Saturday, October 31, 2020

AMOK Halloween 2020


The owners of a white, newly-built warehouse rented the empty space to station W-AMOK for its Halloween bash. Along one wall, beneath glass-block windows, stood a seven-foot overseer's platform. It afforded ample room for the camera crew broadcasting live on Saturday at 10pm, a nice coincidence for the Wicca Horror Show. 

MC Wicca was joined by producer Ed, the dwarf Hecabano, the Dracula Bride Cambris, and a reporter from a women's mag who liked to quote Ed's zingers. Hecabano used a small fan to blow bubbles and black balloons over the party goers. No hokey Halloween tunes for Wicca; currently they danced to the Altered Images rocker Think That It Might.

A wide screen on the opposite wall featured highlights from classic TV Halloweens. Powered by Wicca's glass skull, they served as warmup for the Team Dan feature to come. A Gilligan's Island show offered his nightmare about being a vampire after being bitten by a bat. He swooped in on a victim.

"My favorite episode," Wicca said into the mike. "Mrs Howell finally gets hers."

Cambris sneered over fang tips. "What parody of a dread lord is this? I shall wring the black ichor from his veins." Such pleasant thoughts made her notice the reporter. "If you have need of the powder room, I can show you there."

Ed leaned forward. "You stay right there, Gladys!"

The next clip had the Munsters overnighting in a ghost town. Hearing noise downstairs, Lily was rousting Herman out of bed to investigate.

"She's always doing that," Wicca griped. "They all brag about dead relatives dropping in to visit. Give them the benefit of the doubt."

Hecabano showered those in range with German "misfortune cookies", which came with comically pessimistic predictions. "In this case, Maven of Misery, Lily is correct. Two con men try to scare them off the property."

"Whomever and whatever." Wicca motioned at the screen as Collide's The Lunatics Have Taken Over The Asylum wound up its calypso beat. "Here's the showdown between the Dans and Count Rotbone."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

On a low stage, dancers gyrated to makeshift music: barrel drums, triangle chimes, wood flutes. Their "costumes" consisted of paint fanned on in bizarre patterns. Nearby in the glow of a red lantern sat Count Rotbone, whose bravos grinned in anticipation of a rumble.

Zena spoke low to Dan. "If he's been nipping at this crowd, he must be three and a third sheets to the wind."

"He has been hitting it pretty hard," Dan said. "I think you're onto something, seeing as how we're on the third floor."

"Where ya goin', Danno?" Pete, with Bonnie's help, tried to restrain him. 

Ed started to rise before Dan eased him back down. "You can't mix up alone with this doom shyte mofo."

Gladys: Let me jot that down for Ed to explain. Doom. . . .shyte. . . .

Hecabano: Er, scratch that out, madame.

Dan merely strode to the window overlooking the harbor district. "Nice breeze tonight. Count, you shouldn't fly after all that boozing."

"Vat are you trying to say, Daniel?" Rotbone's eyes glittered.

"That you can turn yourself into a sheet and float home. Unless you're scared to try."

"Rotbone," warned the crime boss Eliot, "get back here."

The count flung Eliot into a table of rowdies, scattering the dancers. "A most velcome challenge, Earth man!" He swaggered unsteadily  to the window and mounted the sill. "By the Fates and Furies, I'm a sheet!" A flyblown pile went splot on the cobblestones in the courtyard.

Dan nodded with satisfaction. "And that accent didn't let me down."

Zena peered down. "Whoa, like, that's not natural." The pile sprouted a skull and wings. "He can't be serious. He's gonna fly in that condition?" She ducked as the thing took flight and come through the window.

With a maniacal cackle, Rotbone-Pile flapped around the tavern driving terrified folks under tables. He didn't  notice the support column, into which he piled with a wet splat, then slid down with eyes crossed. 

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Cambris glared at the crowd laughter. "Since the arrival of the brides, he is less inclined to so disgrace the dark arts."

The reporter turned to her. "You have a good turn of a phrase. Can I quote you?"

"We need a quiet spot in which to be alone." Cambris' eyes became pinpoints.

Ed leaned forward. "You stay right there, Gladys!"

No comments:

Post a Comment