scared me more than anything else, changing painting included. I wish I could do it justice with words, but the best I can describe it is that it was human-ish, with legs and arms, but it seemed squat, or hunched, and lopsided, like someone had slapped a blurry Quasimodo onto an otherwise beautiful painting. You couldn’t see the details of its face, but you could see shading on it, defining really warped features. I was almost glad that there wasn’t more detail to it, except that it left just enough to the imagination to give one nightmares.

But I had proof! Here was proof that the painting was changing. So I brought up the file on my laptop to show my wife for comparison, only when I did, the figure was in the photo I took too!

At no point did I start questioning my sanity about all this. Something unnatural and terrifying was going on, so I took the painting out of the house and set it on the curb where we put our trash for pickup. I was so done with that painting.

Or so I thought.

The next evening, when I got home from work, it was gone from the curb. I figured someone had seen it and taken it home, and I waved my hands and said, “Good, now it’s someone else’s problem.” I went in, played with daughter, had dinner, put them to bed, and after watching a show with my wife, went into my office to check my email.

No, the painting wasn’t back on the wall. I made sure of that the moment I walked in the door.

But I got a message from Marc, asking if the painting had changed anymore, and I told him about the creepy new addition and also how I had gotten rid of the painting.

“Oh man, that sounds cool. I wish I’d gotten a chance to see it.”

“Well, I can send you the photo I took of it.”

“Cool.”

So I opened the image file.

The thing in the painting had raised its arms.

Before, you could only barely make out the arms hanging at its sides, but now both arms were raised up over its head, and its fingers were spread apart like it was waving hello at me. I think it was waving hello at me.

I zoomed in, as best as I could without pixelating the image, and the shaded contours of the face seemed stretched into a grin.

Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

I sent Marc the file, but the connection kept fucking up, so I put it in a folder on my dropbox account and gave him access to it.

“The file’s corrupted.” He texted me.

I tried to open it as well, but he was right. Every time I copied the image file, somehow it got corrupted.

“It must be the spooky magic.” Marc joked.

“This is no joke. I’m freaking out here.”

“Delete the file if it’s scaring you so bad.”

So I deleted the file.

But it gnawed at me, you know? The painting was still changing, in horrible, terrifying ways, seemingly acknowledging my observation of it, and now it was gone. But if it was gone, why should it matter? If something unholy happens, it’s the problem of whoever has the painting now, right? And they’ll see it changing too, won’t they?

“Oh shit.”

It was two days later, and I was organizing a folder of documents and had accidentally deleted a couple I hadn’t meant to. I went into the Windows recycling bin and –you guessed it– there was the image file along with the documents.

I had to look. I was trembling with dread at the thought of it, but when something so surreal happens to you, you have to witness it and see it through to the end.

I recovered the file and opened it.

The walls of the hallway seemed to be melting. The partition separating the red from the off-white was lower than it had been before, and drooped in places. The ridge on the lights looked like they were peeling off. The carpet seemed less crimson and more reddish brown.

And the figure had taken several steps down the corridor toward the viewer’s perspective. More details had become defined: hair hanging off its head, long and black like it had been painted with a fine-tipped brush, the eyes were little more than dull black points under the shading of the brow. The grin came with teeth, uneven and fat, like those of a child more than an adult. Its arms were extended out on either side of it, touching both walls. One foot was ahead of the other, as if I had caught it mid-step in a game of red light/green light.

I realized I was panting and shaking as I looked at it. It was really hard to breathe, an anxiety attack. The painting was going to make me pass out, just from looking at a digital photo of it.

Quickly, I closed the image to calm myself down, but that suddenly brought forth the thought, What if it progresses every time I look away? The only way to stop it is to keep looking! and I opened the file again.

No change. Oh– no, wait, that wasn’t a new change, I had noticed it before, but it hadn’t dawned on me. One of the doors was open. There was a dim blue light coming from the room inside, moonlight I thought. And just outside the threshold of the door, there was an object lying on the floor.

I zoomed in for better detail.

It was a little, yellow, stuffed lion with a scraggly, orange mane. A child’s toy. Of all the details, the melting hallway, the grinning fiend with arms wide open, the blue light from the open doorway, it was the innocent nature of that little toy lion that filled me with the most dread.

My wife came into the office.

“Come kiss Gabby goodnight.”

I went into her darkened room, where she was wrapped up in blankets in her bed, hugging a half dozen stuffed animals and looking cute as could be. My little darling. I love her so much.

I kissed my daughter goodnight. She kissed me back and hugged her little pillowpet with the built in night light. It glowed through a variety of colors.

“I love you, baby.” I told her.

“Can you get my Simba?”

I looked around. “Where’d you leave it?”

“Over there.” She pointed to the closet. The door was open, and her toy lay on the floor just inside.

Simba, her little, yellow, stuffed lion with the scraggly, orange mane.

Seeing it lying there, just past the threshold of the closet door, while the dim glow of my daughter’s night light faded from red to purple to blue, I felt my heart rise up in my chest. The closet was just a closet. I could see it was just a closet. There were clothes on hangers and bags with toys and blocks in them. They were right there. And yet, as I looked at the stuffed lion lying on the floor, waiting for me, I felt as if I could see carpeting on the floor inside the closet, even though there was none. Carpeting, not in my vision, but in my imagination. And maybe if I went in and shut the door, I’d find that the walls beyond those clothes had a wooden partition, red below, off-white above.

And maybe there was something hunched and terrible shambling its way toward us even as I stood there staring at that toy.

I walked, briskly, trying not to look half as frightened as I was, snatched up Simba and shut the closet door. My breathing was heavy, like I’d just run a mile, and I struggled to avoid gasping for breath as I tried to calm myself down.

“Hey, did that poster fall down?” I asked nobody in particular, then pretended I was trying to adjust a cat poster that had been on the floor by her dresser for months, and shoved the heavy dresser over so that it partially blocked the closet door.

“Here’s Simba, sweety.” I handed the lion to Gabby, gave her a quick hug and kiss, and wished her goodnight before rushing back to my office.

The painting had changed, as I knew it would. The open door was closed, the toy gone from the floor, the hallway was dimly lit with yellow light from the melting lights again. But the thing, that not-quite-human fiend, was standing right outside the now shut door, its body turned to face it with both hands pressed up against the door itself like it was running its hands down it, caressing it, and its head turned toward me, still grinning that awful, frightening grin full of gnashed, crooked teeth.

Oh God how close had it been? No, it’s just a closet! The hallway is not there. It’s not real. None of this is real.

