How to Survive a Horror Movie: All the Skills to Dodge the Kills
Author: Seth Grahame-Smith
Date: 2007-05-02 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Humor; Non Fiction; Comedy; Zombies; Vampires; Adult; Media Tie In; Paranormal
Description: Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid. From ghosts, vampires, and zombies to serial killers, cannibalistic hillbillies, and haunted Japanese videocassettes, How to Survive a Horror Movie shows how to defeat every obstacle found in scary films. Readers will discover: • How to Perform an Exorcism • What to Do If You Did Something Last Summer • How to Persuade the Skeptical Local Sheriff • How to Vanquish a Murderous Doll • How to Survive an Alien Invasion • How to Tell If You’ve Been Dead Since the Beginning of the Movie and much, much more. Complete with useful instructions, insane illustrations, and a lis

Copyright © 2007 by Quirk Productions, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced
in any form without written permission from the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Number: 2006939743
eISBN: 978-1-59474-568-3

Designed by Doogie Horner
Illustrations by Nathan Fox

Quirk Books
215 Church Street
Philadelphia, PA 19106
quirkbooks.com

The publishers and author (especially the author) hereby disclaim any liability from any injury that may result from the use, proper or improper, of the information contained in this book. We do not guarantee that this information is complete, safe, or wholly accurate, nor should it be considered a substitute for your good judgment and common sense.

Nothing in this book should be construed or interpreted as an excuse to infringe on the rights of other persons or to violate criminal statutes. We urge you to obey all laws and respect all rights, including the property rights, of others.

v3.1

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

AN APOLOGY FROM WES CRAVEN

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER I: WELCOME TO THE TERRORVERSE

How Do I Know If I’m in a Horror Movie?

How Do I Know What Type of Horror Movie I’m In?

C.R.A.V.E.N. (Cover, Recon, Arsenal, Vehicle, Escape, North)

The Seven Deadly Horror Movie Sins

How to Survive a Horror Movie High School

CHAPTER II: SLASHER SURVIVAL SCHOOL—MASKS, GLOVES, AND MOTELS

The Slaughterhouse Five: Five Types of Slashers and How to Defeat Them

How to Survive Summer Vacation

What to Do If You Did Something Last Summer

How to Survive a Night of Babysitting

How to Stay Awake for a Week

CHAPTER III: INANIMATE EVIL—THE MANMADE INSTRUMENTS OF DEATH

How to Survive a Haunted House

What to Do When an Evil Vehicle Wants You Dead

How to Defeat a Killer Doll

How to Tell If an Object Is Evil

CHAPTER IV: CRYPT-OGRAPHY—GHOSTS, ZOMBIES, AND THE REANIMATED

How to Survive a Cemetery

The Good, the Bad, and the Deadly: Know Your Ghosts

How to Kill the Living Dead

How to Kill a Vampire

How to Tell If You’ve Been Dead Since the Beginning of the Movie

CHAPTER V: FANGS OF FURY—ALIENS AND BEASTS
How to Survive a Global Alien Attack
What to Do If There Are Snakes on Your Plane
How to Survive a Space-Based Horror Movie

CHAPTER 666: THE SATANIC “VERSUS”—CURSES, DEMONS, AND THE DEVIL HIMSELF

What to Do If Your Corn Has Children in It

How to Perform an Exorcism

What to Do If You Have Only Seven Days to Live

EPILOGUE

APPENDIX: ADDITIONAL STUDY MATERIALS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

AN APOLOGY FROM WES CRAVEN

There’s something I’ve been meaning get off my chest. Something that’s been eating away at my conscience for decades now. And I’ll admit, it’s not easy to write without getting a little choked up …

… I’m sorry.

I’m sorry to the countless people whose lives I’ve cut short. The characters who’ve become unwilling sacrifices to my art: The buxom babysitters. The doubting cops. The overbearing parents and well-intentioned boyfriends. Teens with their whole lives ahead of them. Decent, hardworking adults. All sent to an early grave in the name of box-office gold.

Some made my job a little trickier—valiantly struggling to make it to the end credits. Others did everything but cut their own throats—running upstairs when they should’ve run out of the house; falling asleep when their lives depended on staying awake.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t taken pleasure in dreaming up ways to kill them. Disemboweling them. Beheading them. Burning them, shooting them, and crushing them in garage doors. I’ve tortured young girls in Last House on the Left. Picked off an entire family one by one in The Hills Have Eyes. Created a child-murdering monster with the power to kill people in their dreams.

I’ve built a career on the blood of innocents, and I guess the guilt’s finally caught up with me.

Sure, I’ve tried to make amends before. Tried to give my characters a fighting chance. New Nightmare was the first step toward self-aware horror movie characters. Scream went a step further. For the first time, we had people who knew they were in a horror movie. Even better, they were armed with knowledge of the rules.

And yet they died.

No matter what I do, no matter how much of a head start I give them, it seems my characters always end up on the wrong end of a long knife. And while I’m happy that somebody’s finally written a guide to helping them survive, I wonder how much good it’ll really do.

Death finds a way.

INTRODUCTION

“Don’t let us make imaginary evils, when you
know we have so many real ones to encounter.”

—Oliver Goldsmith (1730–1774)

Brace yourself for some bad news—if you’re reading this, there’s a good chance you’ve become trapped in a horror movie. I know, I know—it sounds crazy, but you’ll just have to trust me for a minute, OK? This book has a knack for finding its way into the right hands—if it’s found its way into yours, there’s a reason.

Questions. You’ve got a million. Lord knows I did. “How’s that even possible?” “Why me?” “Am I going to die?” Nobody knows the answers to those first two. Maybe you fell down a rabbit hole, or took one too many pulls off the ol’ peace pipe. Or, in the words of Aldous Huxley, “Maybe this world is another planet’s hell.” As for the last one? The answer’s “yes, and that right soon”—unless you do exactly what I tell you over the next 170 pages.

I’ve spent the better part of my life (if you can call it that) trapped in the Terrorverse—sleeping with one eye open and one finger on the trigger. For almost 20 years now, I’ve tangled with all manner of ghosts, demons, slashers, and half-retarded hillbillies. I’ve vanquished vampires, blown the heads off my share of zombies, even danced with the devil himself—all without a lick of help. And you know what? I’m still here, so I figure I must be doing something right.

I’ve also watched a lot of good people die (spend enough time in a horror movie, and you’re bound to lose two things: friends and appendages). I’ve also watched screenwriters and directors—the invisible gods of this godforsaken land—become increasingly clever and cruel over the years. So I decided to write down what I’d learned, in hopes that new arrivals to the Terrorverse (that’s you) would stand a better chance of making it all the way to the end credits. Sharing the skills I’d learned from a life spent dodging the kills.

From this moment on, nothing is what it seems. You’re not a human being, you’re a character—and filmmakers are doing everything in their power to kill you, even now. Supernatural powers and curses are real, and numbers like 666 and 237 can kill you just as easily as a butcher knife. Log cabins are slaughterhouses, cornstalks are antennas for evil, and aliens never, ever come in peace.

And me? I’ll be your guide through hell. I’ll teach you how to perform an exorcism, survive a night of babysitting, and navigate a cemetery (without become a permanent addition). I’ll teach you how to escape the inescapable, spot harbingers of impending doom, and defeat a haunted house. Most importantly, I’ll show you how to make life miserable for the screenwriters and directors who are trying to end yours.

So I suggest you stick close, pay attention, and avoid breaking the Terrorverse’s only commandment: Thou shall not be stupid.

Now come with me if you want to live …

CHAPTER I

WELCOME TO THE TERRORVERSE

DR. LOOMIS

Death has come to your little town, Sheriff. Now you can either ignore it, or you can help me to stop it.

—HALLOWEEN (1978)

Those of us who’ve become trapped in a horror movie have a choice: We can either line up with the other cattle and march into the slaughterhouse, or we can fight back. Yes, it’s a long way to the final credits. No, the odds aren’t in our favor. But that’s no excuse to lie down and let the filmmakers have their way with us. Choose to learn the new rules. Choose to use them in your favor.

Choose life.

HOW DO I KNOW IF I’M IN A HORROR MOVIE?

Horror movie characters aren’t killed by machete-wielding monsters or reincarnated psychopaths—they’re killed by ignorance. Ignorance of the mortal danger they’re in. Of the butcher lurking in every shadow. Of the new rules.

Ignorance of the fact that they’re in a horror movie.

How do you know if you’ve been sucked into the Terrorverse? Sometimes the signs are unmistakable. For instance, if you’re a teenaged babysitter caring for a mute toddler in a remote Maine cabin during a once-in-a-century blizzard while an escaped killer (bearing a strange resemblance to the handicapped boy you and your friends bullied off an embankment and left for dead all those years ago) roams the woods, you’re probably in a horror movie.

But unless you’ve landed in the sloppiest of direct-to-video hack jobs, the clichés are going to be more subtle, your screenwriter more inventive, and your survival less likely.

1. DETERMINE HOW YOU CAME TO OWN THIS BOOK. In movies, things rarely happen without a reason. Therefore, the simple fact that you’re holding a book called How to Survive a Horror Movie means someone’s probably trying to tell you something. Think hard: How did you end up holding this book?

“I’m just browsing in a bookstore.” There’s still a chance it’s just coincidence. Be warned, though—if you take this thing to the counter and buy it, your chances of being in a horror movie go through the roof.

“I ordered it online.” This is not good. Computers can be a gateway to unspeakable evil. Perhaps you were merely enticed by the gorgeous cover and incredibly reasonable price.

“Someone gave it to me as a gift.” Yikes. Getting a book called How to Survive a Horror Movie as a gift. That’s like giving a young Liz Taylor How to Survive a Divorce. “Oh, I just thought it’d make a nice gift, Liz. I’m sure you’ll never need it!”

“I found it in the woods.” There’s only one genre that would allow clumsy, contrived screenwriting like that. Proceed directly to “Slasher Survival School,” this page.

2. TALE A LOOK AROUND. The environment should offer some clues. If you’re on a crowded city street in broad daylight, you’re probably safe (for now). But if you’re anywhere remote—the woods, an old house, an abandoned mental institution in the middle of a blackout—then yes, your chances of being in a horror movie are much higher. How the location looks and sounds can be helpful, too:

Does everything look slightly grainy? This could indicate that you’re being shot on film. Or that you’re developing cataracts. Either way, not good.

Is it poorly lit? Is everything bathed in bright blue light even though it’s supposed to be nighttime? Are there shadowy corners that you should be able to see into but can’t?

What is the set decoration like? Can you see children’s sidewalk chalk drawings that should’ve washed away ages ago? Is everything suddenly covered in cobwebs or rust? Is there a thin layer of smoke on the ground for no reason?

Do you hear strange sounds? Do strange chi-chi-chi … ah-ah-ah or metal-on-metal noises seem to come out of nowhere? Does music crescendo every time you open a door?

Are you speaking Japanese? According to the laws of early twenty-first century cinema, anyone speaking Japanese is in a horror movie.

If the answer to any of these questions is “affirmative,” then we have to consider the possibility that you’ve become trapped in a horror movie.

