“Evil Dead: The Musical” washes across Spotlight stage

A group of randy young adults head out to an isolated cabin in the forest and uncover the fabled Necronomicon, the Book of the Dead. Playing an audio recording by an investigating professor, the incantations unleash a host of demons into the physical realm. It’s up to enterprising S-Mart employee Ash (Rick Cheshire, who bears an uncanny physical resemblance to actor Bruce Campbell) to quash his demon possessed friends and stave off the invasion of unworldly forces, with a few song and dance numbers thrown in amidst all the severed body parts.

Local actors transform into the walking undead – and audience members risk transforming into Sissy Spacek from Carrie in the new gore interactive revue “Evil Dead: The Musical” at Bakersfield’s Spotlight Theater. Based on Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead film series, the Spotlight Theater is proud to host the West Coast premiere of the cult favorite musical after an extended off-Broadway run. Even with their heavy gore content, the Evil Dead films actually lend themselves well to musical comedy. After all, the remake of the original film, Evil Dead II: Dead By Dawn (1982) took the slapstick comedy route.

The local cast attacks their parts with the unbridled gusto of flesh-eating zombies, with two local actors standing out in particular. Jennifer Sorkin, best known for heading the Rocky Horror Picture Show shadow cast the Velvet Darkness really shines as Cheryl, the luckless sister of Ash transformed into a soul-sucking zombie. Confined mostly to the basement, Sorkin rattles off atrocious puns and snide one-liners with great aplomb. Jack Slider also shines as Jake, a no-nonsense good ol’ boy who won’t let any undead minions come between him and his overalls. Slider also had a hand in the show’s many dance numbers.

That being said, theater goers need to be warned about two things in advance. While the stage musical adheres closely to the original films, an awful lot of risqué humor has been tossed into the devilish brew in the process. Parents who want to take their kids to see a goofy stage show with monsters should be forewarned that there’s an awful lot of blue humor. If you don’t have a problem with your child seeing decapitations, eviscerations and blood showering the stage in geysers, but would feel uncomfortable with them seeing gags involving various sexual positions, keep them at home.

Secondly, audience members should be aware that they have the option of “splat” and “non-splat” seating. The first three rows of the Spotlight Theater are covered with plastic, and those seeking the “splat” seats are advised to buy a rainproof poncho on sale in the lobby. Blood showers the audience during the play’s many murder sequences, ranging from light drizzles to buckets of blood. This sticky, light orange concoction is the work of theater tech Edd French, and at one point in the second act, this writer was doused with a tidal wave of blood. Soaked to the skin, I retreated to the back rows to watch the conclusion. In retrospect, I had no one to blame but myself as I had requested a “splat” seat.

Directed by Jarred Clowes, “Evil Dead: The Musical” is a sure bet for a hilarious and sanguine evening of local theater. It runs on weekends at the Spotlight Theater up until Halloween night, October 31^st. 

In the waning days of the 20^th Century, a popular singer would shatter, redefine and transcend all concepts of sexuality, gender, race and class. The world would embrace him, shower him with untold riches, indulge his whims, then turn on, persecute, ostracize and then ignore him. David Bowie notwithstanding, singer Michael Jackson was the true Man Who Fell to Earth. Obscenely wealthy, with only a passing resemblance to humanity, Jackson flitted between being an angelic ambassador of goodwill to a horrific monster that preyed upon the innocent, sometimes simultaneously. The true tragedy was just prior to his sudden death due to cardiac arrest on June 25^th, Jackson’s albums languished on music store shelves, a casualty of the ever fickle public.

The youngest son of the musical family the Jacksons, Michael would delight prepubescent girls with his elfin appeal as the lead singer of the Jackson Five. Jackson’s childhood, according to some reports was a very dark one. Under the whip of a demanding father, Jackson would learn about the facts of life from the groupies his elder brothers would pass around after concert dates. His 1972 breakthrough hit “Ben,” a love theme crooned to a rat, allegedly drew upon his own lonely hours with only the household vermin to speak to.

Bigger things lay in store. His album Off the Wall rocketed off the charts, and his stratospheric follow-up Thriller galvanized the music industry. His popularity also shattered the then-apartheid American music market. Rock music radio stations tacitly didn’t play “black” artists, but Jackson’s overwhelming popularity simply could not be ignored. Jackson’s videos for “Beat It,” “Thriller” and “Billie Jean” also pushed through the concept of the music video as art form, miniature movies with drive and narrative comparable to full-length motion pictures.