I’ve put up signs around the neighborhood, knocked on doors, asked everyone I know and many I don’t if they know who took the painting. I need to find it and get it back. I want to tear it, shred it in my hands, throw it in a fire and watch it burn to ashes. Jesus God in Heaven, I hope it didn’t end up in some landfill.

I’ve learned the awful truth… All Doors Lead To The Hallway

[professionalhorror]

New Podcast Episode!!

Hey guys, check out the first installment of Monster Mash-Up where my guest Jb and I picked a movie to combine with From a House on Willow Street and see who can come up with the better mash-up. Vote for your favorite! See No Evil on Willow Street or From a House on Haunted Hill. https://professionalhorrorpodcast.podbean.com/

[professionalhorror]

The police told me there was nothing down there. I know they’re lying.

(This story is very very long, be warned.)

I never wanted to be a mother. A child happened to me, I didn’t ask for it.

After you’ve had a child, you never get peace and quiet. I don’t mean that in a resentful way, just a fact. There’s the crying phase, the screaming phase, the yelling phase, the “NO!” phase, et cetera. And you never get time. You don’t have time for hobbies and distractions. Raising a child is two full-time jobs.

It’s not that I didn’t try to do everything I could for him. It’s not that I didn’t try and be a good parent. I did, I gave it everything I had. But deep down, I think he could tell that I didn’t want him. Kids know.

I had a part time job. I didn’t get paid very well, but it was enough. It was just office work, nothing exciting. My sister would look after him when I wasn’t around. I didn’t really have the money for daycare.

I knew that things weren’t working out like they should have. And I did what any self-respecting human being would do - I bought a book. I’d always heard that you should read to your child every night, and that doing so would make them smart and well-adjusted. Well, I had nothing to lose.

I’m not really an Amazon person, so I paid a visit to my local bookstore - a dark, slightly grubby independent place that shuns all but the most obsessive of bookworms. Standing in the narrow, dimly-lit aisles, surrounded by towering bookshelves jammed with volumes at every angle, I wondered, briefly - what do people normally buy for their kids?

The Very Hungry Caterpillar?

He was a bit old for that. Besides, I think that’s one of those books that parents buy because they think it’s kitschy, not because their kids will actually enjoy it.

Amongst the slightly destroyed second-hand Roald Dahl books and Dr. Seuss anthologies, I found a book that stuck out. It was old, and bound in what looked like real leather, but it was in surprisingly good shape. It wasn’t too long, but it proclaimed its suitability for for children aged 4-6 (he was five). It was called ‘The Trap Door’. No author, no other details. I picked it up and skimmed through the first few pages, and it seemed an ideal fit. It was written in an irregular rhyming meter, and it was festooned with colourful, scratchy illustrations that depicted a boy strikingly similar to my son. The picture was already forming in my head - we’d read it, we’d bond, and we’d smooth over the cracks.

I know it was just a book, but for the first time in my life, I realized I was excited to spend time with my son.

That night, after I’d tucked him into bed, I sat down on his shark duvet (he liked sharks), and I sprang the book upon him.

Once, long ago and far away

There lived a boy of five or so

With a rounded face and hair like hay

And a mind that yearned to learn and grow

The boy lived in a mud-flecked land

Of rolling hills and sheep and styles,

And brooks and trees and miles and miles

Of hinterlands and ranch hands

Long ago there was a war,

Of petty kings and border-lords

The earth did drink the blood of those

Who died for honor or a rose

The boy was happy as could be,

In the cottage on the hill

His mother his only company,

Who loved that boy with all her will

It’s challenging material for a five-year old. But it was educational, it was stimulating. I had only a faint idea of what the war of the roses was actually about, but I did a good job of pretending that I did.

We said our i-love-yous and I closed the door. Things were going to be okay.

Keep reading

[professionalhorror]

New Podcast Episode!!

Hey guys, a new episode of the Professional Horror Podcast is live! Join me and my buddy Justin as we go through From a House on Willow Street. https://professionalhorrorpodcast.podbean.com/

[professionalhorror]

Low Battery

Hey guys, I'm just taking this time to let you guys know that I will be taking a few weeks off posting my original horror stories with you guys because I am a touch burned out and need to recharge. I will still be releasing reviews (including the one that should've been up on Friday). I also hope to have a new podcast episode up this week. I'm still going to be active, but my writing mind needs a break.

[professionalhorror]

The River

I know it's stupid, but apparently it's a custom. When you want something that's outside of your control in this town, you don't pray, you go to the river and throw something in. I don't know if it has something to do with the river or just the significance of sacrificing something of yours to achieve a goal that adjusts the scales of karma to your benefit.

It's just been a thing around here for a while. Give something to the river, the river gives something to you.

I mean you can't buy a stick of gum in there and say ‘give me a million dollars’ if you want something significant, you have to sacrifice something significant to you.

That's why I threw her in.

Let me explain: about a month ago, my lovely wife Margo and I had just moved into this town because of my new job. Margo didn't really want to go but when she saw her new house, she was ecstatic. She said she didn't need a place as big as this but I think she was being coy.

Our first night we went to a local diner. That's when we learned about the stupid custom with the river.

Naturally, I strolled down there our first night and tossed something in. It was something small: just a baseball card from when I was a kid, I had like five others of the same kind and I asked for a free meal next time Margo and I went out to eat.

We went to the diner the next day and the check came with a total larger than zero. I made a snide comment to the waitress and she said I probably just didn't sacrifice enough.

So the next day, I went back to the river. This time I went down with a pair of glasses I used to wear when I was a kid. I didn't use them anymore me they didn't mean that much to me but they did have a bit of nostalgic attachment. I was just trying to get a free diner, I figured that could cover it.

I was right. We went to the diner the next day and when the check should've come, the waitress just said, “I guess you did enough this time.”

“How did that work?” I asked.

“Well as I'm writing your check, I notice some money next to the register. Exact change for your meal and a rather lovely tip. So thank you for that.” She said.

“Hey, share the wealth, I guess.” I said.

“Absolutely. Just...don't make a habit of going to the river.” She said.

“And why is that?” I asked, “It seems like a great system.”

“Well the more you want, the higher the cost. A lot of times what you give is worth more than what you get.” She said.

“She probably right, dear.” Margo said. “We should cherish what we have, not toss it aside for something new.” I think she was lying, she couldn't tell me she didn't like a free meal.

I wiped my face clean with a napkin and stood up, “Maybe for the sentimental but if you really want something, it'll be worth the price.” I said and Margo and I left the diner.

I started going to the river more often. Toss a watch in to get a nice discount on a new TV, throw in my lucky bag to get a discount on a car, and chuck in my high school class ring while I'm at it. I needed a new laptop to compete for accounts.