3. TAKE A LOOK AT YOURSELF. Are you or any of your companions wearing a varsity letter jacket? Is there an achingly attractive yet sexually paralyzed female in your midst? Do all of your “friends” look suspiciously like cast members from Smallville and Gilmore Girls? (If so, your chances of meeting an untimely end have just increased by a factor of 10.)

Determine if you fit any of the classic horror movie character stereotypes:

A)   “The Nice Guy with the Monosyllabic First Name”

B)   “The Slutty Goth Chick”

C)   “The Virginal Cop’s/Priest’s/Richest Man in Town’s Daughter”

D)   “The Nerd” (or “Nebbish Jew”)

E)   “The Congenial Fat Guy” (or “Deputy”)

F)   “The Sex-Crazed A-Hole” (or “Italian”)

G)   “The Black Guy Who Buys It 20 Minutes In”

H)   “The Black Guy’s Girlfriend Who Buys It 24 Minutes In”

If these bear an uncanny resemblance to you (or your companions), you’re almost certainly in a horror movie. But before we panic, let’s confirm the diagnosis.

4. CONDUCT THE M.A.D. TEST. M.A.D. stands for “Motivation And Dialogue,” and it is one of the quickest, most accurate ways of confirming the presence of the Terrorverse.

Motivation. If you (or your friends) feel strangely compelled to do any of the following, you’re definitely in a horror movie:

•    Dig up a coffin to “make sure” something’s really dead.

•    Harass a hobo or retarded child.

•    Play with a Ouija board or read from a dusty old book.

•    Have sex in that house where that guy killed his whole family.

•    Carve a crucifix into your face with a rusty screwdriver.

Dialogue. Ask each of your companions: “What time is it?” If they answer with the following, you’re in deep trouble:

•    The A-Hole/Italian: “Time for some pussy, that’s what freakin’ time it is.”

•    The Black Guy’s Girlfriend: “Oh no you didn’t.”

•    The Nerd/Nebbish Jew: “Wow, I didn’t even think you knew my name.”

•    The Slutty Goth: “I’m your ex, not your Rol-ex.”

•    The Fat Guy: “Mmpph hrff rurrph.” (Mouth full of lasagna.)

5. CHECK THE CALENDAR. There are only three months in the horror movie year: July, October, and December.

In July, teens are off from school—free to drink, wear bikinis, attend summer camp, and take each other’s virginity at will. October is, of course, the unholiest of months—when long-dead serial killers, ghosts, witches, and all manner of beast return to the world of the living to seek revenge. And December is reserved for Christmas killing sprees, evil Santas, possessed stepfathers, gremlins, and snow-bound caretakers.

If the nearest calendar reads “May,” you can relax a little. However, if every Friday falls on the 13th, forget the month. You’re toast.

6. CHECK YOUR WATCH. The horror movie day is still 24 hours long, but 21 of those hours are at night. If it’s almost always dark, all signs point to a horror movie. Ditto if the moon is always full. But even more telling than the lopsided night/day ratios are the huge gaps in your personal space-time continuum.

If you find yourself asking, “How did I get here?” again and again, it’s probably because an editor has lopped out all the boring bits of your daily existence: walking from point A to point B, sitting on the couch watching a COPS marathon, and taking showers (unless you’re a girl with spectacular boobs).

THE EIGHT MOST COMMON HORROR MOVIE STEREOTYPES.

ARE YOU IN A SEQUEL?

You’re probably thinking, “Who cares? Isn’t it bad enough that I’m in a horror movie?” Well, yes—but knowing whether you’re in the first, second, or seventeenth installment is important. The later you appear in the series, the higher your chances of survival. With every subsequent sequel, the writing gets sloppier, the killer’s methods more predicable, and the danger zones more pronounced.

EXAMPLE: Let’s say you’re offered a job as a camp counselor. You go online, do a Google search on the camp’s name, and get 370,000 articles about the murders that have occurred there every summer for the last 20 years. Result? You spend the summer flipping burgers and keeping your limbs.

But how can you be sure? Here are a few sequel warning signs:

•    You’re attending a nondescript college in an unidentified state, and your friends keep saying things like, “Can you believe we’re in college now?”

•    You have shaky, black-and-white flashbacks of someone else’s unhappy childhood.

•    Corbin Bernsen is your father.

•    You’re in space.

•    You’re in 3-D.

•    You have the oddest feeling that you’re only here for the money.

HOW DO I KNOW WHAT TYPE OF HORROR MOVIE I’M IN?

You’ve used all of the diagnostic tools outlined in the last chapter, and you’ve arrived at the terrifying yet undeniable conclusion: Somehow, you’ve managed to become trapped in a horror movie. Now what? Just skip ahead a few pages to find the magic cure that’ll fix everything? Don’t waste your time—it doesn’t exist. Saying “I’m in a horror movie” is kind of like saying “I’m in Europe.” Sure, you’ve narrowed it down to a continent, but what language should you use to order dinner? What side of the road should you drive on? Can you take off your top at the beach?

There are many subgenres (and sub-subgenres) in the horror movie universe—each requiring different survival skills. They can be broken down like this:

Slashers. Blade-wielding psychopaths (both human and supernatural ones).

Evil places and things. An evil vehicle, a killer doll, or a haunted house.

The undead. Ghosts, zombies, mummies, and the reanimated.

Fangs. Werewolves, aliens, and vampires.

Satanic. Demons, curses, and the devil.

This book contains the tactics to help you survive each and every one of these subgenres. Now it’s time to pinpoint your location.

1. GATHER CLUES FROM YOUR MOVIE’S SETTING. You’ve already scanned your surroundings for the usual horror movie suspects. Now it’s time to take a closer look. Your location can speak volumes about the movie’s subgenre, assuming you know how to read the tea leaves:

An isolated/dilapidated house. If you’re a young female alone in the house, all signs point to a slasher. If you’re joined by friends or relatives, it’s a haunted house. If the windows and doors are boarded up, there are about 7,000 zombies outside waiting to feast on your brains.

A summer camp. You’re in a slasher movie.

Deep space. You’re either in a really well-made alien flick or a nauseatingly bad, late-in-the-series slasher flick.

The Midwestern United States. Hard to tell. This could be anything from a non-supernatural slasher to an evil vehicle rampage. However, if your friend finds a meteorite in the woods, you should probably shoot him in the face and burn his body. Just to be safe.

A constantly overcast city. Urban horror movies are almost always Satanic in nature. Curses and demons should be high on your list of concerns.

Western Europe. You’re in a werewolf movie.

Eastern Europe. You’re in a vampire movie.

2. DETERMINE YOUR MOVIE’S BUDGET. Subgenres often break down along budget lines, so it can be very helpful to get a fix on how deep the producers’ pockets are. Three things to observe:

Location. Are you in the city or the suburbs? (It’s much more expensive to shoot a movie in a city.) Do you live in a luxury home or a run-down one-bedroom? (Set construction is costly.) How much freedom do you have to visit different places? (The more you move around, the more sets have to be built or location fees paid.)

Look. Does the lighting seem natural, or are you distracted by how flat and harsh it is? (Could the production afford a talented cinematographer?) How nicely is everything decorated? If you open desk drawers, are there supplies inside, or are they empty? (How big was the art department’s budget?)

Licensing. Do you hear any popular songs or watch any real movies or TV shows as you go about your day? (If so, the producers had to pay through the nose for the rights, suggesting a higher budget.)

If everything points to a cash-strapped production, you’re probably in a low- or even micro-budgeted horror flick—the most common kind. If you’re not exactly sure where your movie falls, it’s likely that the filmmakers are working with a modest budget. And if you feel as if no expense has been spared, it’s possible that you’re in the seldom-seen big-budget horror movie. So how does this help you figure out the subgenre?

Low or micro budget. The photography isn’t particularly eye-catching, there aren’t more than a few major settings, and you’re nowhere near a city. Possible subgenres: slashers, the undead, evil places and things.

Modest budget. Day looks like day, night looks like night, and you’re able to visit well-populated public places. Perhaps you live in a charming, richly decorated farmhouse or luxury apartment. Possible subgenres: the undead, fangs, satanic.

Big budget. Really? If you are in a horror flick, it’s almost certainly alien or satanic in nature. But it’s more likely that you’ve made the common mistake of misdiagnosing a “psychological thriller” as a horror movie. If so, heed this advice: If you’re looking for your child, he/she probably never existed. Also: your husband did it.

3. DETERMINE YOUR MOVIE’S TIME PERIOD. The overwhelming majority of horror movies exist in the present, mainly because they’re made for teenagers, and the easiest way to scare teenagers is to show them other teenagers—who look and sound just like them—getting hacked to pieces, and because it’s way, way, way cheaper to film in the present. But if you happen to find yourself wearing pantaloons or snoozing in a hypersleep pod, those subgenres become easier to sniff out:

The past. Consider the possibility that you’re merely in a flashback sequence—the one where the old lady hangs herself, thus making the house evil, blah, blah, blah. But if you’re really stuck in the salted-pork era (specifically the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries) you’re probably in a mummy or vampire movie—the only subgenres that dare to break the unwritten rule against making period horror flicks.

The future. Another rarity in the Terrorverse, a futuristic setting almost always means you’re in an alien movie (although in a few cases, some overly ambitious slashers have made their way to the final frontier).

4. LOOK FOR DEAD GIVEAWAYS. Sometimes it takes careful deduction to figure out a movie’s subgenre. But sometimes, a clue is so obvious that it eliminates the need for further analysis. A few examples:

•    Your friend uses SPF one billion sun block at the beach. Subgenre: vampires.

•    Slices of bread start screaming when you put them in the toaster. Subgenre: haunted house.

•    Your husband seems distant lately—plus, he tries to order “brains” every time you go to a restaurant. Subgenre: zombie.

•    A cat jumps out of every door, cabinet, window, oven, washing machine, jar, or tube of toothpaste you open. Subgenre: slasher.

•    Bibles burst into flames if they’re brought within reach of your child. Subgenre: the Devil.

KNOW YOUR HARBINGERS OF
IMPENDING DOOM THE DUAL CITIZEN

A dual citizen is a special breed of character found only in horror films. He or she is someone (usually an elderly man) who exists somewhere between the Terrorverse and the real world. Dual citizens always function in the same way: give the audience some neatly bundled back-story and force the protagonist to make a choice—either heed the warning and turn back, or ignore it and forge ahead. Inevitably, our hero always chooses option number two (otherwise, we wouldn’t have much of a movie). But if your goal is survival, you’d be well advised to get the hell out of Dodge when some old codger tells you to, narrative structure be damned. Here are three of the most common dual citizens to be on the lookout for:

•    The gas station attendant, who lives just down the road from the evil town and tells you not to go there, even though he seems relatively unaffected by the evil. (Why hasn’t he moved away or called the cops in all these years?)

•    The local barfly who tells you a story beginning with “It was a night just like tonight …”

•    The homeless guy who grabs your arm after you toss a nickel in his cup, stares into your eyes, and says something prophetic, like, “If you’re trapped in the house of hell, follow the right path to freedom.” Of course, this advice eventually saves your life at the end of the movie, when you’re confronted with two doors while escaping the serial killer’s basement.