Perhaps the crown jewel in the Prince of Pop’s crown was in corralling diverse musician and personalities together for the hit single “We Are the World.” Taking a cue from the British hit “Feed the World,” Jackson gathered singers of every stripe and genre to sing out for African famine relief. A shining example of pop music giving back to the global community, countless other music-related efforts have since concentrated on helping the less fortunate.

In spite of this, there was definitely something drastically wrong with Michael Jackson. Whereas other singers traded on raw sexuality, Jackson embraced an androgynous innocence. In spite of arranged dates with Brooke Shields and Madonna, there were whispers that the Moonwalker was perhaps gay, or possibly still a virgin. Furthermore, Jackson refused to grow up. Seizing J. M. Barrie’s storybook hero Peter Pan as a role model, Jackson christened his sprawling ranch “Neverland,” a perverse personal playground open to all children of the world – in particular young boys with poor families anxious to turn a quick buck.

Mutilating his features with countless plastic surgeries and bleaching his skin white, Jackson would mutate into a disturbing approximation of Lon Chaney’s Phantom of the Opera. Enormous nostrils, unnaturally large eyes and smooth complexion framed by black hair cascading down in ringlets. Bound and determined to stay in international headlines, in spite of dwindling record sales, Jackson would stage stunts to stay in the public’s hearts and minds. Appearing in public wearing a surgical mask, offering large sums of money for the skeleton of John “Elephant Man” Merrick, posing in a hyperbaric chamber, Jackson made sure he titillated tabloids throughout the Eighties and Nineties.

Jackson’s attempts at notoriety would backfire. Accused of child molestation in 1994, Jackson settled with his accusers out of court. The parade of kiddies continued unabated through Jackson’s countless hotel rooms, up until 2003 when new allegations surfaced. In and out of court, Jackson would appear in newspapers as an unshaven space alien. Acquitted of all counts in 2005, Jackson would return to his own children, reportedly sired through artificial insemination with anonymous mothers. Further fueling paparazzi, Jackson would dangle his new born baby son “Blanket” from a fourth floor balcony in Berlin. Any other father caught doing this would be given a one-way ticket to the Stony Lonesome, but not Jackson.

Leading up to his death, Jackson was preparing for a series of concert dates in England, prophetically dubbed the “final curtain call.” Collapsing after s series of rehearsals, Jackson was pronounced dead due to heart failure at the much too young age of 50.

No one sold as many records as Jackson did. No one crossed as many lines defining race or gender than Jackson did. The scariest, most satanic Goth rocker could never hope to be a fraction as horrifying as Jackson was.

Michael Jackson was the entertainer the world deserved. His public demanded an unhappy ending, and he gave them one. A true star.

My first love is cinema, and to honor Valentine’s Day, I ventured to the Burbank Marriott Convention Center for the semi-annual autograph show. I had previously collected signed photos at various horror conventions and whatnot, but this world-famous event gave me the ample opportunity to see a wide variety of faded celebrities – within and without any genre – hawking the remnants of their fame. I went with a limited amount of money and with two goals in mind, securing the autographs of Malcolm McDowell and Paul “Pee Wee Herman” Reubens. There were to be far bigger stars that day such as Debbie Reynolds, Carrie Fisher, Tony Curtis and Joan Collins (more on her later), but Reubens’ and McDowell’s signatures would be the only one that I would pay money for. ....

Arriving at the Marriott, I was surprised to find a very long line snaking around the main hall. Seeing as movie stars are a very commonplace occurrence in Burbank, it was interesting to see so many local people interested in shelling out recession-era dollars for autographs and memorabilia. When times are tough, escapism appears to be a hot commodity. ....

Seeing as McDowell is still high in demand as an actor, it was reasonable to expect that he would have the longest line. He certainly had the one with the longest wait. While chiefly known for his role as Alex in Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange (1971), McDowell has had a very long and distinguished acting career in movies and television, and as s luck would have it, I would have to be behind the fellow who had EVERY film poster that McDowell ever starred in. Prices at this show were $30 to sign a personal item, $25 for a signed photo. I just so happened to be behind a rich fan with massive poster collection. ....