Margo told me to ease up, she said I was working hard and didn't need to cut corners. My hard work would pay off down the road. She was really telling me that I had to speed up on that road. I'm sure of it.

It was time to up the stakes a little bit. All I was doing so far was just little fixes to try a overcome a large problem. You see, I may have mislead my wife a bit. When I got my new job that made us move to this town, I bought it based on the promise that I would be getting promoted within the first six months. Margo can't know that. She says she doesn't care about money and stuff like that but I know she's lying.

Within my first month of living in town I went to the river to ask my biggest favor. I brought a dog collar with me. When I was a kid I had this cocker spaniel named Bobo. He was named that because I was a baby when we first got him and that's the noise I made whenever I saw him.

He passed away when I was twelve. I still don't think I ever cried harder or for longer than that day. I still had a lot of things of his but what I was holding was his favorite dog collar. Every picture you saw of Bobo, he was wearing this collar.

Sounds like a steep price to pay the river but it was worth it.

My boss said that the project designer I would be working under was set to leave shortly and I'd be getting that job. When I get there, I find out that Peter, the project designer, plans on staying there for years. The monthly payments on this house are slightly too steep for me without the promotion. I need it.

I wished to the river for that promotion and toss Bobo’s collar in. The water barely rippled. It stayed shockingly placid.

I showed up to work early the next day. I know I made a sacrifice for the promotion but greasing the wheels couldn't hurt, could it?

I walked into the office to see a spattering of red on the back wall. I ran over to the wall and see Peter crumpled against the wall in his own blood. No weapons or anything, it looked like his head had been split vertically down the middle.

I sprinted to the phone to call the police. When they got here they asked me a lot of questions. They asked me about my relationship with Peter and how long I had been in town. They found out his death would mean my promotion but why would I kill him and then call the cops? They asked me more than a few questions about the river too. I wasn't fully honest.

After a day of that, I was officially promoted. My boss had this weird look on his face when he promoted me. Like he was being forced to do it.

He also asked about the river when it was all over. I was more honest with him. I didn't tell him about my last trip there but I told him about a few of my sacrifices. He told me to stop going at once. I wasn't sure I could.

When I left work, there was a police car outside. They didn't say anything but they did follow me on my drive home. They acted like they drove off after I got home but I saw them drive around and park not too far from my house.

Margo bombarded me with questions when I got home. She said the police asked her a ton of questions too. She said she told them about all of my trips that she knew about. That was more than I told the police.

I went for a walk that night. Not to the river, just out, just to test how tightly I was being followed and surveillanced. The answer was tightly. They were always just within eyesight. Never closer, never further.

The next day at work, the police were there again. I asked if they found out what the cause of death was for Peter. They said they don't know. The security cameras show him getting some work done early. He wasn't acting strangely at  all. Then suddenly his head slams against the wall, splitting it. Then the next thing you see is me walking in the room and checking on him.

One of the officers said that it seems like foul play but wouldn't elaborate. I felt like a million sets of eyes were on me all day. Did my wish cause his death? Did they know? I couldn't take any chances.

That night after work I went to the river. I had to do some serious stealth work to give the cops the slip but I ended up at the river without a cop in sight.

I figured getting the cops off of my trail would need something major. So I wished that the police would leave me alone and wouldn't suspect me in Peter’s death. And then I threw my wedding ring in the river.

The river swallowed it the murky water blacked out the sight of my ring. I didn't see it hit the bottom. It never occurred to me to go and try and retrieve it. I knew it wouldn't be there. The river took my tribute. And I knew it would be worth it.

When I got home, the police were there. They said that my wife called concerned that I hadn't come home. They said they tried to find me but didn't see my anywhere around town. I knew they were lying. They were concerned because they were following me and I gave them the slip. At least that's what I thought until I saw Margo.

Margo had tears in her eyes. She told me she was sorry. She told the cops she thought I might've have gone to the river to get the promotion. She sold me out. That was fine though, I had bought my freedom.

The police officers had more questions for me. The chief, Larry, in particular wouldn't leave me alone. He asked about the river a lot. I didn't understand this. Why were they still bothering me?

“You know the river is our little secret in this town, and we know better than to exploit it.” Larry said.

“Unless you're charging me with something, I'd appreciate you leaving my house.” I told him.

“You didn't give up enough for that, I'm afraid.” I goggled at him. “That's where you were just now, right? What you throw in? A ring that belonged to your mother? Maybe the glove your dad taught you how to play ball with. Don't keep me in suspense, tell me.” He said.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” I said. I was starting to feel a bit hot under the collar but wiping sweat off my face was a mistake. Larry saw my hand.

“Wow, your wedding ring? That’s a good one. Not quite enough but a good effort. Just don't let the missus see that.” Larry said.

“Please leave officer.” I said.

“Oh I will. I need to go out to gather some evidence. The judge is a bit touchy on cases involving the river but murder usually brings him round. I'll see you in the morning sir.” Larry said with a tip of the cap. He and the rest of the officers left. I looked down the street and it didn't appear that anyone was observing my home anymore.

They felt sufficiently in charge. They had evidence. I had already tried and failed. I was defeated. At least that's what they thought. I had one more offer in mind: the person that put me in this situation.

The person I moved here for. The person who I needed to get a nice house for. The person who pressured me into getting no this promotion. The person who sold me out.

You see? I had to do what I did. She struggled quite a bit when I threw her in but it didn’t matter. The river took her like any other sacrifice and she disappeared from sight in an instant. Poof, just like that. I really had no other choice. I think deep down, Margo knew that too.

Larry didn't show up in the morning to arrest me. Nor did he ever. Every time I see him in town though, I can see that he knows across his face. But he can't do a thing about it.

I think the whole town knows. I feel the crowd of eyes follow me wherever I go in town. They're probably jealous. They've had the river as long as they did and yet I'm the one who perfected the use of it. I have everything I've ever wanted: a great job, a great house, a great car, and a great life.

I paid a price for it all but it was worth it. And no one could take it away from me. After all, nobody else was willing to pay the price.

[professionalhorror]

From A House on Willow Street Review

Sharni Vinson is one of my favorite actresses going right now. She was amazing in You’re Next and I also loved her in Bait 3D. So when I saw the trailer for this movie starring Ms. Vinson, I got excited. From a House on Willow Street isn’t a terrible movie, unfortunately though, it never goes above and beyond like You’re Next and it’s also not s fun as Bait.

From a House on Willow Street starts with a group of criminals who are trying to get some money by kidnapping a rich girl’s daughter (Katherine played by Carlyn Burchell) and ransoming her for some diamonds that her father has stockpiled. But in their six weeks of preparation, they never counted on her being possessed by a demon because that house on Willow Street is the furthest place on the planet from the Vatican. That should be the first thing you check if you’re planning something like that.