HERO

One door on the left, one on the …

right?

(puts it together)

Right path! “Follow the right path to freedom!” God, what clever screenwriting!

Still, you’d have been better off identifying him as a dual citizen and not entering the house of hell in the first place.

C.R.A.V.E.N. (COVER, RECON, ARSENAL, VEHICLE, ESCAPE, NORTH)

The time for analysis is over. You’ve been sucked into the Terrorverse, and as much as you may feel like crying or making skid marks in your tighty-whiteys, you’d better pull yourself together—and right soon. Because if you don’t, the boogeyman’s really going to give you something to cry about (assuming he lets you keep your eyes). Your situation requires immediate action, and the C.R.A.V.E.N. method was developed for just such an emergency. It’s a kind of “stop, drop, and roll” for horror movie victims—a way to stay alive long enough to summon your courage and get out of immediate danger. So take a deep breath, stick to the letters, and come with me if you want to live …

C: TAKE COVER. Running around in a panic is the fastest way to end up with a machete in your back. What you need right now is a temporary headquarters—a place to wipe the sweat from your brow, take a pull off the old asthma inhaler, and formulate your plan. Some of the best places to do that:

Good ol’ everyday houses. Though not ideal fortresses, the average two-story house is almost always the closest option. If you’re already in one, great. If not, run into the first one you see (if there’s a family inside, even better—they’ll call the cops, and horror villains tend to scatter when the cops arrive). Go to the highest floor, check all the closets, look under the beds, and use whatever you can to barricade the doors and windows.

Water towers. If your movie takes place in a small Midwestern town, this might very well be the tallest structure around. If you can get to the top, you’ll have a highly defensible (there’s only that one long ladder to worry about) perch with a 360-degree bird’s-eye view of the battlefield. Even better, the available water supply will allow you to stay longer if you have to.

Churches. While the power of Christ won’t stop all forms of evil (zombies are notorious agnostics), it’ll slow down most demons, supernatural slashers, or vampires that happen to be on your trail. Even better, churches tend to have fewer exits to cover and plenty of pews to use for blockades. Lead-lined stained glass windows are tough to break through, and many churches have spires or bell towers that serve as great vantage points.

A word of warning: “Overbarricading” is a common horror movie mistake. People get so focused on trying to keep anything from getting in, that they forget to leave themselves a way out. For example, locking yourself in a bank vault might stop the killer in his tracks, but now what? Remember, the C.R.A.V.E.N. steps are strictly temporary—a way to stop the bleeding before the real surgery begins. Unless you’re being chased by vampires, in which case you can just stay put till morning.

R: CONDUCT RECONNAISSANCE. Now that you’ve had a moment to catch your breath, it’s time to get an idea of where the enemy is and what he’s up to. If you don’t have the height of a church spire or water tower working for you, peek through the highest window in your hideout and take a look. Do you see the attacker(s)? Is he standing still or looking for a way in? Is he favoring one side of the hideout over another? If you’re being pursued by a group, are there any areas where their ranks are thin? Is there an unoccupied vehicle or busy road in sight? All of this information will help you choose the most promising escape route.

If you see nothing, they’re probably right behind you. No, wait! Don’t turn around; just pretend you’re still reading this page. Nice and cool … that’s it. Now, on the count of three, cover your face with your arms and jump over the rail, out of the bell tower, or through the window. Either you jump or you die. Ready? One … two … just kidding, you’re totally screwed.

A: GATHER AN ARSENAL. You see a path to freedom—now all you have to do is fight your way down it. To do that, you’ll need some kind of weapon. If you’re barricaded in a house, look for a baseball bat, kitchen knife, or anything that kids aren’t allowed to play with indoors. Even a can of oven cleaner is better than nothing. If you’re holed up in a church, grab a heavy-duty candlestick or a collection plate, which can be thrown with deadly decapitating force. And if you’re up on that water tower, get your hands on the nearest, um … actually, there aren’t too many options with a water tower.

You really should’ve thought of that before you climbed up there.

V: COMMANDEER A VEHICLE. You’ve summoned some courage, grabbed a weapon, and hopefully spotted a nearby unoccupied vehicle or busy road during your reconnaissance—now it’s time to kick a little ass. In a burst of adrenaline-fueled speed, make a run for it, using your weapon to clobber, cut, or blind anything in your path. Your goal—your only goal—is to reach the nearest car or truck, get inside, and blow town as fast as inhumanly possible.

If you reach an unoccupied vehicle first, get in (don’t bother smashing the window—they left the car unlocked), lock the doors, and pull down the driver’s-side sun visor. The keys will simply drop into your lap. When you try to start the engine, it’ll turn over again and again, but don’t worry—it’ll kick in as soon as the attacker(s) reaches the car and pounds on the windows.

If you reach a busy road first, simply run into oncoming traffic and wave your arms wildly. Inevitably, an attractive member of the opposite sex will see you at the last second, skid, and smash into you. Yes, you’ve been seriously injured, but you’ve also just scored your love interest, and more importantly—your ride.

WHEN COMMANDEERING AN UNOCCUPIED VEHICLE, SIMPLY PULL DOWN THE SUN VISOR AND THE KEYS WILL DROP INTO YOUR LAP.

E: MAKE YOUR ESCAPE. This is the easy part. Just bury the accelerator and don’t look back. If you’ve just been picked up by that hot blonde, move close to her on that bench seat, stare into her eyes, and floor it.

N: HEAD NORTH. In Terrorverse America, it’s always better to be north of wherever you are. If you’re in Maine, you’ll soon reach the safety of (98 percent horror-free) Canada (ditto if you’re in the creepy videotape-laden Pacific Northwest). If you’re in the desolate Southwest, you’ll be playing slots in Vegas before dawn. If you’re on an alien-infested Pennsylvania farm, you’ll be in Upstate New York—where few horror movies take place, since everyone forgets it’s there. So put the car in “D,” point the compass to “N,” and get the “F” out of there.

EJECTION SEAT #1: THE GENRE SWITCHEROO

Should you find yourself in the clutches of certain death—fangs to your neck, knife to your throat—there are only four proven methods of making a last-minute escape, called Ejection Seats because of their drastic, last-resort nature.

Ejection Seat #1 is the Genre Switcheroo. The switcheroo works by doing something to confuse the killer (and the screenwriter) just long enough to get clear of the immediate kill zone. This is accomplished by doing something completely incongruous with the situation—something that leaves the audience asking, “Wait, is this really a horror movie?”

MOVE YOUR MOUTH OUT OF SYNC WITH YOUR DIALOGUE. Demand to know where magic sword is. Use the words revenge or master in every sentence. Genre: martial arts.

FART. This should be easy, considering you’re already moments away from making it in your pants. Genre: teen comedy.

SLIP YOUR ATTACKER THE TONGUE. Potentially gross depending on the type of killer you’re dealing with, but quite effective. Genre: romance.

LIGHT A CIGARETTE AND CHASTISE YOUR ATTACKER IN ITALIAN. Doesn’t even have to be real Italian. Just use your hands a lot. Genre: artsy foreign film.

DELIVER A LONG, STOIC MONOLOGUE IN AN ENGLISH ACCENT. About a lifetime of regret, unrequited love, and summers at the estate in Yorkshire. Genre: Merchant Ivory.

THE SEVEN DEADLY HORROR MOVIE SINS

The Seven Deadly Sins date back to the earliest days of Christianity. They were devised as a way to keep followers from indulging their less attractive urges: lust, pride, wrath, gluttony, sloth, envy, and greed. In Catholicism, these transgressions were (and still are) dealt with through confession and prayer. In the Church of Latter Day Horror Movies, however, there’s a different set of seven deadly sins, and only one punishment …

1ST DEADLY SIN: DOUBT. There are two types of horror movie characters: those who believe your story and those who don’t. And while believers are by no means safe, at least they’ve taken the first step down the long road toward survival. Doubters, however, can always count on being dead before the end credits.

“It was just a dream, honey.” No it wasn’t. Come on, people. Your son, daughter, or best friend is having recurring dreams about getting brutally murdered night after night, and you’re brushing it aside as what—indigestion? This is a horror movie. All nightmares are real. Treat them as such, or you’ll be in one of your own before long.

“I’ve heard enough out of you!” This line is almost always spoken by the father, cop, or combination thereof. The one who has every opportunity to step in and do something, but refuses to believe some punk’s cockamamie story. And why should he? Sure, there have been brutal murders here for the last 12 consecutive summers, but he buried that psychopath in Old Man Hurley’s tobacco field. Buried him with his own two hands. What—just because some dope-smoking kids saw something, he should drop everything and investigate?

“Those are just ghost stories our parents told us.” Yes, and they just happen to be true. If all the moms and dads in town have spent the last 17 years telling you not to go into the abandoned mannequin factory, here’s an idea: Don’t go into the abandoned mannequin factory.

2ND DEADLY SIN: MACHISMO. The jock who thinks his football skills are enough to defeat the reincarnated serial killer. The redneck who intends to show that vampire how they do things in Texas. The soldier who’s taken on aliens way scarier than this one. All tough, all dead. Remember, fellow males—in horror movies, testosterone might as well be cyanide.

“You want some of this?” You know the guy. The one who just can’t take it anymore.

MACHO GUY

What’s your plan, huh? Sit and wait for that … that thing to pick us off one by one?

(grabs the last shotgun shell)

No way, man! Not me.

He runs out into the open, yelling something like “C’mon, show your face, you pussy!” And … well, you know how that ends.

“You’re perfectly safe as long as we’re around.” OK, stop me if you’ve heard this one before—the galaxy’s toughest Marines go to this alien-infested planet, see?

“Shut up and make me some eggs before you get a black eye.” The worst of all the machismo sinners is the abusive husband or boyfriend. If you mistreat a woman in a horror film, there’s no book that can save you from your well-deserved, imminent, and audience-pleasing death.

3RD DEADLY SIN: INDEPENDENCE. Have you ever seen that documentary about wildebeests? The one where it’s nothing but slow-motion footage of them getting torn apart by lions and crocodiles? Great, isn’t it? Funny how the predators always seem to kill the animals that are on the outer edges of the herd. The ones who are either too slow or too stupid to draw strength from their numbers. This is not a coincidence.

“Screw you guys, I’m going home.” Actually, you’re going about a third of the way home, at which point (after you’ve heard the second or third twig snap behind you) you decide that maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea. But by then it’s too late. As panic takes hold, you break into a jog … then a sprint, and then—oh, I won’t spoil it for you.

“C’mon you guys, this isn’t funny.” No, it sure isn’t. Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten distracted and wandered away from the others. Oh, and by the way, you have about four seconds to live.

“We can cover more ground if we split up.” You forgot to add “with blood” between “ground” and “if.”

