#After Dark Horrorfest

[brokehorrorfan]

The Abandoned will be released on Blu-ray on April 9 via Unearthed Films. The 2006 horror film was originally released as part of the original After Dark Horrorfest.

Nacho Cerdá directs from a script he co-wrote with Richard Stanley (Color Out of Space) and Karim Hussain. Anastasia Hille, Carlos Reig, Valentin Ganev, and Karel Roden star.

Special features are listed below.

Special features:

Interview with director/co-writer Nacho Cerdà

Interview with co-writer Richard Stanley

Interview with co-writer Karim Hussain

The Making of The Abandoned featurette

In the Den of The Abandoned featurette

Nacho Cerda: Facing Death featurette

The Little Secrets of Nacho Cerda featurette

When Buck Meets Cerda: A Dialogue Between Friends featurette

Deleted & extended scenes

Alternate sequences

Outtakes

Photo gallery

Trailers

Storyboard collection (BD-ROM)

In 1966, somewhere in Russia, a wounded woman drives a truck to an isolated farm with two babies. 40 years later, film producer Marie Jones leaves her daughter in California and travels back to her home land in the wilderness of Russia. Marie is one of the children and had received a phone call from the notary public Andrei Misharin, who told her where the farm of her family is located. Marie arrives at the abandoned house and meets the stranger Nicolai, who tells her that he had also received a call from Misharin and he is her twin brother. Weird things happen in the house and Marie and Nicolai are haunted by zombie-like ghosts of themselves. Further, they find that they are trapped in the house and cannot leave the place.

Pre-order The Abandoned.

[draganwhorror]

Favorite Films [9/?]

[samhainchrist500]

I'm trying to finish this Perkins 14 After Dark Horrorfest movie but I'm having fun with it for all the wrong reasons. Holy shit, they got Michael Graves to be in this thing and his character went full "pop punk" being a 30 something with a high school age girl friend. This is so gross.

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: It Knows Not How it Sounds [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Title: It Knows Not How it Sounds [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: He's going to kill you--and this is how you react? Curious, curious, curious.

For Horrorfest request:

Vampire! Chrollo could be interesting? He fits the image of a vampire well, with his inclusion of religious imagery, goth aesthetic and his personal search for his self (his “soul“). Perhaps he becomes interested in one of his would-be meals, being attracted to their humanity and their perspective on his vampirism (maybe them seeing it as a curse, not a boon)

Word count: 1565

notes: yandere, vampire, some descriptions of blood, mild wounds, dying; Chrollo is a pretentious asshole even as a vampire

Humans are so very interesting. And so very predictable.

Chrollo Lucilfer knew the first truth at an early age. He has learned the second truth over the years, the decades, and then the centuries. 

For instance, humans always seek comfort. That is certain, whether they are rich or poor, old or young, beautiful or ugly. They want to be held and warm and fed; they want someone to comfort them when they cry; they want to be told that, in the end, things will be alright.

This is true even for the humans that he kills, for so often in their last moments, they cling to him, desperate, wanting him to be their savior even as he is the one draining their blood. 

Therefore, it does not surprise him too terribly when your shaking arm reaches up for his face; when your increasingly exhausted expression takes in the sight of him, eyes wide, looking for kinship or absolution or someone to tell you it will be just fine.

It takes his victims some time to really comprehend what is happening, after all.

It is usually at this point that (if they haven’t already--not everyone is so slow on the uptake) they realize what he is--vampire--and he goes back to lapping at his victim’s blood, enjoying the way their muddled dying thoughts are spiked with a renewed bright acidic terror. 

The taste is not his only reward. There is the entertainment, as well. The thoughts of the dying. 

The thoughts come to him like moving pictures, flashes; not only visuals but sometimes words. Monster. Him, covered in blood. I don’t want to die. Lovers, children, things left unsaid. Mother. This word, so common, most often paired with the foggy memory of a chubby hand held in a larger one.

Your eyes widen after a moment and ah, there it is. Like a clock. “Vampire,” you mouth, lips that were perhaps once rose-red now growing paler, the more he blood he takes from you. 

“Yes,” he breathes, and you make the softest of sounds when he nudges your head back with his hands, giving him access to the open, bruised weeping puncture wounds he’d created earlier. Your blood still flows freely enough, and he laps at the edges before he begins to suck from the wounds. 

He wonders how he must look from your eyes, though he may see it soon enough. His pale skin and dark hair. The fangs jutting from his mouth. The blood on his lips. Even his clothing, silken black with delicate lace. A storybook vampire, he supposes; all that’s missing is the smell of dirt and decay, though that is perhaps a stench better left to his more unhinged colleagues than his own delicate scent of roses and musk; purloined perfume bottles were easy to come by when you could simply kill the ones who set them on varnished bureaus. 

But what pulses through his mind is not pure abject horror at the sight of him or fleeting, terrified thoughts of a life that will be incomplete.

Instead, it’s something that startles him so fiercely that he yanks himself away from your neck:

Pity.

Pity, pity, pity. For him--for him! 

A warm almost sour sensation lingers behind on his teeth, and he licks it away. He has never, in his centuries of killing, been… pitied. 