It’s a fun concept because most possession movies are about the family dealing with the incident and calling in priests to deal with it and such and this one says ‘what if she was kidnapped before an exorcism could happen?’ that’s cool. The problem is that I don’t think the film ever fully realizes that idea. We don’t get enough of Katherine’s character pre-demon to really feel her struggle. On paper, this sounds like a dream role: trying to come to terms with being ripped from your home by these criminals and also feeling the effects of being possessed. This film only really gives us fully possessed, fully demon Katherine.

The film is very oddly paced and structured. There is a fifteen minute sequence at the start of Act Two where every character separately goes through a nearly identical struggle. In fact, the entire middle feels bloated and repetitive while the beginning and end feel rushed. Not to mention we don’t really get much about the characters besides some very quick exposition about Sharni Vinson’s Hazel peppered in there.

As much junk as I’m talking about this movie, I enjoyed it. There were some cool scare scenes throughout and as convoluted as the lore got, I did kinda like it. I think the script for this film is pretty poor but the directing and camera work is solid and creates an atmosphere that I could lose myself in for stretches before another script problem took me out.

As far as the acting goes, nothing really stood out for me except Sharni and Carlyn. Carlyn really brought an intimidating presence in the scenes that necessitated it and Sharni was wonderful at both the in-control criminal and the victim. I’d say give From a House on WIllow Street a view, it’s not the perfect crime but but it’s nothing to feel guilty about liking either.

Rating:

7/10

What’s Next?:

The Windmill

[professionalhorror]

Giving this a little signal boost because I love being able to make this podcast and talk about horror movies I like with my friends. I hope you guys like it as well!!

April Fool's Day Podcast!!

Hey guys, the Professional Horror Podcast has been resurrected. Check it out! Also if guys subscribed and left a review, it would make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/professional-horror-podcast/id1171577389?mt=2

[professionalhorror]

April Fool's Day Podcast!!

Hey guys, the Professional Horror Podcast has been resurrected. Check it out! Also if guys subscribed and left a review, it would make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/professional-horror-podcast/id1171577389?mt=2

[professionalhorror]

SiREN Review

Normally I don’t like it when TV shows based on movies get announced, especially horror movies, but I need a TV show based on SiREN stat. Like holy crap guys, the world that is built in this movie demands to be revisited. I mean, this is already a spin-off of one of the V/H/S shorts and they were able to add all this lovely stuff to the story. Revisiting this material again is an enticing prospect.

So SiREN (yes, that is how it is supposed to be spelled) starts off with a mysterious man named Mr. Nyx who discovers our titular beast after she was summoned by a group of less than successful cultists and then manages to subdue and capture her. From there we follow Jonah, an earnest and stand-up husband to be who is going out with his best friends and brother for his bachelor party. They end up at Mr. Nyx’s crazy party mansion where Jonah meets the siren, named Lily.

The mansion and its workings are so wonderfully intriguing. In addition to the crazy private rooms they have, we learn that Mr Nyx specializes in memories. When he sends Jonah in the private room next to Lily, the price he charges Jonah’s friends is the happiest memory of their mother. These memories are thing he is able to take and sell through the drinks in his bar. When someone sits down and drinks a beverage the bartender called ‘Murder’ they now have the memory of committing a murder ingrained in their mind. That is such an beautiful world building touch that could be the focus of its own movie or TV show and yet is the backdrop here.

So Jonah, who is able to safely hear the Siren song which apparently leads to the most amazing orgasm of all time, thinks that she is being held captive and sets her free. Now the Siren is out and people start dying.

I think this movie takes a little too long to really get going but once we did, I was in hook, line, and sinker. There is also a not so subtle allegory going on with getting too wild and cheating on your fiance at your bachelor party which I really enjoyed but felt it was a touch heavy handed at times. As a side note, don’t you guys think that if we lived in a world with supernatural beings that ‘it wasn’t my fault, she was a siren’ would be every cheating guy’s excuse? Just something I thought of while watching this.

I have to say though, I was really into this movie. Not only is the world building incredible but so are some of the characters inside the world: Justin Welborn’s Mr Nyx is a very interesting character with tons of charisma and a dark edge, Chase Williamson was a very charming lead as Jonah, and Hannah Fierman was an absolute dream as Lily. Much like Lily’s song, I found this film very enticing.

Rating:

8/10

What’s Next?:

From a House on WIllow Street

[professionalhorror]