After a thirty-minute plus wait, I presented McDowell with a most unusual Clockwork Orange souvenir. At the time of Clockwork’s release, there had been a flurry of cheap, fly-by-night record companies that packaged the classical music used in the film. These records have long since been consigned to budget racks in thrift stores. The album I proffered McDowell that day had by far the ugliest cover sleeve of all: a butter knife plunged into an orange with a puddle of blood painted underneath. McDowell agreed that the sleeve was indeed hideous. “I have never seen this album cover before in my life, and with luck, I will never see it again!” he announced before signing the jacket “Viddy well! Malcolm McDowell”....

With McDowell’s signature, I sought out the signature of Pee Wee Herman. My nieces are big Pee Wee fans, and I brought along two DVD slipcases for him to autograph. Reubens was there in full makeup and costume, but seemed rather nonplussed by the whole affair. The wait for his autograph was a relatively short one. Approaching his table, I said, “Hi Pee Wee, I have two nieces –“....

He cut me off unexpectedly. “I have two nieces, too! We’re exactly the same!”....

I was unsure of his cost of autographs – would he charge me for two autographs, or one? He was gracious to autograph the slip-cases for the price of a single signature, and my mission for the day had been accomplished. ....

One celebrity that warranted special attention was Joan Collins. She was in her own room off from the main ballroom, with the shades drawn to keep away the light. Only seven people were admitted at a time. “Ms. Collins can’t abide crowds,” I was told at the door. Fawning fans begged signatures to old Dynasty kitsch, and there was a selection of black and white photos available. Disappointed that there were no pictures of her in her horror movies roles like Tales from the Crypt, Empire of the Ants or I Don’t Want to Be Born!, I passed on getting an autograph but was thrilled to be in the presence of such an icon. Wearing massive shades to perhaps cover wrinkles, Collins nonetheless “put on a big show” with ample décolletage …....

There were many, many other celebrities and quasi-celebrities at the event. The B-move field was represented by Arch Hall Jr. (The Sadist) and Richard Kiel (Eegah!), both who seemed too busy for autographs by the time I wound my way to their table. Also on hand was porno star Seka, a salty survivor who has since came out of seclusion to host her new porn-on-demand Web site. When I told her that Inside Seka was my very first porn film, she declared, “Bless ya, hon! Go to my Web site and spend lots of money! I promise I won’t get mad if you look at any other bodies other than my own.”....

So many other personalities were there … child actors Robby Rist, Pamela Ferdyn, character actor Yaphet Kotto, rock drummer Carmen Appice … but my money had run low. Chatting with some old acquaintances at some of the memorabilia tables, I beat a hasty retreat back to Bakersfield to return to my life of quiet desperation. ....

Lewis contemplated the face of the clown and grinned. A bright red smile painted from ear to ear, the clean white greasepaint accentuated the bright blue stars above each eye. It wasn’t possible to look at the face and not think about childhood afternoons spent at the circus.

But Lewis knew too well about the man lurking behind the bulbous nose. Abandoning his wife and child, the man cultivated a reputation as a ruthless businessman. It was only in this rare, private instance that the man had ever worn a smile – or gave one to anyone else.

The clock on the wall reminded Lewis that people would be arriving in 20 minutes. Rushing to man his post, Lewis wiped off the client’s makeup with a towel drenched in cold cream and closed the lid of the casket.

(The following is a sketch I wrote for Project Turkey Day for the Empty Space Theatre. Black Friday was the capper for a series of Thanksgiving-related sketches. Very few people saw the play, but I understand that my sketch was very warmly received.

(The stage is blank, the only setting suggested by a long line of customers dressed in winter clothes, all in anticipation of the hot new computer game 'Durango 2-10.' It is the day after Thanksgiving, very early in the morning suggested by dim light. Among some colorfully dressed nerds to suggest the fantasy characters in the game, we see friends DEREK and MONTY, two not too-young guys shivering in the cold.)

DEREK

Man! The second I was done with Thanksgiving dinner yesterday I was waiting out here in line! No time to say hello, goodbye, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late for a very important date -- the new Durango 2-10 game!

MONTY

Right on! The Internet buzz on the features on this baby have been huge! Seven different levels! All the returning characters, all with different features!

DEREK

And don't forget that state-of-the-art joystick! It's going to blow every other comparable game right out of the ballpark!

MONTY

Yeah! My mom wasn't too happy about me cutting out of dinner just a little too early, but hey! That's her loss!

DEREK

Yeah! Who wants another Thanksgiving dinner with the same old dysfunctional bunch of characters?