4TH DEADLY SIN: UGLINESS. Nobody said horror movies were fair. That goes double for people with acne, glasses, or cottage cheese in the seat. You see, in the “everybody’s a teen model except the funny fat guy” world of horror movies, it’s a sin to be anything less than drop-dead gorgeous. And while it’s true that even the hottest of hotties sometimes gets disposed of, it’s usually because he or she engages in one of the other deadly sins (especially number seven, this page). It’s rare that someone is killed for good looks alone. On the other hand, ugly people could put on body armor, lock themselves in a padded room buried beneath a mountain, and surround themselves with armed guards, and they’d still get wasted before the one-hour mark.

5TH DEADLY SIN: CURIOSITY. Have you ever been in a theater when the girl (in the movie) hears a strange noise and decides to see where it’s coming from? Notice how everyone in the audience starts tensing up as she climbs the stairs? That’s because they know one of the basic horror movie equations:

Investigation = mutilation.

Now that you are that character, remember that when you go to “check something out,” the audience is getting tenser with every step. Especially if your dialogue includes any of the following lines:

“Is that you, Patches?” If “Patches” is your nickname for the naked man hiding in your closet with razorblades on his fingertips, then yes, it is.

“I wonder what that creepy old house looks like on the inside.” Probably a lot like the inside of a creepy old house. One that you and your soon-to-be mutilated friends have no business setting foot in.

“Do you think it’s dead?” No. Go ahead and poke it with a stick. We want to watch it grab your arm and bite half your face off.

6TH DEADLY SIN: IRRESPONSIBILITY. If you’re supposed to be guarding the door, then guard the door. Don’t wander off to take a leak. If you’re supposed to be watching the kids, don’t do bong hits with your headphones on. If you’re supposed to wake your friend up at the first sign of a bad dream, don’t fall asleep. How hard is that? In a horror movie, if you accept a task and fail to carry it out, either you or someone close to you is going to die.

•    “Aw, what’s a little nap gonna hurt?” A lot.

•    “Trust me, the kids are sound asleep.” No, the kids are dead.

•    “How come I always get the crappy jobs?” Because you’re an idiot, and you’re about to prove that fact by failing miserably at the simple task you were assigned.

7TH DEADLY SIN: VEHICULAR SEX. Everybody knows the old adage about sex in horror movies: Do it and die. Well, yes and no. While it’s certainly advisable to keep it in your pants while visiting the Terrorverse, there are plenty of people who have sex and live to brag about it. That’s because they copulate in the comfort of their own homes, or the privacy of a respectable massage parlor. Because they avoid the one kind of nasty that’s guaranteed to result in death: vehicular sex. The kind counselors have when they steal the equipment van and drive into the woods. The kind the prom king and queen have in the school parking lot. In the real world, sex and cars make great bedfellows. But in the horror world, when someone asks for a long, hard rod in their trunk, hand them the tire iron.

WHY NOT SLAP A “MURDER ME PLEASE” BUMPER STICKER ON YOUR CAR?

10 PLACES TO NEVER, EVER, EVER GO UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES

1. Rooms lit by a single hanging light bulb.

2. Rooms lit by nothing.

3. Any graveyard that isn’t Arlington National Cemetery.

4. Summer camps whose annual counselor murder rate exceeds 10 percent.

5. Maine.

6. “The old_____________.”

7. Hotels/motels that aren’t part of giant international chains.

8. Upstairs.

9. Downstairs.

10. Any log cabin anywhere on the face of the earth.

HOW TO SURVIVE A HORROR MOVIE HIGH SCHOOL

When you’re in a horror movie, nothing’s more dangerous than a building full of 14- to 18-year-olds. Not demons, not serial killers, not chemical weapons—nothing. And since you’re a current guest of the Terrorverse, there’s a very good chance that you are a high school student. At the very least, you have some kind of affiliation with the school—whether it’s as a teacher, a parent, or recent alumnus. Therefore, it’s crucial that you understand the many, many dangers of being in a place where the Freshman 15 refers to the number of murders per semester. Use them to your own benefit, or pass them on to friends and loved ones. Either way … welcome to Horror High.

1. UN-CLIQUE YOURSELF. When screenwriters craft their cliché-laden horror scripts, they might think, “Hey, what about a funny fat guy?” or “Hey, a pissy Goth chick would be perfect here.” But they almost never think, “Hey, I need a totally nondescript character that’s hard for my largely teenaged audience to categorize.”

Bingo. Your goal is to be a human chunk of tofu—something that mixes well with everything but remains completely uninteresting (or unappetizing, your pick) on its own. This can be largely accomplished with a new dress code:

Clothing. For boys, the recommended uniform is a pair of well-fitting blue jeans, a white, grey, or black T-shirt (no slogans, band names, or logos), and low-cut sneakers. For girls, a plain knee-length skirt, unrevealing earth-tone top (preferably covered with a black cardigan), and ballet flats.

Hair. If you’re a boy, go to the local big-name franchise hair salon and ask for the following: short (not messy) on top, round in the back, and number two on the sides. Decline any offers of hair gel, and lose the sideburns. Obviously, facial hair is out of the question. For girls, anything pulled back into a ponytail (no bangs) should do the trick.

Accessories. As a general rule, they should be avoided. But if you must, keep it simple: cheap watches (no throwbacks, calculators, or wide-bands), thin gold or silver necklaces (no religious symbols, lockets, or name plates), and simple earrings (girls only, and no hoops—only whores wear hoops).

2. MAKE FRIENDS WITH THE SHOP TEACHER. Even when the other teachers turn out to be aliens or vampires, you can count on the shop teacher’s blue collar virtues to win the day. Plus, he has power tools.

3. DON’T USE YOUR LOCKER. In horror movies, there are only four things that can happen when you’re caught standing at your locker, none of them good:

•    You’re harassed by the school bully. This sets off your need to teach him or her a lesson, leading you to the cornfield rave and, ultimately, your gruesome death.

•    You find something creepy hanging inside, which sets off an ancient curse, leading you to become a living vessel for a long-dead demon and, ultimately, your gruesome death.

•    Your friend has a great idea—some childish prank that leads you to piss off someone you shouldn’t have and, ultimately, your gruesome death.

•    You watch the new girl/boy walk down the hallway in slow motion. Next thing you know, you are on a quest to nail her or him, leading you to realize that he or she’s actually a murderous psychopath and, ultimately, your gruesome death.

4. POLITELY DECLINE ALL AFTER-SCHOOL INVITATIONS. Just as nothing good can happen at a locker, no good can come from accepting an invitation to do anything after school in a horror movie:

•    “Hey, you want to go keep me company while I babysit tonight?” No thanks, I’ll take my chances juggling flaming razor-finned piranhas at my house. I figure it’s safer.

•    “Hey, I heard there’s this huge party at …” Stop right there. That “huge party” will turn out to be three ugly guys and a bored girl drinking warm beer in the woods, each of whom will be eaten when they wander off to pee.

•    “Oh my God, you should totally come camping with us.” Oh my God, I totally shouldn’t, ’cause you’re so getting decapitated!

•    “We’re going to sneak into that boarded-up hotel tonight and read Latin from this book we found.” Have fun. I’ll be in Antarctica.

5. AVOID SCHOOL FUNCTIONS LIKE THE PLAGUE. Forget the Spring Social and the homecoming game. Your goal should be spending as little time with the students and faculty as possible. Every second you’re in their sight (or even near the campus) is another second you’re being exposed to danger.

6. BE NICE TO EVERYBODY. And that means everybody—from the biggest bullying dickhead to the lowliest headgear-wearing fatty, no matter how you’re treated in return. It has nothing to do with the Golden Rule, and everything to do with staying alive. Remember this: The Terrorverse abhors an asshole, and sooner or later, it finds a way of wiping them from existence.

THE SHOP TEACHER: YOUR MOST VALUABLE ALLY.

SIGNS THAT YOU SHOULD STOP TEASING A FELLOW STUDENT IMMEDIATELY

•    All the doors in the room suddenly slam shut.

•    He or she gets a nose bleed.

•    You get a nose bleed.

•    He or she stares—unblinking—into the distance.

•    He or she says something even remotely like “I wouldn’t do that if I were you …”

•    Wind starts blowing through his or her hair, even though you’re indoors.

CHAPTER II

SLASHER SURVIVAL SCHOOL MASKS, GLOVES, AND MOTELS

NORMAN

She just goes a little mad sometimes. We all go a little mad sometimes.

—PSYCHO (1960)

Forget heart disease. Forget cancer. In the Terrorverse, slashers are the leading cause of death. More than half of us will perish under their knives, gloves, and axes—not because they’re so clever, but because we (their prey) are usually stupid beyond comprehension. So put your clothes on, lock the door to your camp cabin, and let’s get you out of this mess alive …

THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE FIVE: FIVE TYPES OF SLASHERS AND HOW TO DEFEAT THEM

slash•er—n. (slǎ-shәr)

One who slashes: a slasher of tires

The most common predator in the horror movie universe, slashers are named for their tendency to use sharp objects to violently kill or mutilate human prey.

Like a shark’s, a slasher’s beauty lies in its simplicity. It’s the perfect killing machine—an engine of death. Every molecule—every action—is devoted to extermination. And just as there are hammerheads, great whites, and nurse sharks, slashers also come in different shapes and sizes. There are three species—the living, or Slashus Vitalis (serial killers; other psychopaths); the sort-of-living, or S. Semianimis (reincarnated mental patients); and the not-so-living, or S. Mortalis (dead child murderers). And each of those species can be further divided into five types—all requiring different skills to identify and defeat.

1. THE STRONG, SILENT TYPE

How to Identify Them: SSTs often wear masks and coveralls to hide their disfigured or decaying flesh and never, ever speak (either for psychological reasons or because their vocal chords have decomposed). Thanks to their freakishly large physiques, they can walk faster than humans can sprint. SSTs have no pain receptors, so they take being shot, stabbed, or dismembered in stride. Their weapons of choice are butcher knives and machetes, and their primary habitats are small towns and heavily wooded areas.

How to Defeat Them: Smarts. You can’t outrun them, and you certainly can’t take them on, but you can capitalize on their Achilles’ heel: one-dimensional thinking. SSTs are single-minded creatures—they see only what’s directly in front of them and think only about the victim at hand. This tunnel vision makes them extremely vulnerable to traps—especially those that use decoys (human or otherwise) to lure them in. And once you’ve got them where you want them? There are only two ways to permanently silence the silent: (1) Burn them until they’re reduced to ash, mix that ash into wet cement, and use that cement to build a children’s hospital; or (2) crush them in a hydraulic press, put the remains through a wood chipper three times, and feed the shreds to puppies.

2. THE GAMESMAN

How to Identify Them: Gamesmen aren’t satisfied with old-fashioned murder—they need to make you endure the unthinkable: kill your best friend or mutilate your own body, for instance. They spend incredible amounts of time planning their schemes, which almost always begin by drugging and kidnapping their victims, waiting for them to wake up chained to something, and taunting them over an intercom. Next comes the “just to show you how serious I am” display of violence, followed by the “if you want to live, you’re going to have to [insert complex/terrifying task here].” Naturally, the promise of earned freedom is always a lie. Their weapons of choice are overbuilt torture devices and surgical instruments, and their primary habitats are urban warehouse districts.

