Horror Show Read Free Page A

noticed was the smell.
    An oppressive atmosphere of mustiness and decay permeated the high-ceilinged rooms. Air had been denied circulation here for a long time. Clint had been in old people’s houses before, and they all had that peculiar, closed-in odor. His grandmother’s house smelled like that, except that hers had the subtle bouquet of mothballs in addition to the dusty stillness. Here, in Woodley’s horror hotel, the mothballs had been replaced by the sour scent of cheap cigars and rotgut whiskey. And something else, too, something unclean and animal, a fetid, corporeal stench. Clint guessed the place hadn’t been cleaned in years.
    The interior of Woodley’s house resembled a Gothic rummage sale furnished primarily from film sets: oversize wooden chairs, a standing suit of armor, a Styrofoam coat of arms, some faded plastic plants. Like the movies he’d made, the mansion was a low-budget, fright night turkey, the second feature at a drive-in in some dismal town where there was nothing better to do on Saturday night.
    It reminded Clint of the old man’s cinematic visions, and his own earliest memories.
    He had learned something about himself watching that twisted crap, something that would stay with him for the rest of his life. He discovered that he loved to be scared.
    â€œIsn’t that the Iron Lady from I Married a Vampire ?” Clint asked. Fake blood, now the color of dried chocolate, flowed down the side of it in gaudy patterns.
    â€œYeah, I used it in Attack of the Haunted Saucer , too,” Landis said through phlegm-clogged vocal cords. Clint could hear the old man wheeze. He sounded like he had emphysema. “Buzzy Haller built it. We loved it so much we tried to use it in every damn picture. The thing photographed great. It’s made of plywood and polyurethane foam.”
    â€œ Attack of the Haunted Saucer is one of my all-time favorites,” Clint said.
    â€œYeah,” Landis coughed. “A real piece of work. Did you read what The New Yorker said? They called it the worst movie of all time, can you imagine that?”
    â€œYeah, I’ve heard it called that, but I don’t see it that way. I recently saw it at a festival of fifties horror films, and the audience loved it.”
    Landis rummaged through some papers and ignored him. He picked up a clipping and read, “Woodley’s trashy production is a depressing, hopelessly conducted farce. The acting, sets, plot, camera work, and laughable special effects all bear his indelible stamp of ugly cheapness. He makes Ed Wood look like Kurosawa. A big fat piece of crap!” He looked up at Clint and scowled. “Worst movie of all time? Fuck them. What do they know?”
    Clint was about to answer when Woodley continued.
    â€œWhat these guys don’t realize is that Attack of the Haunted Saucer was a quickie. I don’t argue that, but I defy anybody to make a feature-length movie for five thousand dollars in three days and have it show a profit. Even in 1956, which was a great year for low budgets, that was a record.”
    Landis’s rage kept like bottled steam. Clint knew it was a ponderous cross for the retired filmmaker to bear, and he decided to keep the interview light … until the end.
    They sat facing each other on an ancient sofa that belched and farted when Clint eased his slim frame into it. The old man collapsed into a battered, vinyl Universal-Lounger. A half-full bottle of generic whiskey dominated the tiny end table next to him. Woodley made no attempt to hide the fact that he enjoyed drinking the world’s cheapest booze in the middle of the afternoon.
    â€œWant some?” he wheezed.
    Clint shook his head.
    â€œI guess you want to hear about Saucer , the so-called worst movie of all time,” Landis blurted out to Clint’s surprise.
    â€œYeah, among other things. How do you feel about that?” Clint asked, getting his notebook out and depressing