I've been trying to write one of those really creepy and awful stories that are so popular in the scary movie genre these days, like Saw or Hostel or Saw III or Hostel XI: The Hosteling. They always start off okay, I think. There's always a crazy guy, a real nut job with serious issues and gender confusion. He's usually a genius and a craftsman of some ilk and, naturally, the plan is for his craft to figure prominently in the horrible things he does to his victims later in the story. Heavy foreshadowing makes this plain.
Then I introduce the victims. Sometimes they are a group of friends, newly graduated from high school, bound together by their extreme beauty and the fact that they are each a perfect manifestation of a character type. There's always a tough, dumb guy who drinks a lot of beer. There's always a handsome, brooding, smart guy with dark hair. He always hangs out with a girl who's just his friend, even though they're both in love with each other, and have been since math camp in eighth grade. She's "teen-movie unattractive", which means she's a knockout but she wears a flannel shirt or glasses. In this manifestation there is some sort of back story that explains how the victims fall into the hands of the psycho.
Some of the other versions have a group of strangers, adults, just waking up together in the dungeon of the psycho. They have no idea how they got there or where they are. It's a standard crew. The old, grouchy, bald guy. The kind, hunky guy with a past. The mentally-challenged guy who's actually a savant of some sort. The liberal, activist lady with an attitude. The boob lady. The cop/military hard-ass. You know the group. They immediately start trying to escape, and only slowly begin to figure out what's going on.
From here, however, I run up against my limitations as a horror writer. In one way or another, the plot always falls apart before the real killing begins. The psycho will have one of the victims (usually the old, grouchy, bald guy) ready to really mess up badly. The other victims start pleading with the psycho not to hurt the old man. They start into these long, heart-felt monologues about the value of all life. They speak soothingly to the psycho about hope and healing and about how things can be different. Things don't have to be like this. The psycho, who's name is actually Brad, begins to cry. Brad drops the knife or ax or chainsaw or auger or knitting needles or paintbrush or caulking gun or clarinet or sock puppet or blow torch and falls, weeping, to his knees, and all the victims rush in and hug him. Then they all go out for a nice dinner and have a great time. And, even though Brad drinks a little too much and ends up sticking his salad fork into the waiter's eye, they explain the situation to the waiter and he understands and sits with them and they all become best friends forever.
See? Just awful.
Hello, friends. Happy Halloween. Hug a witch today. Tell me something good. Spooky, but good.
Later. Love.
BOO!