How to Defeat Them: Play dumb. Ask for an explanation every time you’re given an order, no matter how basic it is. If you’re told to cut off your own hand with a pocket knife, ask, “Which attachment do you suggest?” Or “Should I start with the fingers and work my way up, take it off at the wrist, or what?” The Gamesman gets his kicks by playing God. Stupid questions force him down to your level—the last place he wants to be. If you’re able to get him flustered enough, he might make that one mistake that allows you to escape. Or put a .45 in your skull. Either way, the joke’s on him. Who’s gonna play his stupid game now, huh?

3. THE HALF-RETARDED HILLBILLY

How to Identify Them: In a horror movie, if your car breaks down in some bone-dry, long-forgotten town, anyone you encounter is either a half-retarded hillbilly or working in close association with one. Here’s how it usually goes: You’re forced to rely on the only tow truck driver in the entire county, who turns out to be a roper for the local inbred family of serial killers. Before long, you find yourself trapped in their clown-themed dungeon, where you’re tortured, killed, buried, dug up, and eaten. HRHs kill because of their backwash DNA and because, frankly, they’ve got nothing better to do. Their weapons of choice are farm tools, and their primary habitats are anywhere nonretarded hillbillies are found.

How to Defeat Them: Out-crazy them. HRHs love to intimidate victims with displays of their inbred insanity—drinking from a jar full of severed testicles, dressing the hairiest family member in a little girl’s leotard, etc. But you’ve got one weapon they don’t: a twenty-first-century worldview. Intimidate them right back with tales of modern-day horror, such as things you’ve witnessed in nightclub bathrooms or German porn clips you’ve seen on the Internet. If those don’t make them vomit and drive you to the county line, nothing will.

4. THE WISECRACKER

How to Identify Them: They’re highly intelligent and highly inventive, and their timing is impeccable. Unlike other slashers, wisecrackers embrace the world around them—pop culture in particular. While another slasher might simply decapitate you, a wisecracker would decapitate you, toss your head into the garbage can, and say, “Nothin’ but neck.” They also have a strange proclivity to rhyme for no reason. Wisecrackers can be particularly hard to defeat, since the audience is usually rooting for them. Their weapons of choice are razor blades and humorously repurposed objects, and their primary habitats are small towns and nightmares.

How to Defeat Them: Play to their insecurities. Ask them why they feel the need to make all those jokes. Is it because they never got enough attention growing up? Are they afraid no one will like them unless they’re constantly entertaining? Could this be why they feel the need to kill teenagers? The same teens that made fun of them all those years ago? Don’t they see that by killing, they’re just feeding into a vicious cycle of isolationism? If that doesn’t work, just keep repeating the four magic words: “I don’t get it.”

5. THE MAMA’S BOY

How to Identify Them: Poor mama’s boy. So damaged. So unloved. If only mother had let him play with other boys, maybe his taxidermy hobby would’ve stopped at rodents. Maybe he could have been a real doctor—the kind that helps people, instead of the kind that, well … doesn’t. But no. She just had to keep yelling. Even when she continued to bathe him at age 14, telling him how filthy his body was. Telling him what a sinner he was. Mama’s boys (who can also be girls) have to kill mother again, and again, and again. But she never dies. Their weapons of choice are butcher knives, and their primary habitats are unrestricted.

How to Defeat Them: Get them laid. Seriously. If they’re about to drive a blade through your chest, hold up your hands, ask them to “wait a sec,” and invite them out for a night on the town. Chances are they’ll drop the knife and start sobbing on the spot, since it’s the first time anyone’s ever invited them anywhere. Take them club-hopping, act interested in their rambling stories about squirrel anatomy, and slip a hot guy some cash to flirt with them (whether a mama’s boy is male or female, they want a guy—trust me). This strategy will save yourself as well as untold numbers of future victims.

THE TOOLSHED ARSENAL

If you’re looking for a weapon in the Terrorverse, you can’t go wrong raiding the nearest toolshed (or garage). But choose wisely!

TAKE IT:

•    Chainsaw—the horror movie defensive weapon of choice. Light and deadly.

•    Hatchet—not as good as a chainsaw, but handy for cracking skulls and severing spinal cords.

•    Sickle—either long- or short-handled. Great for slicing bellies open.

•    Awl—penetrates foreheads and eyeballs with ease and fits nicely in your front pocket.

LEAVE IT:

•    Shovel—too heavy on one end. Plus, you’re giving the screenwriter a “forced to dig your own grave” opportunity.

•    Rake—what are you going to do, scratch them to death?

•    Saw—we don’t have all night.

•    Sledgehammer—unless you’re Mr. T, wielding something that heavy is next to impossible.

HOW TO SURVIVE SUMMER VACATION

Ah, to be young in the summer. To wake up around noon on a glorious July day, the birds singing on your windowsill, a soft breeze rustling the leaves of the oak you’ve climbed a thousand times. The world is yours. Time is limitless.

Only it isn’t. This isn’t real life, it’s a horror movie, where long summer days begin with singing birds and end with your throat getting slit in the woods. When you’re a teen (or young adult) on summer vacation, every day is the last day of the rest of your life. That is, assuming you make the same stupid mistakes that young horror movie characters always seem to make.

1. STAY AWAY FROM CABINS. Cabins are the bug zappers of the horror movie universe—a place where the more gullible of our species are weeded out in one gruesome instant. “Hey, a cabin. That looks like a nice place to spend some OH GOD MY INTESTINES ARE ON THE FLOOR!” And like the bugs that keep flying toward that pretty light, people who decide to spend their summers in a secluded, run-down cabin have learned nothing from history and are therefore doomed to repeat it. The rule is simple: If you enter a cabin—any cabin, anywhere in the world—you will be dead within 24 hours. Guaranteed.

2. DON’T GO TO SLEEPAWAY CAMP. What, pray tell, has more cabins than a sleepaway camp? “Sure, I’m in a horror movie, but I really don’t see the problem with hanging around a bunch of cabins in the middle of the woods—a bunch of cabins run by teenagers who spend their time smoking dope and humping.” Are you crazy? No institution has a higher per-capita murder rate. For example, a high school of 1,000 students can expect an average per-film loss of seven to eight students, or less than 1 percent. A sleepaway camp of 40 campers and counselors, however, can expect the same per-film losses. That’s a murder rate of 20 percent! Any horror movie character who willingly attends one of these death camps is making the screenwriter’s job so insanely easy, they should get shared credit.

3. DON’T TAKE A ROAD TRIP WITH YOUR FRIENDS. There are only three things that can happen when young people pile into a car:

Someone insists they know a great shortcut. This leads them to an eerily quiet town that’s not on any map. Suddenly, something goes wrong with the car (all horror movie vehicles have sensors that stop the engine when they detect a combination of evil and isolation). Stranded, they’re “rescued” by someone who promptly butchers them, wraps the choice cuts of meat in plastic, and stores them in their roadside diner’s walk-in freezer.

They run someone over. Inevitably they decide to ditch the body and keep it a secret, and they spend the rest of the movie getting picked off like scabs.

They safely reach their destination. Except the destination is a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

4. PONT GO BACKPACKING OVERSEAS. Until recently, Europe was a fairly safe place for students to blow off steam between semesters. With the exception of England (werewolves) and countries ending in -ania (vampires), the worst you might encounter were haunted castles that, to be honest, were more charming than scary. But with more horror films choosing Europe as their location, those colloquial haunts are fast becoming nightmarish bloodbaths. Today’s backpackers have to be on the lookout for human traffickers, dog-killing psychopaths, even spell-casting preteens. Australia is also becoming increasingly dangerous for foreigners. In the 1980s, meeting a knife-wielding loner in the Outback was quirky and romantic. These days, it’s fatal.

But the most dangerous international destination for Western travelers is Japan. With so many horror flicks coming out of the land of the rising sun, it’s best to treat the entire island as one gigantic cemetery. The only place you’re safe is in the heart of Tokyo, which (so far) seems reserved for coming-of-age romances, street racing movies, and OH GOD a giant fire-breathing lizard!

5. BORROW SUMMER ACTIVITIES FROM OTHER GENRES. Sure, there are plenty of things you can’t do on your horror vacation, but does that mean you’re condemned to a summer of Friends reruns? Your break can actually be quite fulfilling, especially if you borrow a few activities from your favorite non-horror films:

Go on a life-affirming quest with some child stereotypes. Perhaps you could follow an old treasure map or walk down the train tracks in hopes of seeing your first dead body. Just make sure your posse has at least one fat kid, one “bad” kid, and one sensitive intellectual with (1) recently divorced parents or (2) a recently deceased older brother.

Fall for the new neighbor boy or girl who dies in the second act. You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. You’ll still be alive for the funeral scene at the end of the movie.

Save some land from a bunch of developers. Nothing stops urban sprawl in its tracks like a few kids who still believe in a little thing called “home.”

COMPELLING PHYSICAL EVIDENCE WILL LEND CREDIBILITY TO YOUR STORY.

HOW TO CONVINCE THE SKEPTICAL LOCAL POLICE

If teens are heroes and slashers are villains, then cops are comic relief, if only for their steadfast refusal to acknowledge that anything’s wrong no matter how much evidence you throw their way. Why is it so hard for the sheriff to believe someone saw a masked killer in the woods when there’s been a masked killer roaming those woods for 25 years? Imagine how refreshing it would be if a group of teenagers could report something to the cops without being dismissed as pranksters or druggies? Sadly, those sworn to protect and serve the horror universe have a hard time getting motivated to do so. And that’s why enlisting their help takes some skill:

1. Remain calm. The minute you show even the slightest bit of excitability, you’ll be considered hysterical, and nothing you say will be believed.

2. Provide compelling physical evidence. A bloody knife, soiled clothing, or—best of all—a severed body part.

3. Use reverse psychology. “Ah, it’s probably nothing. I mean, sure, I watched that big fella drag that boy off into the forest, but I’d hate to see you go out there on some wild goose chase.”

4. Lie. If you want the sheriff to check something out, give him an incentive. Tell him that his wife was seen there partying with members of a biker gang—whatever it takes to get him on site.

WHAT TO DO IF YOU DID SOMETHING LAST SUMMER

1. Ask yourself, “What did I do?” Last summer could have been ages ago. What? You’re supposed to remember every little thing you did between June and August? Chances are it wasn’t something innocuous. The filmmakers have to hang the entire premise of the movie on one thing—one action taken by you, the character. Things like that tend to stick out in the memory banks.

Things You Did Last Summer that Aren’t Movie-Worthy:

•    Cheat on your diet.

•    Sneak store-bought candy into a movie theater.

•    Have sex on the football field.

•    Pool hop.

•    Use illegal P2P file-sharing networks.

Things You Did Last Summer that Are Movie-Worthy:

•    Cover up a manslaughter.

2. Determine if anyone knows what you did. If you get a letter from someone claiming they know what you did, chances are someone knows. Likewise, if you had accomplices who also did what you did, it’s likely that they know, too. It’s recommended that you kill any accomplices as a means of reducing the number of people who know what you did.

3. If someone knows what you did, fess up. Admit to the crime, and do the time. Yes, being in a prison movie isn’t roses, but it beats the hell out of being a victim in a horror movie.