Your head rolls a little to the side, eyelids drooping, but you gain enough awareness to realize that he’s no longer feeding on you. Your voice is a soft croak when you do speak, words spoken as if you don’t understand why you’re even permitted to say them at all. You should, after all, be dead. 

“Why did you stop?”

He considers you for a moment. He keeps a grip on your shoulders--you might just fall, if he lets go--and makes you face him. Finally, he mirrors your question. But only to satisfy his curiosity, or so he tells himself. 

“Why do you pity me?”

Your eyes widen again, but this time not in the realization of the monster before you. You likely don’t know how he felt your pity. He doesn’t care to explain it to you, either, and after a few moments you furrow your eyebrows.

If he weren’t feeding on you, it might be a cute expression. Perhaps it still is; even lambs to the slaughter can have their charms.

“You’re…” You swallow. “You’re a vampire,” you say. But that usual horror is replaced with something else, something Chrollo wants to stick his finger into and pull out so he can see it more fully. Pity, yes yes, but something more. What is it? And why do you feel it so strongly that he couldn’t stand the shock of it?

When he doesn’t respond, you continue. 

“You have to kill people to survive.”

He snorts. 

“That’s never given me pause before.”

And oh, the way you look at him is absolutely beautiful. Your eyes glisten with tears--not from the pain, surely, but for him?--and your lips, nearly colorless though they are, curl into a pretty pout. 

“But it should, and I’m so sorry it doesn’t.” 

You wince, the shock perhaps ebbing away, letting you feel the pain of your ripped flesh more fully than most of his victims have time to do. But you don’t even press your hands to the wound, and he likes you better for it.

But still. You pity him because he’s a killer? What a waste of the emotion. 

“I have lived for centuries,” he tells you, speaking as if to a child, learning lessons at a father’s knee. “I have seen things your mortal mind could not comprehend. I have seen kingdoms rise and fall, seen civilizations turn to dust.”

He can practically see the cogs in the clock of your mind turning. Perhaps you will be one of those who foolishly asks him for the gift. He has rarely given it, and he wouldn’t give it to you; but he wouldn’t tear you apart for the audacity as he has some others. Your death would be merciful, calm--you’ve earned that. 

But when you speak again, you don’t ask him to make you into a vampire.

“But you must be so lonely.” Your words are sudden, fast. Perhaps you don’t realize you’ve said them until it’s too late to wonder if you’re being too presumptuous, because you stumble over your next words. Or perhaps you’re just that emotional over the thought of him, and wouldn’t that be a delightful novelty?

“Everyone around you dies… your-your family. Friends.” You shake your head, blinking as a few tears finally do drop from your eyes. “You can’t live a normal life… you can’t go out in the sun.” You look up, as if you’re imagining the warm feel of it on your skin.

It’s a sensation he has long since forgotten, but to you it must be as normal as breathing. “I-I can’t imagine how sad that must be. To never be truly warm. To not see the flowers reaching up to the sky or see the grass in the morning, all green and dewy.”

Your arms, no longer trembling, wrap around your chest. 

“I just…” You don’t look at him when you say these last words, but you don’t really need to, do you? Not with the way your voice is choked with emotion, the way tears fall so prettily from your eyes. “I’m so sorry that this happened to you.” 

You are a wonder, truly. Bleeding from the neck, no doubt light headed from blood loss, in the face of a nocturnal creature who moments ago was draining the life from your body… and you apologize to him?

When you live for centuries, you often lose the ability to be surprised. But here is that sensation, now queer, once again. And all because you happened to take an unfortunate shortcut through the park on this night, making yourself easy prey for him to pull into a darkened alley and feast. 

Now, though, he finds his hunger satiated. Or at least satiated until he finds another victim. Someone less worthy to stay alive than yourself, of course. 

After some consideration, he leans backward, and releases his grip on you. His hands ache for the warmth of your skin underneath him, and not for the usual voracious reasons. 

Yet another curiosity to add to his growing list. 

You look at him like he’s lost his mind. Maybe he has. 

“Aren’t you going to kill me?”

Perhaps, if he weren’t who he was, he might feel it too--this feeling of pity. Because you have no idea what he intends to do, and what it will mean for him to keep you alive now. 

You have no sense of the impulsive need that has rooted itself in his brain, a need he hasn’t felt since he was a young fledgling of a vampire. He wants to know you; know what you think and why you think it.

What life has created you so earnestly that you can feel genuine sympathy for a creature like him? Have you known hardship, and it was an impulse to sympathize? Or has your life been so unmarred by difficulty that the pty came easily to you, pure, sweet thing? 

The most important question of all, he thinks, as he pulls you closer to him and shushes the soft sounds you make--

Will you continue to pity him once he has taken you for his own? 

[plus-size-reader]

Sweetheart

Horrorfest 2023

Charlie Walker x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2658 words

Warnings: none really. Just a little horror talk.

At the request of @armyangxls Hope you enjoy it love!

Summary: Inviting Charlie over when the murders start so you don't have to be alone.

—————————————————————————————————

You had always loved a night in.

Whether it was a cozy night spent snuggled up with a blanket and a good book, or a new release of a gory slasher you’d been anxiously waiting to get your hands on, it felt like there was nothing better in the world than being home. 