We All Scream

“Tell me you didn't change your ringtone to a circus tune.” I groaned. That annoying circus jingle rang through our house. My wife, Brianna always had her phone volume at an annoyingly high level. She usually put it on vibrate during the night but she could’ve forgotten. “No. Go back to sleep.” Brianna said. Brianna was always a touch grumpy when she's woken up. I mean we were both dead tired after our daughter Marley’s birthday party today so it is understandable to be a touch upset right now. “Not until you answer your clown phone. Bozo’s probably out of seltzer again.” Brianna snorted. Normally she tries her best not to laugh at my jokes, something about not giving me the satisfaction or whatever, but her defenses are low since she’s half awake so my joke wins. “My phone is on vibrate. You know, because I hate being woken up in the middle of the night.” Brianna said. “So is it Marley’s phone or something?” I said. Brianna sat up and looked out the window, “No you idiot, it’s coming from outside. Stupid ice cream truck.” Brianna flopped back down on the bed. “At three in the morning? An ice cream truck just driving through our neighborhood with the jingle ringing? You’re seeing things babe.” I said. The jingle continued to blare through the house. I tried to cover my ears with my pillow but I couldn’t drown out the sound. Then came a much worse sound. A loud pitter patter of footsteps down the stairs followed by the door opening and closing. Brianna and I leapt up in our bed. “You heard that right?” I said. “Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!” We heard the joyous screams of our nine year-old daughter as she ran out into the street, toward the jovial tune of the truck. Brianna and I lept out of bed and sprinted down the stairs toward the front door. As my hand wrapped around the doorknob, the tune ended. I opened the door and threw it open. The truck was gone. Marley was gone. She was gone without a trace. The police looked for her for days without any luck. They labeled her a runaway and figured she couldn't have gotten far. The police said they couldn't find anything about the ice crew truck either. By the fifth day we knew they had stopped searching. No evidence, no trail, and no hope. They were happy to move on to a more fruitful case. We weren't as quick to move on. Brianna and I hardly slept for months. More nights than not, you could find Brianna, myself, or both of us sitting on our front step waiting for that truck to drive by. But it never came. Months turned to years and our hope morphed into something else. We knew we would probably never see Marley ever again but you can be damn sure we would see that ice cream truck again. We would find it somewhere. I'm grateful that I had Brianna by my side the whole time. You often hear stories about parents drifting apart and separating after the loss of the child. That didn't happen for us. We needed each other that much more after it happened. We did begin to drift away from where we lived though. Our friends and acquaintances that resided in every store and street corner we went started to look at us with unfamiliar eyes and empty smiles. Our house became a collection of visions of Marley. The wall we traced her height on. The door she ran into when she had just learned how to walk. The fridge she would sneak yogurts from. The chair she would stand on so she could reach the yogurt. It all became too much. Moving was tough though. It put a stamp on the fact that we weren't going to find Marley. Like we had given up the search because even if that truck rolled down this street again, Marley in tow, we wouldn't know about it. We managed. We left the memories in the rear view and made a new start. When the time was right, we even had another kid. Peter. We didn't want to replace Marley. To be honest it was an accident. But when we learned Brianna was pregnant we thought it was time. Everything was fine for a while. You might even say we resembled a happy family. By the time Peter’s ninth birthday rolled around, Brianna and I almost felt whole again. But the night after Peter blew out nine candles, a familiar sound rolled down our new street. I leapt out of bed and ripped open the curtains that covered our bedside window. Brianna stirred next to me but woke up swiftly as the circus tone began to pick up. We sprinted toward the front door just in time to see Peter unlocking and opening the front door. I rushed toward him and tackled Peter down to the ground before he left the house. He twisted and squirmed away from my grip and towards the increasing volume of the ice cream truck’s tone but I kept him close. Brianna looked out the door and at the ice cream truck. She took a step outside. “Brianna! Come back here, forget about the truck.” I said. Brianna looked back at me, her eyes wet with sorrow and anger. Just as Brianna out one of her feet back inside, a voice rang out. “Mommy, come quick, the ice cream man is here.” I know it couldn't be, but the voice was Marley’s. It sounded just the same as when she ran out of our house all those years ago. Brianna turned back around and dashed toward the truck. I picked up Peter, held him close, and followed her. “Brianna come back, it can't be what you think!” I knew I couldn't stop Brianna now but I had to try. The truck slowly moved down our street. Brianna was hot on its heels, with me not too far behind. I didn't want to get to close but I couldn't lose Brianna, no matter what. Brianna made it to the driver’s side door of the truck and began wailing on it. She slapped the window and the metal door with both hands. “Give us back our daughter you son of a bitch!!” She screamed. The truck came to a grinding halt. I steadily approached Brianna and lightly tried to pull her away from the truck. She tore away and grabbed the truck’s door handle and flung open the door. Nobody was driving the truck. Peter twisted and contorted for all his worth in my arms. I had to adjust my grip to keep him from the truck. “Brianna, let's go. Nothing can be gained from this.” I said. The door at the back of the truck slowly opened. Brianna stomped to the back of the truck and I nervously followed. I could see two large freezers inside the truck but no people. I tried to pull Brianna back before she walked inside the truck but she was unstoppable at that point. Brianna walked inside the truck and looked around every corner for whatever took our child all those years ago but she looked back at me with an empty expression. She turned her attention to one of the freezers. She opened the one on the left and peered inside. “It's empty.” She said. She walked to the freezer on the right. She fiddled with the handle. It wouldn't open. She squatted down and put both hands under the molded handle and pushed up with all her might. The freezer door flew open with a pop. Brianna poked her head over the edge and looked inside. Her face contorted and her lips quivered. “Marley?” She said. Suddenly something inside the truck pushed Brianna out. I scrambled to catch her. I managed to get Brianna in my arms before she hit the ground. But in that moment, I lost my grip on Peter and he wiggled out. With Brianna in my arms, I saw Peter run into the ice cream truck. Brianna and I reached out to him but the doors had already swung shut with Peter inside. We heard Peter and Marley laughing together inside the truck as it drove off leaving us behind. My eyes drifted to the ground to see something the truck left behind: a blood red Popsicle melting on the asphalt. On the stick I could make out three words: Happy Ninth Birthday!

[professionalhorror]

XX Review

I was looking forward to XX. I think the amount of women directors in horror is limited and this was a platform for four female directors to show their stuff. However one of the big issues with the film is the only connective tissue between the films is they’re directed by women. I feel the film is well intentioned but given the limited run times and lack of connection, it just feels like a couple of okay short films taped together.

The Box

The first short follows a mother who’s on the subway with her kids on the way back from Christmas shopping. On the subway, her son asks to see what is inside a stranger’s Christmas gift. After seeing inside, the kid refuses to eat anything. Despite how many days he goes without food, he isn’t hungry and the mother has to watch as this spreads to her family. This was an okay short but doesn’t really rise above mildly creepy. Also the craziest scene, which could’ve have made for a great ending and given us some answers while still being vague, was a dream.

Rating:

5/10

The Birthday Party

I hate this short. So a strung out mother is trying to set up her daughter’s birthday party and make it all perfect when she finds her husband dead in his chair. She spends the rest of the film walking around with his body trying to hide it. Everything she does after finding his body is so amazingly illogical. I get the short is trying at a dark comedy with a weird message of suburban mother one-upmanship or something but it’s just awful. Especially her final solution. It takes the cake for worst idea ever.

Rating:

2/10

Don’t Fall

This one is most straight up horror and the one I enjoyed watching the most but there’s really nothing to this short. Some people go for a hike in the desert, see some cave drawings of a monster, one of them gets possessed by it and death scenes ensue. It’s only about twelve minutes long with some good creature effects and cool shots but there’s nothing else. Just a fun twelve minutes.

Rating:

7/10

Her Only Living Son

The best of the bunch, Her Only Living Son tells the story of a mother and her soon to be eighteen year-old son. Their relationship is getting more and more strained what with him being the spawn of Satan and all. This short really takes the sort of Rosemary’s Baby story all the way and I think it does a wonderful job with it. The town who watches and caters to the son are sufficiently creepy and the relationship between mother and son is well portrayed given the runtime. Once again though, it is kind of spoiled by a weird ending. I was all in until the last minute and then something happens that made me go ‘wait, what?’

Rating:

8/10

The film is intertwined with this really creepy stop-motion porcelain dollhouse scenes. They don’t add to any stores, make the stories more cohesive, or even tell a story itself but it creates a nice creepy atmosphere and looks really cool. I have to say though, I was pretty disappointed with XX. There are some fun concepts but without the runtime or budget to expand on them, the film just falls a bit flat.

Overall Rating:

6.5/10

What’s Next?:

Siren

[professionalhorror]

Giving this a little signal boost because I realized it later than I usually do.