HOW TO SURVIVE A NIGHT OF BABYSITTING

In the real world, babysitting is a groovy way for young people to learn responsibility (and earn a little pocket money).

In the Terrorverse, it’s a plot device used to kill teenagers.

Babysitters are the juiciest of all slasher bait—more attractive than drunk gravediggers or horny campers. As we’ve learned, horror flicks (especially slashers) are made for teenaged ticket buyers, and teens can identify with the tensions of babysitting. You’re away from home. You can’t bail at the first sign of trouble. Devils and angels duke it out on your shoulders: “Don’t get high tonight.” “C’mon … invite him over—he’s so cute!” And then what happens? The power goes out. You try the phone … nothing. Suddenly, you remember that news report. Something about a string of murders. Footsteps upstairs. Kids missing from their beds. And faster than you can say “closed casket,” you join a long list of sliced-up sitters. Unless …

1. KNOW WHEN TO SAY “NO.” If you have half a brain in your head,[*] the answer is always “no.” In horror movies, babysitting is basically suicide at seven bucks an hour. It’s a dangerous game, and to quote one of my favorite passages from the Book of Joshua (the supercomputer in WarGames, not the apostle), “The only way to win is not to play.” And yet for many teenagers, the desire for extra mall cash is stronger than the will to live. Therefore, it’s important that whippersnappers be able to distinguish the really, really dangerous babysitting jobs from the 100-percent-chance-of-getting-your-throat-sliced-open babysitting jobs. If the offer includes any of the following, turn it down. It’s a guaranteed death sentence.

It’s more than two blocks from home. Anything beyond shouting or sprinting distance is too far.

There’s a storm in the forecast. Thunderstorms equal power or phone outages and opportunities for the director to use the old “lightning flash reveals the killer in the window” bit. Snowstorms equal broken-down vehicles and easily followed tracks.

One of the children is blind, deaf, or mute. It seems cruel, but remember: This isn’t the real world. In horror movies, children with some kind of sensory deprivation or disability are often portrayed as creepy.

There’s an escaped __________________ on the loose. Any noun you can imagine in that blank space is reason enough to skip the gig, with the possible exception of “pony.”

2. MAKE YOUR EMPLOYERS SIGN A BABYSITTING RIDER. A rider is a contract that specifies a list of perks. A smart sitter will craft one that ensures maximum survivability. Only work for employers who meet its terms. Some suggestions to pass along to your lawyers:

Power. Employer will provide a fully fueled backup generator that can be started without leaving the house or going into the basement.

Communication. If Babysitter attempts to contact Employer’s cell phone at any time and gets no answer, Babysitter has the right to abandon the kids and run home.

Punctuality. If employer is more than sixty (60) seconds late for the agreed return time, Babysitter has the right to abandon the kids and run home.

Temptation. Employer will leave no unlabeled videos, alcoholic beverages, pornographic materials, or anything that might tempt Babysitter into committing lewd, unsavory, or potentially curse-invoking behavior anywhere in the home.

Security. Employer will provide doors and windows that can be securely locked from the inside, a professionally installed security system, and at least two (2) easily accessible, fully loaded firearms.

3. BUILD A FORTRESS. With no storms in the forecast, no escaped mental patients on the news, and your parents within shouting distance (and assuming your employer has met all the terms of your rider), the babysitting can begin. But before you even think about making the kids a snack, priority one is turning a small area of the house into an impregnable fortress. This “no in or out” zone usually includes the kitchen, living room, and at least one bathroom, and never encompasses more than one floor.

Start by closing (and, if possible, locking) all the doors on the edge of your perimeter and hanging little bells on the knobs. Confirm that all windows are closed, shut any drapes or blinds, and turn on every light within reach. Next, turn the TV on and tune it to a local station, in case there are any breaking reports of nearby murders, escapes, or storms. If the basement door falls within your perimeter, nail at least three big wooden planks across it. Finally, set the alarm, check the phone for a dial tone, and tether yourself to each child with a length of rope.

4. DON’T DO ANYTHING EVEN REMOTELY IRRESPONSIBLE. The minute you take your eyes off those kids—the minute you choose indulgence over vigilance—you’re dead. Here’s a rule of thumb: If you wouldn’t do it in front of the parents, don’t do it. Some common babysitter pitfalls include:

•    Inviting your boyfriend or girlfriend over.

•    Raiding the liquor cabinet.

•    Watching the parents’ porn collection.

•    Using the phone for endless personal, gossip-filled calls.

•    Leaving the kids to entertain themselves.

5. NEVER, EVER, EVER ANSWER THE PHONE. Regardless of what the caller ID says, let it ring. If it’s the parents, they’ll leave a message. If it’s one of your friends, you shouldn’t be chatting with them anyway. But we both know it’s not the parents or your friends. Why? Because this is a horror movie. And in a horror movie, it’s always the killer, who is always calling from another part of the house. Your screenwriters are begging you to answer that phone. They need you to answer it, so their villain can send chills down your spine with some clever one-liner. All the more reason to let it go to voicemail.

6. CHECK YOUR CURIOSITY AT THE DOOR. What I really mean is stupidity. Check your stupidity at the door. Here are three situations you might face during a night of babysitting, each with the (soon to be dead) “curious” person’s and the (might make it to the end credits) “incurious” person’s response:

ONE OF THE WINDOWS IS RATTLING.

Curious: You decide to check it out, despite the fact that you swear you remember closing it.

Incurious: You set fire to the house, abandon the kids, and run home screaming.

THE CHILDREN DISAPPEAR.

Curious: Panicked, you search every nook of the house while calling out their names.

Incurious: You continue reading your Bible and wait for them to turn up.

SOMEONE KNOCKS ON THE DOOR, ASKING TO USE THE PHONE TO REPORT AN ACCIDENT.

Curious: You open the door a crack to get a better look at the stranger.

Incurious: You empty a full clip through the door, reload, open it, and empty another clip into whomever or whatever is lying motionless on the front porch.

WHEN BABYSITTING, YOU MUST TRANSFORM YOUR CLIENT’S PLEASANT SUBURBAN HOME INTO AN IMPREGNABLE FORTRESS.

KNOW YOUR HARBINGERS OF IMPENDING DOOM: BOOBIES

Not the sea birds found primarily near warm waters—the fatty deposits that grace the chests of mature human females. Jugs. Melons. And while it’s hard to imagine anything bad coming from something so good, there’s an unfortunate horror movie phenomenon, Titsonics, that turns boobies into bouncy death traps.

In the Terrorverse, young women’s breasts emit a high-frequency sound (measured in mammahertz) that only horror movie villains can hear. The sound attracts them—not because they want a peek, but because they know that naked breasts indicate the presence of at least one highly distracted or highly vulnerable victim. The bigger the boobies, the louder the noise. And when those boobies are squeezed (say, by the fumbling hands of a young male), they get louder still.

Therefore, the only safe boobies are untouched, well-covered boobies. And well-covered means buried beneath enough clothing to muffle their sound (i.e., no tank tops). In fact, the ideal outfit for a young woman would be a parka, over a ski jacket, over two sweatshirts, over two bras—with the nipples duct taped for good measure. But take heart, ladies. The moment you hit 23, your Titsonic profile becomes dramatically lower. And once you have a kid, it disappears forever.

DRESSING CONSERVATIVELY (LEFT) WILL GUARANTEE A LONG AND PROSPEROUS LIFE. BUT PUT ON A LOW-CUT TOP (RIGHT) AND YOU’RE SCREWED.

HOW TO STAY AWAKE FOR A WEEK

Staying awake and staying alive are often synonymous in horror movies. Perhaps your dreams have become the killing fields of a demonic slasher. Maybe you’ve been stranded on an alien-infested planet or cornered in a house that’s surrounded on all sides by zombies. In any case, not an ideal time to hop the choo-choo to Sleepytown. And since there’s no telling when the rescue party may arrive (or when it’ll be safe to dream again), a horror movie survivor has to be able to push the outer limits of sleep deprivation. Believe it or not, the world record for going without sleep is held by a teenager named Randy Gardner. In 1964, he stayed awake for 264 straight hours—exactly 11 days. All you’re required to do is a measly seven. And if you follow these steps, you might just make it.

1. TRY TO JUMPSTART A MONTAGE. What’s the easiest way to stay awake for a week? Make it fly by in the span of a single upbeat song. Musical montages aren’t common in the horror universe, but they aren’t out of the question either. After all, this is still a movie—and in movies, it’s possible to condense lots of events and time into a short series of illustrative shots, one dissolving into the next. Since these shots are rarely accompanied by dialogue, they’re usually set to music—a song that’ll boost sales of the soundtrack, for instance.

So how do you force the filmmakers into using one? Easy. There are two main categories of montage: the Prep and the Honeymoon. The Prep follows a character as he or she studies or trains for some nearly impossible task—usually a school test or sporting event.

The Honeymoon tracks a relationship through its early days—holding hands in the park, painting their first apartment (oh look, they’re splashing paint on each other!), and so on.

Therefore, there are two main methods of jumpstarting a montage:

Start a new romance. Don’t be picky. You’re not choosing a life partner, just someone who’ll stick with you through a Mariah Carey ballad.

Get in way over your head. If you’ve never thrown a punch before, sign up for a boxing match. If you’re on the shallow end of the IQ pool, challenge a Nobel laureate to a battle of wits. In other words, totally screw yourself into spending the next five minutes of the movie in a series of gyms or libraries.

2. BE PREPARED FOR SLEEP DEPRIVATION. If your efforts to jumpstart a montage fall flat, you might just have to do this the hard way—by staying awake for seven days. And if that’s the case, you’ll need to know what to expect as the hours pass:

•    Diminished problem-solving skills. You might want to schedule those Mensa exams for another week.

•    Irritability. That’s right, I said you’re being a total dick. Now what are you gonna do about it?

•    Diminished motor skills. Is it getting harder to turn the pages?

•    Difficulty focusing your eyes. If you’ve waited too long to read this section, it probably looks like this.

•    Short-term memory loss. As you become more and more sleep deprived, you might experience as you become more and more sleep deprived, you might experience some memory loss.

•    Paranoia. I’m watching you read this book. Right now, at this very second. I’m always watching. We’re all watching.

•    Hallucinations. In extreme cases of sleep deprivation, a person might become convinced that … hey … why is my hand that flying dog thing from The Neverending Story?

3. COMBINE STIMULANTS. When you’re pulling an all-nighter during finals, you can get by on a cocktail of coffee, energy drinks, and diet pills. But that time-honored combo is only reliable up to about the 36-hour mark. Once you cross the two-day barrier, relying on mass quantities of caffeine and sugar just doesn’t cut it. To make it to the finish line, you’ll need to drop the sugar altogether—sure, it lights you up for a little while, but it also sends you plummeting into the depths of sleepiness afterward. You’ll also need to strictly regulate your caffeine intake—taking small doses throughout the day and night (as opposed to a few gigantic doses, which also leads to sleepy crashes).