…but you had to admit that there was one thing that topped even your favorite at-home activity. 

Cinema Club. 

Which, while admittedly only being adjacent to what you’d be doing anyway, did offer the occasional change of scenery that you grew to greatly appreciate. ‘

The Woodsboro High School Cinema Club was the one place in the world where the film geeks and creatives at your school could come together to co-exist, which had been more than enough to draw you in. 

You had always loved movies as a means of expression and any opportunity to talk about them with people who enjoyed them just as much was too good to pass up. 

That wasn’t what really sealed the deal for you though. 

What kept you coming back to that mismatched group of nerds was the underbelly of Cinema Club, comprised of all the horror fanatics and true crime junkies of Woodsboro, who came to get together and discuss some of their favorite aspects of the genre. 

In a town so famous for its own serial killer, there was little open discussion about any aspect, which had never sat right with you.

After all, everyone on planet Earth had seen at least one of the “Stab” films, and still, most of Woodsboro’s residents actively chose to live in a delusion. 

That was what made Cinema Club so compelling, and its president along with it. 

Charlie Walker, or the King of the Freaks as you’d taken to calling him in the comfort of your own mind, was a huge film buff and one of the only people whose love of horror seemed to rival your own. 

He was clever and had a lot of interesting theories about a lot of different things, the Stab franchise and the events that inspired it chief among them. In fact, in the years you’d been attending his club, you’d 

spent several evenings heatedly debating over which slasher was the best or which classic horror trope you’d choose given the option. 

In a lot of ways, he was one of the only people you felt seen by in that way, and eventually, you formed quite an attachment to the man, even if you’d never acted on it. 

Maybe that was why you’d called him. 

It had really come out of left field, and you had never reached out to him before in your life outside of occasionally asking him about a point of contention within the horror community or to get his opinion on something.

You couldn’t even say that you were friends, but that didn’t change the fact that when you got the news that someone wearing a Ghostface mask was running around cutting people up, your first thought had been of Charlie.

It was only natural. 

You were going to be home all night long by yourself, and while that was normally your idea of a fantastic night, it seemed foolish to be alone like a sitting duck all night, hoping you wouldn’t run into a killer. 

After all, Ghostface was a legend around this town and you weren’t about to underestimate what someone could be capable of once they put on that mask.

It seemed right to be afraid, at first. 

Though, now that you were sitting in the dark waiting for Charlie to show up, you were starting to doubt yourself. Would he think you were a huge loser for bothering him over something so arbitrary? Was he doing something when you called? 

If he were, you figured he would have turned you down instead of telling you he’d be at your house in fifteen, but that didn’t mean he didn’t think you were lame. 

God, you were lame, weren’t you? 

You started to sigh, debating whether or not you should just call Charlie and tell him not to bother, but you didn’t get the chance before a loud banging on your front door nearly sent you flying out of your seat. 

Your first instinct was to grab a kitchen knife and take it with you, sort of like how Casey’s character had in the opening scene of the first stab, but you quickly abandoned that idea. 

It hadn’t helped her, and you were sure it wouldn’t prove any more useful for you now. 

“Charlie? Is that you?” you called out, letting your careful footsteps carry you toward the door, without bothering to turn on a light. If it wasn’t him, you didn’t need whoever was out there knowing exactly where you were. 

Briefly, you felt a flash of heat wash over you at how embarrassing this would be if it was Charlie at the door, only to once again have that ice prick at your spine at the even worse possibility that he hadn’t left his house yet. 

What would you do if this was the killer at your door? If you opened it and found that haunting face staring back at you in the pitch dark?

You weren’t sure. 

“You alive in there, sweetheart? I brought popcorn”

All at once, relief flooded you as you took in the voice through the door. It was muffled, sure, but even if you weren’t entirely sure it was Charlie waiting for you, you were confident Ghostface didn’t use pet names like that on his victims. 

“Yeah, I’m good” you assured, pulling open the door to find none other than Charlie Walker standing there, that brown mop of hair falling in his face as he turned to meet your face. 

You weren’t entirely sure what he’d been watching out by the street, but in all honesty, you didn’t even question it. You were so glad to not be alone, especially after that scare, you weren’t even sure you’d processed it, even if he told you.

Proven further when he grinned at you like you’d missed something important. 

“I said, can I come in? I don’t think it’s safe to spend all night in the open doorway” Charlie hummed, making it clear that he was teasing you, which you nearly bristled at. Perhaps, if he’d been anyone else, you would have. 

That was the thing about Charlie though, even when he was poking fun at you, it never felt mean-spirited or cruel, and you appreciated that. 

You had always been a little hard to get to know, and even harder to get along with, but he didn’t even bat an eye at your slightly more reserved nature or casual obsession with grisly crimes and imagery. 

He never made you feel bad, or less than you were. 

“Sure. Come on in,” you suggested finally, taking a brief beat to collect yourself from the very hectic last 2 minutes. 

“Sorry, I feel like this is super weird. I just didn’t want to be alone tonight” you tried, hoping that sounded less pathetic out loud than it did when it reached your ears. 

It would be a lie to say that you’d never thought about having Charlie over, but never had it been under these circumstances, and never had it been this awkward. 