Rise of the Dragonbats

Spelunking. It’s a fun word to say. I don’t know what weird ass words it’s derived from to make it mean cave diving, but that’s neither here nor there. What is there is the North Ridge cave system, one of the largest untraversed cave systems in North America. And what is here is Dwayne Cameron, the coolest and most gorgeous spelunker to ever spelunk.

Dwayne Cameron is me by the way. In case you couldn’t tell.

I figured I go on enough badass adventures I would make a little log and fill it with little notes and voice recordings I make along the way. Maybe finally get that TV show on Nat Geo I so righteously deserve. Anyway, I’m about to check this cave out and turn it from untraversed to traversed real quick.

I know I know, they tell you never to spelunk alone and normally I wouldn’t but my friends won’t be in town for a couple of hours and I’m bored. Don’t worry, I’m not going to go too deep right off the bat. Just a little taste to whet my appetite.

Oh man this is gonna be a good one too. I can hear water dripping. Not that spooky slow dripping you might here walking in the sewers or something but a waterfall. It sounds majestic from here. Imagine what it’ll be like to be the first person to see it. If you imagined yourself as Dwayne Cameron in about twenty minutes, you made the right mental picture.

Also what will be fun is all the little critters that make the cave their home. There’s bats, they’re the ones making those squeaking sounds right now, and there’s also…like some other animals. Point is, I’ll see some bats and stuff.

I don’t bring much equipment with me since I won’t need much. I just have a hard hat, a couple of flashlights, and a lighter to find which tunnels to walk down if I get lost.

Pro Tip: if you go spelunking, bring a lighter along. Wind blowing into tunnels from the outside can flicker the fire of you lighter and let you know which tunnel is the way out.

Oh yeah, if you’re also going to a cave with a sweet waterfall inside, bring a bathing suit.

Taking my first steps into the cave, I notice that the dirt is very loose. My foot sinks in about an inch with every step. Hopefully the ground is more solid the further in we go. But for you guys reading this log, you never want to assume that, that’s why you wear boots.

I have to turn on my flashlight not too long after entering the cave because it gets really dark really fast in here.

Pro Tip: bring some chalk or a marker with you during your exploration so you can draw arrows on the wall in the direction you’re going. I forgot to do this but no worries, I’ll remember where I went. I’m not going that far anyway.

Oh man I can hear the water getting closer. I’m jog down the tunnel toward the sound of the water. You really shouldn’t run in a cave for safety reasons but whatever.

I turn to the right down another tunnel. Remember that, I turned right.

The bat squeaks are getting pretty loud as well. Those squeaks are their echolocation. They must’ve echolocated me by now.

The terrain is starting to get rougher as the wet loose soil gets buried under a layer of rocks.

Just as my ears fill with the sound of running water, I hear another sound ring across the walls of the cave: a screech. Def not human. Sounds like a bat but not a bat I want to run into. I turn my head to see if can find out where it came from.

Pro Tip: always look where you’re running.

My ankle goes sideways on a rock and I tumble across the rocks for a solid ten feet before coming to rest. Fucking hell I messed up my ankle. Oh damn, this is-this is bad. Dammit, Dwayne, what did the website say? Don’t run in caves to prevent injury. I mean–that’s what my years of spelunking experience has taught me. How foolish of me.

I don’t really have anything with me that’ll work as a splint but if I move slowly I should be able to make it back.

I turn around and…oh no. Which tunnel did I take? There’s like six. I take my lighter out. It’s broken. I must’ve landed on it when I fell.

I hear another high pitched squeak. I wanted to move away from it but the way it bounced off the walls, I wasn’t sure if I’d be moving toward it or away.

I slowly move myself towards the sound of running water. Running water is my way out. There’s no way the water stays in the cave. It’s gotta run out someplace, a steam or a river or the fucking ocean. Somewhere!

My flashlight starts to flicker. This is bad guys. I’m getting a bit nervous here. But the sound of the water is getting closer and closer.

The tunnel I’m in opens up into a major chamber where the waterfall is. I was right, the water runs out down a tunnel, surely outside. I’m safe. I hobble over to the water’s edge and look deeply into the stream. It’s a bit murky, like rust colored, but it still looks pretty.

I shine my light over the water and see something. Some weird shapes like brown pods of some kind. You know like caterpillars, they become butterflies by going in a–cocoon, that’s the word.

I pick up a rock and toss it into the water. The shapes warp and disappear. Oh I’m dumb, it’s a reflection.

Pro Tip: if you look at water you can see what’s in it and above it at the same time. Dope right?

I shine my light up to the roof of the cave and see those pods. They’re pretty big, probably like seven or eight feet long. There’s about seven of them. Wonder what they are?

I pick up a rock and toss is up at one of them. The rock I pick is a touch too heavy and starts falling back down before it hits the pod. I actually almost hit myself with the rock.

I pick up a smaller rock. This is the one. I huck it up to the sky and nail one of those suckers with a thud. Damn I should’ve brought my GoPro, that would’ve looked sick.

I’m not going to lie, I feel a bit weird now. Sorta like when you stand up too quickly and you’re like off balance and woozy. The pounding pattering sound of the waterfall fades away. I stumble backwards.

I feel liquid pour down the sides of my face. I must’ve walked under the waterfall. I wipe the liquid off me but it’s not water. It’s bright red. I feel my head and find where it came from: I’m bleeding from the ears.

The sounds of the cave start to warble back into focus as I crane my head back to the roof of the cave.

Those aren’t pods. What I hit just spread open its huge leathery wings, revealing a monstrous bat.

It screeches loudly, knocking all sound in the cave back out of focus. The rest of the bats begin to awake and spread their wings.

Pro Tip: don’t piss off dragonbats. Like I just fucking did.

It might not be the best defense in the world but I start crying.

Can you blame me? I’m going to die. I’m going to die in some stupid cave and no one is going to know what happened to me.

My friends? Those people I said were coming to join me in a few hours? They don’t exist. None of my friends wanted to come to some stupid cave where they could get lost.

My friends were right too. If they had come, they’d be lost too. Who am I kidding, I’m not an adventurer or a spelunker. I just wanted to do something cool for a change. The only reason I know the lighter thing was because I watched The Descent and went on a couple spelunking websites.

I back up toward the water, staring at the giant bats. Hopefully they don’t see me. I’m sure they won’t. They don’t say ‘blind as a bat’ for nothing, right?

Seven sets of eyes snap around to face me. All of those giant bats are staring right at me.

I dive into the water just as I hear the whooshing of their wings flap through the stale air of the cave. Why did I ever think this was a cool idea? I try to keep swim to the bottom but the water gets way too dark and murky down there to see.