MONTY

Yeah! I couldn't stand one more minute of my uncle going off on his tired old conspiracy theories! Please spare me! Or my cousin Kyle, giving us a blow-by-blow account of all of his medical problems over the past year! Bleah!

DEREK

Bleah is right! I got pretty sick and tired of my sister going off about how talented her snot-nosed children are! 'Oh, my little Brian knows all of his multiplication tables and he's still in the first grade!' Big deal!

MONTY

Yeah … (Noticing a young man in front of them, ERNEST, who appears to be the only one in line without a jacket, gloves or scarf on and seems to be dressed for a casual dinner date.) So! How long have you been waiting in line for the Durango 2-10?

ERNEST

Oh, I'm not in line for the video game or whatever … I'm hear to see Tami Hall, the reporter for the local cable affiliate! She's going to be interviewing the people in line this morning, and I have to see her! I'm her number one fan! I'm going to present her with this portrait that I drew of her when it's my turn in line to speak! (ERNEST reaches into his pants pocket, pulls out a piece of paper wadded into a ball, and smoothes it out. It is a black felt pen drawing of a round face, two eyes and a mouth with a pre-Kindergartner's version of girl's hair, long lines with a bow on top of the head. MONTY and DEREK can scarcely contain their horror.) Pretty good, isn't it? I spent a lot of time researching her face … I taped it off the news, got all the different angles and stuff. I especially like it when at the end of her newscast she looks out to me, directly, and says 'I love you,' but she says it so quickly and so under her breath no one else notices. It's like when Carol Burnett would tug her ear at the end of all of her shows to say hello to her grandma, right? Well, that's not all, I've written a novel about our love affair soon-to-be, and (ERNEST pulls out another balled-up wad of paper out of his pocket, smoothes it out and begins to read) right here's an excerpt: 'Oh, Tami, your body looks so beautiful in the moonlight, naked in the swimming pool … your eyes are so deep and wide, and there's a question I've been dying to ask you --- what do you think of those Dodgers?'

(DEREK and MONTY break into a hurried dialogue in order to evade ERNEST while keeping their place in line.)

DEREK

-- but like I say, there's going to be a state-of-the-art joystick that's going to blow all other comparable games right out of the water!

MONTY

Yeah, yeah, yeah! With graphics to sear off your eyeballs! Yeah!

(An OLDER GENTLEMAN approaches DEREK and MONTY.)

OLDER GENTLEMAN

Excuse me, but are you young men waiting in line for the Durango 2-10 Video game? I just got here, and I see that both of you have a better place in line, and well … getting the Durango 2-10 would mean an awful lot to my boy.

DEREK

Well, I'm sure they have enough. This store is very good about meeting customer demand.

MONTY

Yeah, just give it a couple of days and you can get it way below list price on eBay!

OLDER GENTLEMAN

Well, yes, but it would mean an awful lot to my boy if he could get it today. Things haven't been going that well for my little Bobby … (Sentimental music begins to play) He's been having health issues for some time now. The doctors try to help him along as best they can, but it's been really hard lately. It's a tough job being a father and a mother to Bobby, and with all these recent disappointments, the strain has been really great. It would mean the world if he could have a little enjoyment at this point. His life is little more than one doctor appointment right after the other, and I don't remember the last time that I saw him smile … (A cell phone rings in his coat pocket.) Oh, excuse me -- (He answers it.) Hello? Oh, it's you Bobby! (Suddenly very irritable.) NO, I haven't got the game yet! I'm waiting in line shivering my ass off just so you can get this lousy thing that you'll grow tired of in less than a week! NO! I won't stop by the fast food joint so you can have a Happy Muffin Meal! We buy lots of food for you and there's plenty of it in the fridge, go make yourself a sandwich! Bobby! You shut the fuck up! I'm waiting in line so you can have this stupid-ass game that costs way too much so you can break it immediately afterwards! Bobby? Bobby? I don't care! You go in your pants for all I care! Just don't trip over the I-V! (He hangs up, reverts back to kindly tone.) Like I said, having the Durango 2-10 game would mean an awful lot for my little Bobby, and -- (He discovers that both MONTY and DEREK have forcefully turned their backs to him. Eventually, the OLDER GENTLEMAN gives up on the notion of crowding in line and leaves. DEREK cranes his neck a bit.)

DEREK

They've opened the doors, and they're letting people in! Good!

MONTY

Well, you know how it works. The people in the store let all their friends get a crack at buying the game first, and they make everybody wait in line in anticipation. It's all part of the hype and merchandising.