He must have thought you were a freak. 

“No worries. I was just going to spend it with Robbie and trust me, you’re much better company” he assured, watching casually as you closed and latched your front door and turned back to him, visibly relieved. 

He was telling you the truth. 

Given the choice, he would most certainly like to spend time with a pretty girl over the same guy he’d been attached to since grade school. After all, you’d made it clear when you called that you didn’t want to be alone. 

,,,and that you needed someone to look after you. 

Charlie was more than happy to be that someone, and he could protect you if he had to, especially from Ghostface.

“I don’t know about that. Robbie seems like a pretty good time” you countered, trying to joke back with him without it being weird, though he didn’t bother to respond to that. Instead, he followed you into your living room and helped himself to your couch. 

When you’d invited him over, you hadn’t really considered what you’d do to pass the time, but given the pretense for how you knew one another, and the Jiffy pop Charlie had brought, it didn’t seem too far off to put in a movie. 

“I was thinking about watching Stab 2 before I called you,” you prompted, assuming that Charlie would either agree or disagree rather quickly after the suggestion. 

You knew the President of Cinema Club to be a lot of things, but soft-spoken had never been one of them. 

“Sounds good to me”  

This room was one you’d set foot in at least once every day for most of your life, but it wasn’t the warm, inviting space it normally was, at least not with Charlie present. Under his watchful eye, you almost felt as if the air itself was popping with energy.

However, when you once again peeked at him and took in his composure, you realized that nervous energy was actually just buzzing under your skin. 

“The kill in the opening scene of this one is one of my favorite of the franchise. I think the practical effects are so well done,” you hummed, relaxing only slightly as the welcoming score to Stab 2 filled your ears.

The title screen flashed in black and green, a few choppy chase scenes from the middle of the movie playing on repeat while the music blared, and you ate it up just like you did every time. 

It was probably one of your favorite movies of all time, and without even thinking, you sat down next to Charlie, though you kept distance both between your bodies and between you and the back of the couch. 

“The gore in the first movie was more experimental, but I think by this one, they were more confident and knew just how far they could take all the body horror” 

Charlie hummed again, listening to you as you talked with more enthusiasm than he’d ever seen from you during club meetings. 

You participated in discussions, of course, but it was always  more muted and careful. Like, you were constantly worried someone would think you took it too far or crossed some line you weren’t sure existed. 

It was nice to watch you drop all the pretence for once and just enjoy something that clearly meant a lot to the both of you. 

“But, did you know that guy actually burst an eardrum getting stabbed like that, even with a prop knife?” he spoke up, pointing out one of his own fun facts. 

You didn’t, but you could believe it. 

The force that had to go behind something like that, even when it wasn’t real, had to be super intense and you couldn’t imagine being on the receiving end of it, something you apparently said out loud, given Charlie’s face. 

“I don’t know. It might not be that bad, it would take forever though” he allowed, further shocking you as you processed both what he’d said and the fact that you’d accidentally just been way weirder than you’d meant to. 

You stopped, abandoning the movie fully now and turning to face where he’d been sitting, watching your reactions more than the movie itself. 

“What would take forever? Getting stabbed?” you questioned, only partially aware of what you may have asked him in your adrenaline-fueled haze. You couldn’t imagine it took too long from start to finish if you were being honest. 

Charlie scoffed, though it was more of a laugh than anything concrete or mocking, “No, bleeding out from a wound like that. It would take way longer than you’d think” he explained, with a casual shrug. 

You believed him. 

This wouldn’t be the first time he’d shared a strange or unexpected fact with you about something like that, and you certainly didn’t want to question him. Though, you did find yourself glancing toward the door and windows absently. 

When you two had discussed this before, it was always in a well-lit room full of people, but this was much more intimate…and ominous. 

After all, someone had just been stabbed to death yesterday in their home, and you didn’t like the idea of just how long it had taken them to bleed out. 

“Sorry. That’s in bad taste, huh?” Charlie tried, finding the joy he’d gotten from watching you excited coldly replaced with your discomfort, or fear, more likely. “Don’t worry, I got you” he assured, his gaze shifting from the side of your face to your hand.

You were holding the couch cushion lightly in your fist, almost as if it would keep you safe, and that just wouldn’t do. 

Not while he was right here, waiting to comfort you. 

“Nobody’s gonna get you” His words were soft, near a whisper as he focused on gathering his courage and finally made his move, reaching out to take your hand in his own. 

The action made you shift, and rather than falling off the edge of the couch onto the floor, you leaned back, closer to where Charlie was already situated. 

“I just can’t imagine what that’s like” you allowed, steeling your own nerves and meeting his eyes, which subsequently sent a kaleidoscope of butterflies into your gut. 

The topic was grim, and you both knew that, but for such a nasty conversation, you were feeling anything but disturbed. It would have been hard to be, with him looking at you like that, his thumb stroking your wrist gently. 

“You are never going to find out. I can promise you that” Charlie spoke again, more earnest now than you ever could have predicted.

It wasn’t something he could promise, you knew that, but that didn’t make it any less reassuring. 

“Charlie?” 

He hummed, never breaking eye contact with you, not even shifting even as you blinked away, your gaze flicking momentarily to the third death scene playing out on screen.