Then, you’ll need to combine these artificial pick-me-ups with more natural forms of avoiding bedtime:

Temperature. You know that wonderful feeling when you snuggle under the warm covers on a cold winter’s night? Well, it’ll kill you. Keep as cool as possible, even if it means standing in the refrigerator or pouring ice cubes down your pants.

Light. This is especially important in the Terrorverse, where the vast majority of the day is shrouded in darkness. Try to remain in brightly lit areas at all times, and avoid windows like the plague. The goal is to throw off your body’s internal clock.

Movement. Just as a rolling stone gathers no moss, a moving person gets no sleep.

Discomfort. Don’t cut off your eyelids or anything (although that’d do the trick). Try the discomfort associated with “holding it in.” Make sure to drink plenty of water to keep your kidneys busy, and don’t worry—all that caffeine will take care of everything else.

4. EAT RIGHT. And eat often. Just as it’s vital to regulate your caffeine intake, it’s important to keep your metabolism even—as opposed to riding the three-meal roller coaster. Ever wonder why you get that food coma after a big meal? It’s because your body is transferring its energy to digesting that big lump of take-out you shoveled past your gums. Instead, eat small, long-energy meals around the clock. Focus on foods that provide a steady stream of power, namely complex carbohydrates (pastas, grains) and proteins (meat).

5. HIDE IN THE DELETED SCENES. If you feel like you’re not going to make it—if you can’t go another day without grabbing some shut-eye, hide in the deleted scenes. After shooting, editors delete scenes that prove unnecessary—perhaps because they do nothing to move the story forward, feature poor performances, or simply run too long. Therefore, you should try to spend all your time being as pointless, unconvincing, and long-winded as possible.

EJECTION SEAT #2:
THE JARRINGLY GOOD DIALOGUE

Should you find yourself in the clutches of certain death—fangs to your neck, knife to your throat—there are only four proven methods of making a last-minute escape, methods called Ejection Seats because of their drastic, last-resort nature.

Ejection Seat #2 is the Jarringly Good Dialogue. The JGD works by delivering a line that’s far too lyrical or thought-provoking for a horror movie. Delivering such a line temporarily paralyzes the killer as he awaits further instruction from the screenwriter, whose ego has shattered after realizing that they never could have written something that good. Don’t worry—nobody’s expecting you to pluck Shakespeare out of thin air. Simply memorize one of these classic movie lines and keep it handy for the occasion:

“In all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world … she walks into mine.” —Casablanca

“Old age. It’s the only disease, Mr. Thompson, that you don’t look forward to being cured of.” —Citizen Kane

“A man who tells lies, like me, merely hides the truth. But a man who tells half-lies has forgotten where he put it.” —Lawrence of Arabia

“Horror has a face … and you must make a friend of horror.” —Apocalypse Now

*Ironically, this is exactly what most horror movie babysitters end up with.

CHAPTER III

INANIMATE EVIL

THE MANMADE INSTRUMENTS OF DEATH

MR. HALLORANN

You know, some places are like people. Some shine, and some don’t.

—THE SHINING (1980)

Most of our horror movie enemies are people. Slashers, vampires, zombies, and ghosts all are or were human beings. Even aliens and demons fall under the sentient being umbrella. But sometimes evil has no flesh. Sometimes it lurks not in the hearts of men, but in bricks and mortar. Chrome and steel. Antique tea sets. Inanimate enemies can be even harder to defeat than their able-bodied counterparts. You ever try to stab a three-bedroom Colonial?

Believe me, it’s not very effective.

HOW TO SURVIVE A HAUNTED HOUSE

In the old days, spotting a haunted house was a piece of cake. It was always the creepy Victorian with the unmowed lawn and freakishly large weather vane.

But that was then. In the modern Terrorverse, it doesn’t matter if the house is falling apart or brand-spanking new, sitting atop Graveyard Hill or shoehorned into an exclusive gated community. Any combination of wood, concrete, and paint can be haunted. And for that reason, every horror homeowner should know what to do in the event of a ghost or poltergeist infiltration.

Remember: In horror movies, you don’t gut the interior … the interior guts you.

1. CONFIRM THAT THE HOUSE IS HAUNTED. Just because your zip code is 00666 doesn’t mean you have to run screaming every time a floorboard creaks. Even in the Terrorverse, sometimes a strange noise is just a strange noise. On the other hand, sometimes it’s a portal to a dimension of unspeakable evil.

To help homeowners tell the difference, two professors at the University of Eastern West Berlin (Drs. Brenton Sabellico and Eric Dugre) came up with their famous questionaire of the 10 Questions in 1964. Homeowners simply circle “Yes” or “No” after each question. If you answer “Yes” to three or more of these questions, we can conclude beyond any reasonable doubt that your house is haunted. Proceed to step 2 immediately.

THE 10 QUESTIONS

1. Do the faucets or showerheads bleed? YES/NO

2. Did the previous owners die as the result of a murder or suicide? YES/NO

3. Does furniture rearrange itself when you aren’t looking? YES/NO

4. When you reach into the refrigerator, does your arm appear in another part of the house? YES/NO

5. Are there Civil War-era children playing in your attic? YES/NO

6. Does the house issue verbal or written warnings? YES/NO

7. Does the temperature suddenly plummet if you discuss remodeling? YES/NO

8. Do you feel more compelled to murder your family with an ax than usual? YES/NO

9. Are Native Americans constantly showing up to ask, “What happened to our cemetery?” YES/NO

10. Does the house contain any candelabras? YES/NO

2. ONCE YOU’VE CONFIRMED THE HAUNTING, LEAVE IMMEDIATELY. There are two things you can’t change in this world: a husband who lets the dishes pile up, and a haunted house. Both lead to nothing but frustration, fear, and, eventually, a gruesome death. If the 10 Questions come back positive for a haunting, get out. Don’t pack up your things. Don’t go for one last dip in the half-finished swimming pool. Run. Now.

3. ESCAPE ON AN X AXIS. If the Y axis measures something’s vertical position, the X axis refers to its horizontal location. Now, this next point is very important:

Inside a haunted house, moving along the Y axis gets you killed.

If you’re upstairs, do not go downstairs. If you’re downstairs, do not go upstairs. Zigzag to your heart’s content. Run around in circles. Whatever you do, maintain altitude. If you’re on the second floor of a haunted house, crash through the nearest window. In fact, do the same thing if you’re on the first floor. Yes, you’ll probably get hurt. But cuts and bruises are better than having your soul sucked into purgatory with a bunch of dead people who lost their road map to Hell.

4. BE ON THE ALERT FOR COMMON HAUNTED HOUSE TRICKERY. You’re eager to leave, but the house is just as eager to keep you around. Once it realizes you’re trying to escape, it’ll throw every trick in the bag at you.

The Endless Hallway. A classic. As you run toward that door to salvation, the hallway becomes longer … longer … impossibly long. Countermeasure: A burst of willpower is usually all it takes. But closing your eyes is an easier way of neutralizing the effect. Just stick your arms out, and feel your way down the hall.

The Zero-Gravity Room. You’re dragged up the walls by some unseen force. Countermeasure: Easy. Sing Lionel Richie’s “Dancing on the Ceiling” and act like you’re having the time of your life. The house will vomit you out the front door.

Coffin Whack-a-Mole. All the coffins from the graveyard you (so rudely) built a house on start shooting through the floor. Countermeasure: Inappropriately grope the corpses. The house will vomit you out the front door.

The Reappearance of a Dead Friend/Child. As the house becomes desperate, it’ll deliver some low blows. The most common is recreating someone who’s recently died. “Mommy … where are you going? Why are you leaving me?” Countermeasure: If the house isn’t pulling any punches, neither should you. Address the “person” in front of you as the house, and tell it something that will set it off. Something like: “You should know … I’ve been sleeping in a condo.”

5. DO NOT GO BACK INSIDE. If you do manage to escape, don’t look back. Keep running, no matter how many screams echo through the night and no matter how fun it might be to watch the house fold itself into a point of light no bigger than the period at the end of this sentence. Never, ever go back.

Unless it’s for the dog.

WHAT TO DO WHEN AN EVIL VEHICLE WANTS YOU DEAD

The engine purrs, the doors lock, and Martha and the Vandellas’ “Nowhere to Run” crackles over the radio. Just one little problem:

You haven’t put the key in the ignition yet.

Cars and trucks are dangerous enough when someone’s behind the wheel. When they start driving themselves? You might as well give Helen Keller a bazooka. In horror movies, once a vehicle becomes self-aware, there’s only one thing it wants in its tank: blood. And until it’s topped off (or sent back to the scrap heap of Hell), no one’s safe. It won’t break down, it won’t misjudge a corner, and it definitely won’t stop until everything in its path is road kill.

1. IF YOU’RE IN THE VEHICLE, GET THE HELL OUT. Cars and trucks can take punishment that would turn the human body into a bag of liquefied organs. Knowing this, the naughty ones often go Kamikaze, locking their prey inside and kissing a telephone pole at 90 miles an hour. Result? They get towed, you get buried.

If you’re trapped inside a stationary evil vehicle, use anything you can to smash a window, climb out, and run. However, in the more likely event that the vehicle is moving, you’re going to have to smash that window and jump for it before you become a permanent part of the steering column.

1. Apply the emergency brake. This might slow you down slightly (assuming the vehicle lets you engage the brake). If it’s a manual transmission, you can try downshifting. But don’t get your hopes up—most evil vehicles don’t accept user input.

2. Jump perpendicular to the direction of the vehicle. Don’t fling yourself under the rear tires, which would be counterproductive to your survival.

3. Aim for a forgiving landing site. Grass, sand, and tall brush are more preferable to pavement. Anything’s preferable to a tree trunk.

4. Tuck and roll. As you fly through the air, pull your arms, legs, and head close to your chest. When you hit the ground, roll to dissipate the energy of your impact.

2. IF YOU’RE NOT IN THE VEHICLE, SCAN YOUR IMMEDIATE SURROUNDINGS. You may be safe from spilling your brains all over the dash, but you can still be rammed, crushed, and run over. Take a quick look around—is there anything to shelter you from an attack?

Things that will provide protection from evil vehicles:

High ground. This might come in the form of a steep, gravel-covered hill, cliff, or rooftop—preferably one that’s attached to a sturdy building.

Deep water. An 18-wheeler can do a lot of things, but swimming isn’t one of them. If there’s a lake, river, or ocean anywhere in sight, get wet.

Industrial buildings. Is there an office tower nearby? A shopping mall? School? Concrete is your friend.

The woods. In most horror movies, the last thing you want to do is run into the woods. But if the trees are dense enough, they’ll stop most vehicles in their tracks. Now all you have to worry about are the 3,000 other things coming to kill you.

Things that won’t provide protection from evil vehicles:

Single-family homes. Anything with a wooden frame can be breached by an evil vehicle.

Chain-link fencing. In movies, chain-link fencing might as well be rice paper with a bull’s-eye on it.

Utility poles and radio towers. They certainly qualify as high ground, but they’re too flimsy—especially if your pursuer is an evil truck or a construction vehicle.

Other vehicles. This is a horror movie, remember? Any car you enter is guaranteed to have a faulty engine.