DEREK

My, my, aren't we being cynical at the beginning of the Christmas season?

MONTY

Well, I should know. I used to work at this store. It's all a big sham. They let the people in, let the first few grab the games and then say they're all sold out so they can get even bigger bucks. Part of the game, part of the game …

(A woman dressed as a Viking picks her way through line. She looks crestfallen and lost. She walks up to DEREK and MONTY.)

VIKING WOMAN

Excuse me, but I've been asking everyone in line, and I just need to make sure for my own peace of mind.

ERNEST

Sure, what is it?

VIKING WOMAN

Is this the line to the latest 'Lords of the Ring' sequel?

DEREK

No, it isn't, it's for the new Durango 2-10 game, and --

(VIKING WOMAN bursts into tears and runs away. There is a pause. SLY GUY, a man who has been biding his time waiting in line behind ERNEST and DEREK introduces himself.)

SLY GUY

Now, you two guys look like you've seen it all before and waited in countless lines just like this one. May I offer you a few tips on getting what you want, when you want it, all at a very reasonable price?

DEREK

Sure! Go ahead!

SLY GUY

(He pulls a cheap windup toy out of his coat pocket.) I present to you -- a toy. Not just any toy. A toy that I bought at a 98-cent store, ran by immigrants from Pakistan. The toy is made in a sweatshop in a country not that far removed from Pakistan, using only the cheapest plastic and tin. Its net value? Not EVEN 98 cents! But the secret, they say, all lies in presentation. Now, observe and watch the master. (SLY GUY winds up the toy and feigns intense joy over it. A SPOILED BRAT with a brand new Durango 2-10 in gaudy packaging walks by and sees SLY GUY's enjoyment over the cheap little toy.)

SPOILED BRAT

Hey Mister, what do you have there?

SLY GUY

It's just a toy -- from a faraway land -- that only I, and a few others, know how to obtain! It's a wonderful little toy! See how neat-o keen it is?

SPOILED BRAT

Yeah!

SLY GUY

Why, if you push a secret button it flies across the room and spells your name out in rocket smoke! But the thing is, you have to really, really look for the secret button, and it takes weeks, months and sometimes years to find it! Better yet, it becomes your friend! You talk to it, and when it earns your trust, it talks back! (He holds it up to his ear.) Yes! It is very cold and dark this morning, isn't it, Frederick? It's just the best little toy in the whole wide world!

SPOILED BRAT

Cool! Where did you get it?

SLY GUY

Only a few people know where to buy them, and very few people know where to look for them! And whoever owns it, the toy becomes theirs forever and ever!

SPOILED BRAT

Great! How can I get one?

SLY GUY

Tell you what -- why don't you trade me that Durango 2-10 and you can have this for your very own?

SPOILED BRAT

Sure! (They exchange toys, and the SPOILED BRAT skips away happily with the cheap windup. SLY GUY waits until the kid is out of sight.)

SLY GUY

There you go! Good luck to you two gentlemen! (He leaves.)

DEREK

You know Monty, I was thinking … you know how Halloween gets a bad rap about being a satanic holiday? You know, I think Christmas is the REAL satanic holiday!

MONTY

What makes you say that? All those Christmas trees and stuff, Kris Kringle, Santa Claus -- all that stuff is strictly pagan, but I wouldn't call Christmas 'satanic.'

DEREK

Why is it that everybody commits suicide around Christmas? It's because all their expectations have been smashed to bits! Either you won't get what you want for Christmas, or you'll get what you want for Christmas and you'll stay exactly the same, and you'll be horribly disappointed.

MONTY

True, true. Christmas is all about gimme, gimme, gimme …

DEREK

And the stuff you see on TV? With snow and icicles all around? What happens if you're a kid who lives in the Nevada desert? What then?

MONTY

Better yet, what happens if you're Jewish? Or you're a Hindu or a Muslim? Christmas is an exclusive holiday!

DEREK

The way I see it, Thanksgiving is way underrated.

MONTY

Hear, hear. You don't have a family on Christmas? Disaster! You don't have a family on Thanksgiving? You're just thankful you have friends!

DEREK

Yeah, if you don't have any friends on Christmas, you want to slash your wrists. If you don't have any friends on Thanksgiving, you're just thankful that you still have your health!

MONTY

Right on! If you can't have a turkey on Thanksgiving, you're just grateful you have a bologna sandwich! On Thanksgiving, you should be just grateful, chill out, and be thankful for all the things you have!