“This seems like a pretty good time to mention that I have a little bit of a crush on you” you mentally cursed yourself for how small you sounded, but not for long before you had to confront the feeling of Charlie’s mouth against your own in a bruising kiss. 

He had been waiting with bated breath to see which one of you would get the chance to confess first, and while he didn’t think it would be you, he couldn’t be happier regardless. 

The kiss lasted for quite some time, with Charlie only pulling away just long enough to fully close the gap you’d been keeping between your bodies this entire time.

“I’m so glad you called me” he whispered, one of his hands coming to rest on your jaw to keep you close while the other played gently at your fingers. 

You heard yourself let out a dreamy sort of sigh in reply, but you were far too caught up in what you were feeling to really process it. So, rather than dwell on it, you just nodded softly, “I’m so glad you came” 

“I’ll always be here when you need me, sweetheart. Don’t worry about a thing” he cooed, saying each word with the depth and sincerity as a vow, and the intensity that only Charlie Walker could pooling in those blue eyes. 

..and the thing was, you believed every word.

Even on this couch, in the dead of night, in the heart of Woodsboro, you felt completely at ease because who could really get to you when someone looked at you like that? 

Nobody hiding behind a mask, that was for sure. 

[horrororman]

Autopsy and Perkins' 14 were released on January 9, 2009(After Dark Horrorfest)(US).

#horror

[fearsmagazine]

HELL HOLE - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: Shudder

SYNOPSIS: In the heart of the remote Siberian wilderness, an American-led fracking team is dealing with pushback by government-appointed environmental advisors. Amidst the tension, the crew receives approval to commence drilling operations. However, their expedition uncovers an unimaginable horror - a dormant parasitic monster buried deep within the frozen rock. When they accidentally awakened from its slumber, the monstrous entity rampages through the mining facility, relentlessly searching for the ideal host to possess.

REVIEW: From the family-run production company Wonder Wheel Productions, led by Toby Poser, John Adams, and their daughters Lulu and Zelda Adams, comes HELL HOLE, a delightfully wicked creature feature. Their profound passion for genre films is evident in their cinematic creations such as this entertaining adult horrorfest. To borrow a line from George Carlin, their films possess the power to "infect your soul, curve your spine, and prevent the nation from claiming victory in war."

The plot is straightforward, timeless, and includes some delightful nuances. The film's opening sequence, set in 1814 Siberia during one of Napoleon's battles, is particularly hypnotic as it starts the film off with a thrilling bang. The characters are appealing and draw the viewer into the story. The environmentalists are a contrasting scientific duo, with one exuding a mad scientist persona. The drilling crew is humorous, and while some of their dialogue may seem excessive, their heartfelt performances make it enjoyable.

Regarding the creature mythology, some of the proposed scientific explanations are intriguing, while others are intentionally far-fetched to add dark satire. The plot has a subtle Lovecraftian touch, as it feels like a prehistoric Cthulhu, envisioned as a shell-less, tentacled mollusk seeking a refuge similar to a hermit crab, but with a distinct attitude. The writing skillfully blends genre elements, satisfying fans' cravings while simultaneously leaving them wanting more.

The creature design in HELL HOLE is a combination of the work of artist Todd Masters and his team at MastersFX and Trey Lindsay of Moondog Pictures. The creature is fast and elusive, and the filmmakers wisely chose to only show glimpses of it, maintaining an air of mystery and magic. This simple but effective design portrays the creature as a multi-tentacled beast with a mischievous personality, reminiscent, again, of a young Cthulhu. Despite the film's many "wtf" moments, the creature design never grows old.

HELL HOLE showcases exceptional production elements that enhance its overall impact. The film's location selection, cinematography, and editing are meticulously executed, contributing to the creature and special effects sequences' effectiveness. Moreover, John Adams' superb score elevates the film's atmosphere and energy. The music begins with classical movements to punk and heavy metal themes as the film intensifies and aligns perfectly with the film's tone, creating a harmonious blend of sounds and visuals.

In addition to the film's local cast it includes the filmmakers Toby Poser and John Adams, who create distinctive characters that captivate the audience. All the performances maintain the film's energy and engagement, ensuring a consistent level throughout. Notably, the accents of certain characters are a blend of authenticity and cheesiness, intentionally adding a humorous touch to the dark comedy.

After completing its festival run, HELL HOLE is set to make its premiere on Shudder on August 23rd. This is an excellent opportunity to subscribe to the platform if you haven't already. Prepare snacks, gather a selection of refreshing adult beverages, and get ready for a hell of a thrill ride. Additionally, Shudder offers other notable features by the Adams Family such as "The Deeper You Dig" and "HELLBENDER," which you might consider and make it a double feature night. While I have yet to see these films, I've added them to my watchlist and will rectify that soon enough. HELL HOLE has sparked my interest in the Adams Family films, and I eagerly anticipate their future projects. If you enjoyed the musical score of HELL HOLE, I recommend exploring the family's band, H6LLB6ND6R, whose music is available on Spotify.