I pat my hand around the ground to see if I’m near the bottom. I wish I hadn’t. There’s a freaking dead guy in the water. Which probably explains the rust-colored water. I probably should’ve picked up on that a bit sooner.

I hear a big splash and look up: a dragonbat just swooped down trying to grab me. I can’t stay down here much longer though. I’m running out of air. I start to surface but I keep hold of the dead guy. I know this is fucked up but hey, there’s still one person who can live through this.

Another dragonbat swoops as I surface and they swing, claws barring. The dragonbat grabs the dead guy and yanks him out of the water.

This is my chance. I start to swim down the tunnel where the water is running. I overestimated my chance. I’m grabbed by the shoulders by the next set of clawed feet.

One of the dragonbats rips me from the water and fly high into the air. My hearing goes back and forth from being filled by the whooshing of bat wings and the pounding waterfall to a painful muted ringing whenever the bats screech.

I try to fight out of the bats claws but they just dig deeper into my arms. I scramble through all my pockets until I find a flashlight and I chuck it up at the bat’s head.

The flashlight lightly bumps of the bat’s face but it is enough to get the bat to loosen it’s claws for a second. I free myself from its grip and fall about ten feet to the ground.

If I wasn’t about to die, I probably would’ve curled up right then and there because, ow. Very much ow. I landed on my side about two feet from the water right onto the rocky ground. I roll my body toward the water and let myself fall in.

The dragonbats all swoop down toward me as I try to lamely paddle away.

Not So Pro Tip: Try to make your last thoughts about your loved ones. It feels nice as the sharp claws ensnare you.

My ears start to ring and I feel immense pain as the claws drag across my body.

But then it stops. Is it over? Am I dead?

I feel my hearing start to come back but I still feel like my equilibrium is off. I see a dragonbat’s head looking down at me. It’s poking through some kind of hole and it’s getting further and further away.

I look down and see a pool of water approaching. Oh shit.

I explode through the water’s surface. Apparently that tunnel I swam down lead to a second waterfall. I looked around and saw a giant light: an exit.

I did it. I made it. Yeah, screw you you stupid ass dragonbats. Guess Dwayne Cameron is off the menu tonight boys. And it ain’t going on ever again. You missed your chance. You couldn’t drag me back to this cave if you tied me to a bulldozer.

I swim toward the exit and walk out. The wind feels beautiful. Oh my God, the birds are singing and the grass looks so green out here. It’s practically paradise.

“I made it!!” I scream.

“Shhh!!! Quiet!” I heard a voice. “We’re filming here.”

I look over to them and there’s two guys with film equipment. One with a camera and one with a microphone.

“Oh sorry, what are you guys filming?” I ask

“Some stupid nature documentary for Nat Geo. Dave, our host, was supposed to be here hours ago so we’re just filming some establishing shots and some transition shots, you know?” He says.

“Oh so you guys are missing a host?” I says.

“What about it?” he says.

“I could help out, if you guys really want to make this show something special.” I say.

“What do you have in mind?” He asks. He turns the camera toward me.

Pro Tip: Never reveal everything you know.

I look into the camera, “Hello, I’m Dwayne Cameron, and you guys better prepare yourselves because I’m about to show you something inside this cave that you won’t believe.”

[professionalhorror]

Rise of the Dragonbats

Spelunking. It's a fun word to say. I don't know what weird ass words it's derived from to make it mean cave diving, but that's neither here nor there. What is there is the North Ridge cave system, one of the largest untraversed cave systems in North America. And what is here is Dwayne Cameron, the coolest and most gorgeous spelunker to ever spelunk.

Dwayne Cameron is me by the way. In case you couldn't tell.

I figured I go on enough badass adventures I would make a little log and fill it with little notes and voice recordings I make along the way. Maybe finally get that TV show on Nat Geo I so righteously deserve. Anyway, I'm about to check this cave out and turn it from untraversed to traversed real quick.

I know I know, they tell you never to spelunk alone and normally I wouldn't but my friends won't be in town for a couple of hours and I'm bored. Don't worry, I'm not going to go too deep right off the bat. Just a little taste to whet my appetite.

Oh man this is gonna be a good one too. I can hear water dripping. Not that spooky slow dripping you might here walking in the sewers or something but a waterfall. It sounds majestic from here. Imagine what it'll be like to be the first person to see it. If you imagined yourself as Dwayne Cameron in about twenty minutes, you made the right mental picture.

Also what will be fun is all the little critters that make the cave their home. There's bats, they're the ones making those squeaking sounds right now, and there's also...like some other animals. Point is, I'll see some bats and stuff.

I don't bring much equipment with me since I won't need much. I just have a hard hat, a couple of flashlights, and a lighter to find which tunnels to walk down if I get lost.

Pro Tip: if you go spelunking, bring a lighter along. Wind blowing into tunnels from the outside can flicker the fire of you lighter and let you know which tunnel is the way out.

Oh yeah, if you're also going to a cave with a sweet waterfall inside, bring a bathing suit.

Taking my first steps into the cave, I notice that the dirt is very loose. My foot sinks in about an inch with every step. Hopefully the ground is more solid the further in we go. But for you guys reading this log, you never want to assume that, that's why you wear boots.

I have to turn on my flashlight not too long after entering the cave because it gets really dark really fast in here.

Pro Tip: bring some chalk or a marker with you during your exploration so you can draw arrows on the wall in the direction you’re going. I forgot to do this but no worries, I'll remember where I went. I'm not going that far anyway.

Oh man I can hear the water getting closer. I'm jog down the tunnel toward the sound of the water. You really shouldn't run in a cave for safety reasons but whatever.

I turn to the right down another tunnel. Remember that, I turned right.

The bat squeaks are getting pretty loud as well. Those squeaks are their echolocation. They must've echolocated me by now.

The terrain is starting to get rougher as the wet loose soil gets buried under a layer of rocks.

Just as my ears fill with the sound of running water, I hear another sound ring across the walls of the cave: a screech. Def not human. Sounds like a bat but not a bat I want to run into. I turn my head to see if can find out where it came from.

Pro Tip: always look where you’re running.

My ankle goes sideways on a rock and I tumble across the rocks for a solid ten feet before coming to rest. Fucking hell I messed up my ankle. Oh damn, this is-this is bad. Dammit, Dwayne, what did the website say? Don't run in caves to prevent injury. I mean--that's what my years of spelunking experience has taught me. How foolish of me.

I don't really have anything with me that'll work as a splint but if I move slowly I should be able to make it back.

I turn around and...oh no. Which tunnel did I take? There's like six. I take my lighter out. It's broken. I must've landed on it when I fell.