DEREK

It's not like Christmas, when your head is full of things that could be and should be … with Thanksgiving, it's just a matter of chilling out and being thankful for what is!

MONTY

Hear, hear!

(There's a groan through the crowd. MONTY cranes his neck.)

MONTY

Oh, no! They've already run out of games!

DEREK

Oh, who cares? There'll be another end-all and be-all game this same time next year. (The crowd begins to disperse.) I think I'm going back to see my ma, maybe spend some quality time with her.

MONTY

Yeah, I'll think I'll go back and catch up with my uncle. He's been under the weather lately … and, oh -- Have a Merry Christmas! Anyway.

(Everyone on stage goes their separate ways.)

THE END

By Greg Goodsell

Glowering from countless true crime textbooks is this arrest photo of young British lass, shot at 4 in the morning after a grueling nine-hour inquiry. Peroxide blonde hair going dark at the roots, tight angry mouth and a piercing stare that could curdle mile. Without reading further, we know that this is one very, very bad girl.

As a girl, Myra Hindley frolicked in the same postwar British rubble as the generation's favorite musicians. Sent to live with her grandmother after the arrival of her younger sister, she was spoiled and doted upon, frequently hooking school to keep her grandmother entertained. Dropping out of school, and armed with a typing certificate, she entered the workplace. Like her girlfriends, she went to all the parties and dances and changed her hair color on an almost daily basis. Restless and bored, none of her jobs lasted more than a month.

That all changed when she met Ian Brady at the Milliwards Chemical Processing Plant in her native Manchester. A well-dressed malcontent with a long history of antisocial behavior, the two fell in love. Brady filled Myra's head with horrid tales of evil and brutality, and nicknamed her Myra Hess after his favorite female Nazi war criminal.

Itching to leave their mark on the world, they failed to crack the local homemade porno market with their explicit photos. Lacking the nerve to carry through on bank robberies, they settled on the abduction torture and murder of neighborhood children. For a period over two years, they stalked local streets and killed and sexually abused four kids and young adults, burying their bodies on the nearby Saddleworth Moors. Their fun and games ended abruptly after Brady ax murdered 17-year-old Edward Evans in full view of Myra's brother-in-law, who went to the authorities immediately afterwards.

Tried and sentenced to life, Hindley would ply her charms to gullible social reformers such as Lord Longford, who petitioned for parole on her behalf. Those efforts ended when Brady – then confined to a sanitarium let slide the burial locations of two missing victims.

Resigned to life imprisonment and addicted to a three-pack-a-day smoking habit, Hindley would die of heart failure in 2002.

Such a dreadful story demanded retelling, and this author set pen to paper to write "The Scottish Play." Directed by Bob Kempf, and starring Bakotopia cover girl Claire Moles as Myra, the play depicts the Disgusting Duo having a light lunch on the moors, engaging in mundane office chit-chat and of course, Myra posing for porno pictures. The interlude ends with the introduction of the corpse of 11-year-old Lesley Anne Downey from an offstage car trunk for burial as they share a good laugh.

"The Scottish Play" was the final in a string of one acts at The Empty Space in October 2006 that became known as "Project Murder." The play was an attempt to shock and appall, and it certainly did. One acquaintance, who formerly shot hardcore porn for a living pronounced it as "the most god-awful thing" he had ever seen, and I was roundly censured by local theatre critics for crafting such a nasty piece of work.

Any previous attempt to mount a film, play or interpretation of the case had been roundly shot down by the unforgiving British public. The case was deemed so horrific, that no female children born in the UK since 1966 have been named Myra. Since then, the story has been made into two TV movies, Longford and See No Evil.   

The world will never really no what transpired in this young British couple's minds as they plotted a campaign of unredeemed depravity – and then there is that arrest photo forever glaring from countless books and magazines. To misquote Friedrich Nietzsche, if you stare into Myra Hindley's photo long enough, Myra Hindley's arrest photo stares back at you.

The pain jabbed at him incessantly. "Yes, we built a vacation home in Oregon. You would think that real estate up there would cost an arm and a leg, but it doesn't," he told his friend as he walked with him out to the parking lot.

Stabbing sensation ran up and down his body. It was hard for him to continue. "It's a little two-bedroom with a great view of the lake," he said. "To cut a long story short, we build our dream home and then Alice wants to spend her vacation in Europe! We have yet to spend a night there!"