CAST: Toby Poser, John Adams, Max Portman, Anders Hove, Olivera Perunicic, Aleksandar Trmcic, Petar Arsic, & Bruno Veljanovski. CREW: Directors/Screenplay - John Adams & Toby Poser; Screenplay - Lulu Adams; Producers: Justin Martell, Matt Manjourides, & Miloš Ðukelić; Cinematographer - Sean Dahlberg; Score - John Adams; Editor - John Adams; Production Designer - Vladimir Vićentić; Costume Designer - Ivana Mazić; Creature Designs - MastersFX, Inc.; Visual Effects & Stop-Motion Animation - Trey Lindsay; Special Effects Makeup - Kristina Miljački & Veroljub Naumović OFFICIAL: wonderwheelproductions.com FACEBOOK: www.facebook.com/wonderwheelproductions TWITTER: x.com/adams_films TRAILER: https://youtu.be/hqV4y6z24Y8?si=3wg8XZGBbvr7o3qg RELEASE DATE: Streaming, August 23rd, 2024 Listen to our Interview with John Adams & Toby Poser: HERE

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay), or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

[cidnangarlond]

film: lake mungo

never seen | want to see | the worst | bad | whatever | not my thing | good | great | favorite | masterpiece

LOVED Lake Mungo I don't even remember how it got recommended to me or where I first heard of it but I'm still a bit obsessed with it honestly. opening the movie with Alice saying "I feel like something bad is going to happen to me. I feel like something bad has happened. It hasn't reached me yet but it's on its way." THAT'S CINEMA RIGHT THERE... I really enjoyed the different directions it pulls you in and when you think you have it figured out you really don't and more things keep unraveling. Mike Flanagan AND Jordan Peele both saying this movie scared them. found footage/mockumentary isn't a genre for everyone and is often oversaturated but when a movie gets it right it gets it RIGHT and Lake Mungo is one of them.

another thing I think is interesting is it was released as part of this After Dark HorrorFest film festival from the 2000s it was an annual festival and A LOT of those movies would end up being rentable at Blockbuster and that's where my mom and I would find a lot of movies that were part of the different yearly lineups. LOTS of stinkers I'll tell you what very few actually good movies from those festivals. dumb fun a lot of them or otherwise just not good at all but having seen a good amount of those films Lake Mungo is the only good one LOL but I fondly remember the ones I did see even if they weren't. good. The Abandoned was one of them and made me interested in the topic of doppelgangers but also gave me the fear of being eaten alive by hogs. so it goes

[backcovergirl]

Ad for After Dark Horrorfest III in Fangoria Volume 1 Issue 278 (Nov. 2008)

[eurosleazarchive]

do any of y'all remember the after dark horrorfest or is this specifically a morgue memory

[13thgoat]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: After Dark Horrorfest Set of 5 DVD's from the 8 Films to Die For Series 🧟‍♂️.

[lboogie1906]

Jascha Akili Washington (born June 21, 1989) is an actor and songwriter.

He was born in Kings County, California, and debuted on television in the episode “A Reverend Runs Through It” of the series Brooklyn South. He first appeared on film a year later as Will Smith’s character’s son Eric in Enemy of the State. His notable film and television roles include an episode of The Suite Life of Zack & Cody as character Drew, Trent Pierce in Big Momma’s House and its sequel in a cameo role, Dr. Gideon’s son Eli on Gideon’s Crossing, and as Jerome in Like Mike 2: Streetball. He guest-starred on The Bernie Mac Show episode “It’s a Wonderful Wife” and in the series House M.D. in the episode “Family”. He appeared in Antone Fisher, Like Mike2, Last Holiday, and The Wood, to name a few.

He presented a project The Final at After Dark Horrorfest.

His most recent appearance was Kendall in Frenemies.

Besides his over a dozen films he has worked in television movies, shows, and music videos, and appeared in a handful of commercials. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: No Appointment Necessary [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: No Appointment Necessary [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: It doesn't matter how good of a patient you are: he's going to hurt you, anyway.

For Horrorfest request:

i'm sorry if it's too vague & ignore ofc if so, but! overhaul x medical horror? looking forward to these prompts, thank you!! love your writing so much.

Word count: 1833

notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, medical horror and abuse (including: needles, sedation, restraints, medical ests)

You’ve been living on this hospital bed for oh, so long. Long enough that your world feels horizontal most of the time, an endless parade of the same sights and sounds that has gone so far as to seep into your dreams. 

The windowless wall with nothing to see but shelves--for gloves, for needles, for medicines; and cabinets--for charts and reports and test results. You’d asked Overhaul if he might put up a picture, something sweet and soft, a flower, a cloud, a drawing. And he’d looked at you like he wanted to coo, but he denied your request--

“Clinic rooms are no place for pretty things.” And he’d paused, then. “Except for you, of course.”

So you don’t see a pretty picture on the wall. 

Above you, there’s the bare ceiling with its tiles, counted a million times. Often, there is Overhaul, wearing his medical mask and always framed by a surgical light that he swivels around. His eyes are always intent, staring down at you with varying degrees of curiosity, focus, possession, irritation, disgust, but never pity.

The machines next to you, which at least offer a little variation. Sometimes your heart rate is fast, sometimes slow. Sometimes the IV is clear and other times it has an awful tinge to it; those are the medicines that make your arms hurt, make you feel sluggish and sick, before you are forced into darkness.