I hear another high pitched squeak. I wanted to move away from it but the way it bounced off the walls, I wasn't sure if I'd be moving toward it or away.

I slowly move myself towards the sound of running water. Running water is my way out. There's no way the water stays in the cave. It's gotta run out someplace, a steam or a river or the fucking ocean. Somewhere!

My flashlight starts to flicker. This is bad guys. I’m getting a bit nervous here. But the sound of the water is getting closer and closer.

The tunnel I'm in opens up into a major chamber where the waterfall is. I was right, the water runs out down a tunnel, surely outside. I'm safe. I hobble over to the water's edge and look deeply into the stream. It’s a bit murky, like rust colored, but it still looks pretty.

I shine my light over the water and see something. Some weird shapes like brown pods of some kind. You know like caterpillars, they become butterflies by going in a--cocoon, that's the word.

I pick up a rock and toss it into the water. The shapes warp and disappear. Oh I'm dumb, it's a reflection.

Pro Tip: if you look at water you can see what's in it and above it at the same time. Dope right?

I shine my light up to the roof of the cave and see those pods. They're pretty big, probably like seven or eight feet long. There's about seven of them. Wonder what they are?

I pick up a rock and toss is up at one of them. The rock I pick is a touch too heavy and starts falling back down before it hits the pod. I actually almost hit myself with the rock.

I pick up a smaller rock. This is the one. I huck it up to the sky and nail one of those suckers with a thud. Damn I should've brought my GoPro, that would've looked sick.

I'm not going to lie, I feel a bit weird now. Sorta like when you stand up too quickly and you’re like off balance and woozy. The pounding pattering sound of the waterfall fades away. I stumble backwards.

I feel liquid pour down the sides of my face. I must've walked under the waterfall. I wipe the liquid off me but it's not water. It's bright red. I feel my head and find where it came from: I'm bleeding from the ears.

The sounds of the cave start to warble back into focus as I crane my head back to the roof of the cave.

Those aren't pods. What I hit just spread open its huge leathery wings, revealing a monstrous bat.

It screeches loudly, knocking all sound in the cave back out of focus. The rest of the bats begin to awake and spread their wings.

Pro Tip: don't piss off dragonbats. Like I just fucking did.

It might not be the best defense in the world but I start crying.

Can you blame me? I'm going to die. I'm going to die in some stupid cave and no one is going to know what happened to me.

My friends? Those people I said were coming to join me in a few hours? They don't exist. None of my friends wanted to come to some stupid cave where they could get lost.

My friends were right too. If they had come, they'd be lost too. Who am I kidding, I’m not an adventurer or a spelunker. I just wanted to do something cool for a change. The only reason I know the lighter thing was because I watched The Descent and went on a couple spelunking websites.

I back up toward the water, staring at the giant bats. Hopefully they don't see me. I’m sure they won’t. They don’t say ‘blind as a bat’ for nothing, right?

Seven sets of eyes snap around to face me. All of those giant bats are staring right at me.

I dive into the water just as I hear the whooshing of their wings flap through the stale air of the cave. Why did I ever think this was a cool idea? I try to keep swim to the bottom but the water gets way too dark and murky down there to see.

I pat my hand around the ground to see if I’m near the bottom. I wish I hadn’t. There’s a freaking dead guy in the water. Which probably explains the rust-colored water. I probably should’ve picked up on that a bit sooner.

I hear a big splash and look up: a dragonbat just swooped down trying to grab me. I can’t stay down here much longer though. I’m running out of air. I start to surface but I keep hold of the dead guy. I know this is fucked up but hey, there’s still one person who can live through this.

Another dragonbat swoops as I surface and they swing, claws barring. The dragonbat grabs the dead guy and yanks him out of the water.

This is my chance. I start to swim down the tunnel where the water is running. I overestimated my chance. I’m grabbed by the shoulders by the next set of clawed feet.

One of the dragonbats rips me from the water and fly high into the air. My hearing goes back and forth from being filled by the whooshing of bat wings and the pounding waterfall to a painful muted ringing whenever the bats screech.

I try to fight out of the bats claws but they just dig deeper into my arms. I scramble through all my pockets until I find a flashlight and I chuck it up at the bat’s head.

The flashlight lightly bumps of the bat’s face but it is enough to get the bat to loosen it’s claws for a second. I free myself from its grip and fall about ten feet to the ground.

If I wasn’t about to die, I probably would’ve curled up right then and there because, ow. Very much ow. I landed on my side about two feet from the water right onto the rocky ground. I roll my body toward the water and let myself fall in.

The dragonbats all swoop down toward me as I try to lamely paddle away.

Not So Pro Tip: Try to make your last thoughts about your loved ones. It feels nice as the sharp claws ensnare you.

My ears start to ring and I feel immense pain as the claws drag across my body.

But then it stops. Is it over? Am I dead?

I feel my hearing start to come back but I still feel like my equilibrium is off. I see a dragonbat’s head looking down at me. It’s poking through some kind of hole and it’s getting further and further away.

I look down and see a pool of water approaching. Oh shit.

I explode through the water’s surface. Apparently that tunnel I swam down lead to a second waterfall. I looked around and saw a giant light: an exit.

I did it. I made it. Yeah, screw you you stupid ass dragonbats. Guess Dwayne Cameron is off the menu tonight boys. And it ain’t going on ever again. You missed your chance. You couldn’t drag me back to this cave if you tied me to a bulldozer.

I swim toward the exit and walk out. The wind feels beautiful. Oh my God, the birds are singing and the grass looks so green out here. It’s practically paradise.

“I made it!!” I scream.

“Shhh!!! Quiet!” I heard a voice. “We’re filming here.”

I look over to them and there’s two guys with film equipment. One with a camera and one with a microphone.

“Oh sorry, what are you guys filming?” I ask

“Some stupid nature documentary for Nat Geo. Dave, our host, was supposed to be here hours ago so we’re just filming some establishing shots and some transition shots, you know?” He says.

“Oh so you guys are missing a host?” I says.

“What about it?” he says.

“I could help out, if you guys really want to make this show something special.” I say.

“What do you have in mind?” He asks. He turns the camera toward me.

Pro Tip: Never reveal everything you know.

I look into the camera, “Hello, I’m Dwayne Cameron, and you guys better prepare yourselves because I’m about to show you something inside this cave that you won’t believe.”

[professionalhorror]

Hey guys, so this week’s story might be a day late because I’ve been working on editing a podcast all weekend and it has been difficult to sit down and write for the past few days. Never fear, I have a fun little tale that I’m cooking up that’ll be headed to you guys soon. And be on the lookout for new podcast information, featuring your truly, coming around the corner.