The stinging sensation became unbearable. "I'm glad to hear you're doing so well," his friend said in a voice cooked through with boredom and envy. "It's good to know that somebody from our class went on to do well after school."

He prayed his friend didn't see the tears of pain gathering in the corners of his eyes. "Sure thing. Don't hesitate to give me and Alice a call after you get back home."

With that his friend got in his car, revved the engine and was off. He waved and smiled broadly until the car was out of view. Taking great care to make sure no one was watching, he limped to a nearby bench.

Peeling off his shoe, it was what he had feared. The gaping hole at the bottom had already chafed through his already threadbare sock to leave a raw blister on the bottom of his foot. The weeping ulcer had collected bits of gravel from the parking lot, adding to his discomfort immeasurably.

Taking a piece of cardboard from a discarded candy wrapper, he plugged the hole in his shoe. Plastering a forced smile across his face, he rejoined the reunion inside.

By Greg Goodsell

The wise old woman fixed her bleary eyes on the young girl, not more than ten.

"So," the wise old woman said, "Do you really want to know your future?"

"Yes," the girl said. "She tried to sound nonchalant, but her wide eyes and hard swallows betrayed apprehension.

The wise old woman waved her arms in front of her. "So, young lady, how old would you say I am?"

The girl probably gauged the woman's age by her rosy-cheeked grandmothers in terms of age. "Uh … seventy?"

The wise old woman let go with a heavy, bitter laugh. "Incorrect. I am not yet fifty, but as you can see, I am much older from having lived other lifetimes. Therefore, it is very important that you take what I say with the utmost seriousness and weight!"

The girl stood stock still at the old woman's stagecraft. "First, you will grow and become a woman. The boys who stick out their tongues at you now, shall return to you with their tongues lolling out, although for entirely different reasons."

The girl didn't quite understand the last part.

"You will acquire various charms, both visible and invisible, and all the males of the species will take notice. They will surround you like ravenous wolves, and you will feel very, very threatened."

Another hard swallow from the girl.

"And then you will make the first in a long line of bad decisions. You will look at this horde of ravening wolves – and then – take one as your mate!"

The girl's youthful brow creased at this lapse in logic.

"You will take this man, and you will build a home, a life, perhaps a business, and you will think you are happy – for awhile!" She put special emphasis on the last three words.

"Soon, you will feel empty and alone in this special world you have built for yourself, and you will make the second in a long line of mistakes – you will have children!"

The girl's brow furrowed ever deeper across her flat, fresh features.

"The children will arrive in pain and blood, and afterwards, they will begin to rule your life! 'Mommy, I want this' and 'mommy, I want that.' And all the while the man you took as a mate, will become flat and dull and without mystery. He will become as a picture on the wall to which you grow less and less fond of daily, and your children? They will remind you of him and yourself, and the walls will slowly but surely start to close in!"

The wise old woman suppressed a chuckle. The child before her wasn't supposed to show such complex emotions.

"And then you will make another bad decision. You will feel trapped by what is going on, and you will break free. But it won't be easy. It will be as bloody and painful as having children. But you will finally break free of them …"

The wise old woman's voice trailed off. "You will be out in the world, and suddenly you will feel lonely. Very, very lonely. Your charms have all left you, and there won't be any ravenous, circling wolves to keep you company …"

The wise old woman brushed away a tear. "So you will be very, very, very stupid and go in search of another wolf! And you will find one, and he will be the worst of all the wolves. And he won't offer you a home or children, but will treat you as a plaything, and --:"

"Andrea, where have you been?" A woman's voice sliced the air. "Andrea! Andrea!"

"I'm just here talking to this lady, mom," the girl offered as a way of explanation.

The girl's mother stomped up in high boots and indignation. "Andrea, how many times have I told you to never, ever talk to these people, ever?"

"But mom, the lady was reading my fortune!"

"I don't want to hear about it!" The mother grabbed the girl by the forearm. "We're going home this very minute!" Mother and daughter vanished into the crowd.

The wise old woman sighed. It was getting dark, and time for sleep. She took her cart down the side of the hill until she reached the spot with the depression in the ground. Taking some branches and tarp, she laid it over herself. The wise old woman took heart that if she were to lay very, very still she could not hear the sounds of traffic from the nearby freeway.