The only reason that you don’t have bed sores, you think, is because Overhaul would find them too disgusting to treat. So you are turned like clockwork and walked like a dog every day. He gives you a mild sedative beforehand, of course, so that you’re too woozy to try something silly like running away from him. It’s too hard to run when the world spins and you’re only wearing grippy socks and he has to drag the wheeled IV behind you as you shuffle along.

You look forward to your walks, hazy those they are, because at least when you’re being walked you’re not on the bed. And if you’re not on the bed, he can’t do anything awful to you.

Like this, right now.

Your inhale is sharp and pained, and you whimper out something like a protest as he pushes the ultrasound wand down harder against your skin, moving, moving. Looking for something--but what? Your stomach is uncomfortably warm and sloppy, rubbed with lubricant that makes it easier to push the wand around.

“Stop complaining.” His words are spoken so casually that it only makes them sting more. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“It does,” you whine. And maybe you’re exaggerating a little. It doesn’t hurt in the same way as the needles sometimes do or the medicines that make your heart go too fast or the aftermath of waking up from his quirk, when things went awry. 

But a little pain is still pain and you’re stuck in this bed wearing a hospital gown for what will probably be the rest of your miserable life, so why can’t you complain?

“It doesn’t,” he corrects. “You’re just being childish. If you keep squirming, I’ll have to strap you down again.” 

Your lip trembles, but you don’t vocalize your complaints anymore. Instead you force your eyes up, glancing as much as you can at the ultrasound screen, where you can see the vague impressions of your organs being mapped and recorded.

This test is taking longer than you thought. You’d like lunch. You weren’t allowed to eat breakfast or your morning snack because he said you had to fast for the ultrasound. You did get a bit of water with your medicine, but that was it. 

After a while of him pressing the wand around, humming, clicking on his computer, you sigh.

“What are you looking for?” 

He doesn’t so much as glance down at you. Instead, he pushes particularly hard against your side, then tsks. 

“Don’t worry your little head about it. Just checking on the progress we’re making.”

Your hands curl into a fist and uncurl, then curl and uncurl. It sometimes keeps you calm, when you’re worried. But right now it’s mild entertainment, more entertaining than the gray-and-black-and-white blobby organs you can only just barely see on the screen.

“Progress we’re making on what?”

This time, he does glance down at you. Is he smiling? He might be. The skin around his eyes crinkles a little.

“Something wonderful, dearest. But don’t trouble yourself.”

You hum, unwilling to argue, and go back to staring at the ceiling. Maybe this time, when you count the tiles, the number will be different.

--

Lunch is always the same. You used to hate that, but now it’s almost comforting. Anything routine is better than wondering what awful thing might happen next and will that awful thing involve needles, scalpels, or his bare hands? 

So, no, you don’t mind eating the same lunch tray this afternoon. Steamed rice, fish and vegetables and a cup of broth soup that he tells you is fortified. When he first brought you here, you’d thrown the trays on the ground and accused him of drugging you because he was a really sick FUCK.

So he strapped you down, fed you through your nose, and sedated you while explicitly describing exactly how much sedative he was inserting into your IV every time.

You don’t accuse him of things like that anymore. You also don’t throw away your food.

And it’s become apparent that, for as much as he does use sedatives on you, he never hides them in your food or tricks you. Is that worse or better? Sometimes it’s better, you think, because he’s letting you know before it happens. You can prepare yourself, steel your nerves, be ready. But it might be nice not to sit there for a few minutes, heart pounding, agonizing over the fact that you know he’s about to drug you. 

Ah well, it doesn’t matter, because you don’t have a choice in what he does anyway. 

When lunch is over, you let him clean you up. He wipes your mouth and you sanitize your hands in the portable sink he brings over to the bed. And when you’re settled down long enough to wonder what the rest of the day will look like.

On good days, the tests mostly involve checking your pulse, your blood pressure, your reflexes. Maybe drawing a bit of blood, which usually isn’t so bad. He lets you rest and once he even rolled in a TV on wheels and you watched a movie. Now that was a good day, but that hasn’t happened again. Maybe it was too exciting.

On bad days… on bad days you are strapped to the bed, because even if you are trying your very best to be compliant,  you cannot stop yourself from trying to rip out the IVs that pump painful sludge into your veins; you cannot help but scream and thrash and try to get away.

But while you are pondering all of this, Overhaul has come back, clipboard in hand.

He looks you up. He looks you down. 

“You’ll have to be sedated for this evening,” he says.

And oh, you know at once: bad day.

You shift backwards on the bed, the paper-like material of your gown scrunching up around your knees as you bring them to your chest.

Your mouth already feels cotton dry. Maybe your throat is anticipating the screams.

“Does it have to be today?” 

He blinks at you. Then walks over to the side of the bed and pulls out the restraints--two for your wrists, two for your ankles. 

“Lay down. Don’t make a fuss. Can you do that much?” 

It takes you a long, agonizing moment but yes, you can do that much. Because you know what happens if you fight. You squeeze your eyes shut while he straps you in, but before you open them, there’s a gloved hand on your forehead--a sympathy touch? Or, ah--just checking for fever.

Whatever the case, you hear the sound of a snapping glove and the dull thud of the containment trash can being open and shut. 

And then a hissing. The sound of wheels rolling harshly against the floor. A pop of plastic being released from its holder. 

Your fingers clench inward until your nails bite your skin. 

You open your eyes just in time to see the edge of the gas mask fitting over your nose, fogging up just a tad when you whimper into the unforgiving plastic. It’s an awful taste, and you can never get used to it--like licking the inside of a beach ball that’s been left to sit in the sun. It seeps into your mouth, your nose, down your throat.

Your eyes blink and blink, fighting and heavy, but it doesn’t help: your consciousness slams into the darkness.

--

You wake up. You always wake up, though you’re not always terribly grateful for that fact. 

Waking up is slow, like pulling your feet out of something deep and sticky. The world comes back in waves. Sounds, first, always sounds. The beeping of your machines. His voice, sometimes, talking to himself as he jots down notes. Occasionally the sound of someone else--an assistant, though you rarely see them at all. 

Sight, then, but it’s more gradual. Maybe it would be easier if the room was brighter or if there was a window. Or if you were actually interested in what was in front of you beyond the need to know what will happen to you today.

Then sensation comes back into your limbs that feel like lead even after you’ve woken up. 

You smack your lips. Dry lips. Dry mouth. Dry throat. 

But you don’t need to ask for water. Overhaul is there with a little paper cup that he presses to your lips, slowly, tipping just enough that you don’t choke out of eagerness. 

When you swallow

“The procedure went very well,” he says. He sounds cheerful. But his words only carve out a dull ache in  your stomach.

“What… did you do this time?”

He never tells you. He only taps his clipboard and moves on, and you don’t push the issue out loud.

All you know is that something else is missing. Some integral part of you, as if each time he puts you under, you wake up with less of yourself; what has he scooped out with a knife or his hands or his very presence?

Your quirk?

Your soul?

Something else, far more intangible but just as precious? 

The pillow underneath your head is hospital-grade. The ceiling above your head has an even number of tiles, one of which has an old water stain that you’re surprised was allowed to remain. The machines on  your side continue to beep and your left arm lays palm upward, so your IV doesn’t get disturbed.

And you? 

You’re still on the hospital bed--and that’s where you’ll stay. 

[ticketmastersince2k4]

TBT 2023: ZMD & Hidden 3D

Welcome backward, Ticketholders!

This week's TBT 2023 push is another Welcome to the Dead Parade/After Dark Horrorfest double-feature with zombie comedy gone right and pseudoscientific experiments gone wrong.

Enjoy!

[preetkiran1016]

Two bangfics to choose from?? Please go with whichever one has a check-in soonest XP

well hell imma do both for ya!!!!! thank you for the ask

for (superman) mesh:

“You like pushing me around huh?” Ray grins, mouth a clever blade in the dark. Ben nods, words escaping him as ray tugs him along, stumbling through the apartment (towards the bedroom, he assumes). Ray’s light on his feet, dodging furniture as he dances backward, and Ben can only keep up. His grip’s gone lax, and Ray takes full advantage, pushing him up against a door frame to run his hands under Ben’s sweater, and he shudders at the shock of cool, slim fingers against heated skin.

for adoration (horrorfest):

“Ray.” Fraser starts after shift. Ray’s tempted to ignore him, walk out and let the guy figure out his own way back to the consulate, but he curbs it. Fraser’s already beat to shit, bandages poking out under his uniform. Ray can be nice.

“Yeah Fraser?”

Fraser shuffles, eyes hidden under his hat. “I… thank you. For tolerating my behavior today. I know I was–”

“D-U-M Dumb?” Ray grins, and Fraser rolls his eyes, but Ray can see how he’s trying not to smile, fighting to keep the poker face.

(I realized I double posted this snippit so imma add some more from another part)

“I don’t get why we have to waste our night on a stake out that Welsh knows won’t go anywhere.” Ray grumbles, fingers tapping to a beat only he can hear. Ben nods, staring out the front windshield at their chosen location. The lieutenant had all but told them that nothing was likely to happen, but still, they had to ensure that the Ellery brothers didn’t catch them off gaurd.  

[usunezukoinezu]

''Like all products of the unconscious, fairy tales have both a light side and a dark side. Modern versions, such as the Disney adaptations, tend to emphasize the light side. But more traditional versions include scenes that are as dark as those found in horror films. The creator of the blood-soaked horrorfest The Texas Chain Saw Massacre said he envisioned it as an updated version of Hansel and Gretel. ... Clearly, fairy tales aren’t for everyone, and they’re best enjoyed in small doses. It can be tempting to pick up an anthology and read one story after another, but it’s better to read just one, and then let it work on you for a while. Fairy tales aren’t like other stories because fairy tales speak directly to the unconscious. They stir things up, making unconscious contents more likely to erupt into consciousness. A fairy tale tends to inhabit one’s thoughts for a long time after it’s been read. You may find yourself thinking about it for days. It might even intrude into your thoughts in ways that are uncomfortable. Some people dislike fairy tales because they activate frightening feelings that are hard to manage. (If that happens to you, respect what your unconscious is telling you and put the book away.)''

- Daniel Z. Lieberman, Spellbound