By Greg Goodsell

… From Plan 9 from Outer Space

An original oil painting of Vampira from her role in Plan 9 from Outer Space hangs in a prominent place in my living room. Three flying saucers flank the ghoulish matron, as she rises from a misty graveyard of tumbledown gravestones against a miasmic background of violet and blue smoke. Sporting her trademark long black hair, chalk white skin and wasp waist cinched in a clinging black dress, Vampira stares into the void with a "come hither" look, her long red fingernails threatening to clutch the unwary. The painting, by Woody Welch, along with its customized metal frame cost me in excess of $300, of which its inspiration, Maila Nurmi -- who passed away on January 10 at the ripe age of 87 -- was not paid a cent.

I have a feeling that Maila wouldn't have minded. The grand old dame that I had met at numerous horror conventions over the years had long made peace with her scandalous – and some would say highly tragic past, and was just happy that people remembered this spry octogenarian. Born on December 21, 1921, Nurmi immigrated with her parents to the United States from her native Finland at a very young age. Blonde and very pretty, she pursued a career in acting and modeling, and for a short while was Mae West's understudy on Broadway. In Hollywood, she caught the eye of a local talent scout when she attended a costume ball dressed as "glamour ghoul" Morticia Addams from Charles Addams' classic comic strips in the New Yorker magazine. Paid the princely sum of $75 a week, Nurmi hosted The Vampira Show on KABC-TV Channel 7 in Los Angeles, which ran Saturday nights at midnight from 1954 to 1955. The only surviving footage from the program shows Nurmi walking towards the camera down a shadowy, cobwebbed hallway. In close-up Vampira lets out a blood curdling scream, then smiles warmly and says, "Screaming is so relaxing, don't you think?"

Whereas the other brunette sexual icon of the Fifties, Bettie Page traded on the inherent innocence of sex, Vampira served up the far headier cocktail of sex combined with death – something that struck a responsive chord in the staid, repressed Eisenhower era. Drawing international attention and fan adulation, Nurmi along with her TV show were canned after a single year. Unemployed and destitute, and living with her mother after the dissolution of her marriage opportunity came knocking in the person of director Edward D. Wood Jr.

The name of the project was Gravediggers from Outer Space, which certainly didn't make any sense as the gravediggers that do appear in the film are strictly terrestrial. The film became known as Plan 9 from Outer Space, and Nurmi wanted no part of it. After a Wood flunky came to her door with 200 one dollar bills as down payment for her role, she agreed to the part on the condition she wouldn't have to speak any of Wood's turgid purple dialogue.

As depicted in Tim Burton's 1994 biopic Ed Wood, Nurmi (played in the film by Burton's then-girlfriend Lisa Marie) hopped on a city bus in full Vampira makeup and costume to a woebegone studio in an alley.

"The graveyard set was only three feet wide. Wood told me to turn this way, turn that way and turn this way. My part took an entire fifteen minutes to shoot," Nurmi told this writer. "I was wearing my paper dress, and there was a tear up around my crotch area. I was wearing lacy panties, so it looked like something else. I said to myself at the time, 'Well, who's going to see this thing?' It turned out to be more than seventeen million people!" she said with a wry laugh. Plan 9 from Outer Space was voted by a wide majority of film fans as the Worst Film Ever Made, leading to endless revival screenings, cult appreciation and wide recognition, but not a penny for Nurmi.

Like her mythical namesake, Nurmi would be resurrected time and again by journalists seeking intimate details about Hollywood royalty – she was a good friend of actor James Dean, as well as her involvement with Tinseltown's deepest dregs, such as Wood and company. Nurmi would go on to unsuccessfully sue Cassandra Peterson, aka Elvira for plagiarism in the Eighties. Seeing as she appropriated her Vampira character from equal parts of Chas Addams' Morticia, the Dragon Lady from the Terry and the Pirates comic strip, as well as the fetish cartoons and photos of John Willie, Nurmi really couldn't make any valid claims to "artistic theft!"

Just before she died, Nurmi consented to being the subject of the documentary Vampira the Movie. The film combines talking head interviews, rare archival footage and celebrity testimonials to her lasting impact on popular culture. Filmmaker Kevin Sean Michaels confided to me last year that Nurmi, now in her late Eighties, no longer left her seedy Hollywood apartment. While her life may have been steeped in disappointment and poverty, Nurmi remained bright and personable to end, very much aware of the lasting impact her Vampira character had on the worlds fashion and lifestyles. The next time you're at the mall, and you spot a girl wearing dead-white makeup, black clothes and a plunging neckline, you have this indomitable Finnish granny to thank ….