3. COUNTERATTACK. Hopefully, once you’ve found a safe place, the vehicle will get frustrated and drive off to its next victim. But if it keeps coming, you have no choice but to engage—and quickly. Waiting it out is not an option. For starters, the evil vehicle can wait a lot longer than you can. Also, it can summon other vehicles to its aid at any minute. And if that happens, there’s not an office tower in the world that will protect you. There are only two surefire ways to bring down an evil vehicle:

Shred the tires. Depending on just how evil it actually is, a vehicle might have the ability to repair itself. But that ability is almost always limited to its metal portions. Therefore, evil cars and trucks have an Achilles heel—four of them, actually. Find a way to pop the tires, and your enemy will be struggling to back out of the driveway.

Torch it. Fire: the great horror movie equalizer. Flames wreak havoc on everything from wiring to upholstery, and once the flames reach the gas tank …

4. MAKE SURE IT’S DEAD. When the evil engine finally gives out, you need to move quickly to make sure it stays dead for good. First, crush it. This will require speed, since the car might be trying to repair itself. If you don’t have access to a junkyard compactor, drag it to the bottom of a hill and roll a boulder onto it. Or take it to the woods and cut a sequoia down to fall on it. Or park it on some train tracks. Be as creative as you want, but work fast.

Once you’ve smashed it to bits, gather up all the metal scraps and take them to a steel mill. Melt the scraps into liquid and have it cast into several small ingots. Take the ingots out to sea (a deep lake will do) and throw them in the water one by one, letting great distances pass between each ingot’s watery grave, just to be on the safe side.

5. MAKE SURE IT NEVER HAPPENS AGAIN. If you want to permanently keep your car in neutral (paranormally speaking), consider the following:

Don’t give your car a pet name. Not only is it dangerous, it’s downright pathetic. Stop buffing the hood with a diaper and go find out what it feels like to kiss a girl.

Buy foreign. I’m just as red, white, and blue as the next guy, but facts are facts—97 percent of all the evil vehicles featured in horror movies rolled out of the Motor City.

Go two-wheeling. Motorcycles, scooters, and dirt bikes can’t become self-steering killers, due to the fact that they’d fall over once they stopped moving. An evil scooter only deserves to be laughed at.

WHEN PURSUED BY AN EVIL VEHICLE, SEEK SAFETY IN THE WATER.

EJECTION SEAT #3:
THE AWKWARD PRODUCT PLACEMENT

Should you find yourself in the clutches of certain death—fangs to your neck, knife to your throat—there are only four proven methods of making a last-minute escape, methods called Ejection Seats because of their drastic, last-resort nature.

Ejection Seat #3 is the Awkward Product Placement. What’s the hero’s favorite beer? Chances are, the brand that’s just written a big check to the producers. Product placement is a much-loved means of padding a movie’s budget, but the filmmakers usually take great care to keep it subtle. After all, you can’t have your characters making obvious pitches.

If you find yourself cornered by a horror villain, try buying precious time with the clumsiest, cheesiest advertisement you can imagine. Doing so will confuse your attacker, and maybe—just maybe—allow you to escape.

YOU

I may be crying, but it’s not because of soapy eyes! That’s because I use …

(turn to imaginary camera)

Pupil Soft Shampoo, from the good people at McMillan’s!

YOU

You can crush my skull, but you can’t crush my thirst …

(turn to imaginary camera)

The way a refreshing Blue Bird Cola can!

YOU

There’s no need to clean out my bowels with that machete! Just use …

(turn to imaginary camera)

Gut Grease natural laxative—the brand trusted by more astronauts!

HOW TO DEFEAT A KILLER DOLL

Sometimes deadly things come in small packages.

The world’s worst pickup line, but a superb reminder for anyone trapped in a horror movie. Dolls have always been vessels for evil, whether it’s the wooden dummy who’s sick of having someone’s hand up its bad place, the marionette that cuts its own strings, or the child’s toy that’s through having its buttons pushed. It doesn’t matter if they’re powered by dead serial killers, brought to life by ancient curses, or just plain evil—they have to be taken seriously, no matter how cute their little scaled-down overalls are.

1. KICK THE CRAP OUT OF IT. Even if you’re 12 years old, you’re probably five to seven times larger than your attacker. Why are you running away from something that could be imprisoned with Legos? Before you resort to the fancy tactics that follow, crack your knuckles, step in the ring, and take your yarn-haired nemesis for a stroll down Pain Lane. Rip its limbs off. Pull its stuffing out. Hold it by the feet and whack its head against the sidewalk. There’s a reason dolls have to rely on stealth and trickery to kill—they’re not very strong. You, on the other hand, have the gift of brute force.

2. MAKE THE PUPPETEERS MISERABLE. You lost a fistfight to a doll? Well … OK, try some other tactics (but I don’t recommend you go around telling people).

The filmmakers have painted themselves in a bit of a corner. A slasher or werewolf can be played by a guy in a suit, but a tiny doll forces them to rely on special effects—namely animatronics controlled by off-screen puppeteers. That means the bad guy has to be connected to a bunch of wires, and those wires need to be hidden. This severely limits the little bugger’s movements. If you’re still running away (from a doll, mind you), these tactics will make it next to impossible for the tiny terror to give chase:

Get some fresh air. The killer doll’s natural habitat is indoors, because it’s easiest for the filmmakers to hide its gadgetry by cutting holes in sofas or building false floors. City streets and grassy fields present a whole truckload of problems for the effects department.

Go for a dip. The thought of getting wet sends chills down the artificial spines of killer dolls (and their puppeteers). With all those electronic components, swimming is suicide.

Pick the doll up. Yes, I know it’s trying to chase you down and stab you, but hear me out. If you pick it up and hold it over your head, there will be nowhere to hide the wires, and thus no way for the doll to move.

3. EMPLOY PROVEN ANTI-DOLL TECHNOLOGY. Being trapped in a killer doll movie is like winning the horror lottery. Let’s face it—you have to be an idiot to get knocked off in one. Imagine the last thing you ever saw was a Cabbage Patch Kid standing over you with a knife. Imagine dying with that deep sense of shame.

LIL’ RANDY

(licks knife)

You’re my best pal!

YOU

(dying)

I’ll see you in Hell, you son … you son of a … bitch …

Luckily, you don’t have to, because there are a few easily accessible weapons that no killer doll can survive:

Fire. Propane torches, furnaces, or cigarette lighters—any source will do. Your attacker is made of polyester stuffing and cheap plastic. He’ll burn up faster than a Death Valley match factory.

Dogs. Killer dolls are terrified of dogs, probably because dogs love killer dolls. Namely, shaking them around, pulling their insides out, and eating their plastic buttons. And while dogs can be killed in certain horror movies, they’re invincible in schlocktastic killer-doll flicks.

Toddlers. Of all the doll’s enemies, none is more feared than the common human toddler. Falling into the hands of a toddler is a fate worse than death, for it means suffering through an endless parade of tea parties, nap times, and dress-ups. And there’s not a damn thing they can do about it, since no horror movie would ever let them kill the kid off.

IF YOU’RE UNDER ATTACK BY A KILLER DOLL, SIMPLY KICK THE CRAP OUT OF IT.

10 THINGS TO NEVER, EVER, EVER PUT IN A CHILD’S ROOM

1. Any representation of a clown. Whether it’s stuffed, painted, or otherwise.

2. Indoor play tents. Anything that obstructs the child’s view of the room (or your view of the child) is a no-no.

3. Windows. In horror movies, windows are things that kids get snatched out of by vampires and scary trees.

4. Doors. Does this sound familiar? You hear the children screaming and run to their room, only to have the door slammed in your face by whatever ghost is about to eat their soul.

5. One of those toy monkeys that bang cymbals together. These serve absolutely no purpose other than coming to life when something scary is about to happen.

6. Framed photographs of dead relatives. Or photographs of any dead people, for that matter. It doesn’t matter if the images are of Abe Lincoln or Mother Teresa.

7. Ouija boards. Come on.

8. Any crucifix featuring an open-eyed Jesus. Directors love cutting to “creepy-pupils Jesus” to build dramatic tension. Don’t hand them an invitation.

9. Beds with more than four inches between the box spring and floor. The bed’s legs should also be chained to the floor, and younger kids should sleep wearing a climbing harness tethered to a secured steel cable (in case of an attempted spiritual abduction).

10. Closets. What are you, crazy? Nail the door shut and buy a dresser.

HOW TO TELL IF AN OBJECT IS EVIL

Some inanimate objects are always bad: classic American cars (see this page), intricately decorated boxes that may or may not open portals to Hell, and anything that gives its owner godlike powers. There’s the family heirloom. The haunted computer. Hell, even cell phones are deadly these days.

SATAN

(into phone)

Can you fear me now? Good.

But what about objects that don’t fall under the “automatically evil” umbrella?

1. ASK YOURSELF: ARE NAZIS LOOKING FOR THIS OBJECT? If Der Führer wants it, it can’t be good.

2. DETERMINE THE OBJECT’S COUNTRY OR REGION OF ORIGIN. You can take the item out of the evil, but you can’t take the evil out of the item. Some parts of the horror globe (and galaxy) are particularly good at churning out dangerous artifacts and wicked trinkets. If your object’s “Made in …” label ends with any of the following places, exercise extreme caution:

Egypt. According to Hollywood, every last pebble in the Nile Valley is a gateway to some ancient evil. So remember, “If it comes from a tomb, it leads to doom.”

Sub-Saharan Africa. It’s widely accepted that all African villages have demons that spend their time possessing young local girls. Therefore, any hand-crafted souvenirs (especially tribal masks) from that continent are likely carrying some residual evil.

The southwestern United States and Central Mexico. Any arrowheads, gold charms, or wood carvings you find in these regions are usually vessels for Indian or Aztec curses.

The Caribbean. In the eyes of Hollywood screenwriters, everything in the Caribbean is tainted with Voodoo.

Outer space. Objects from space are universally bad for horror movie humans. They’re either carrying (1) space flu, (2) alien eggs/parasites, or (3) flesh-eating hairballs.

3. DETERMINE HOW THE OBJECT CAME INTO YOUR POSSESSION. If any of these sound familiar, the object is almost certainly evil:

You unearthed it. Here’s a cardinal horror movie rule: Anything you cover with dirt becomes evil. Whether you’re an archeologist or gardener, objects found buried in the earth should be left there, no matter if they’re one or 1,000,000 years old.

You bought it at a charming antique shop. Oops … all antiques are evil. Even worse, they come with a no-returns policy. (If you run back to the store to return it, you’ll invariably discover that the store burned down 10 years ago. Ahhhhhhhh!!!!)

You found it next to a smoking crater. As a rule, any object found in the vicinity of a smoking crater, whether resulting from a meteor strike or alien crash, should not be touched.

It was handed to you by a pale, sweaty priest who mumbled something about “seeing the face of the beast,” then died. Ouch. You’d better pray he was high on LSD.

You stole it. You’re toast. In horror movies, anything you take from its rightful owner comes with a 100-percent-cursed guarantee.

4. CHECK FOR TELLTALE “EVIL OBJECT” FEATURES. These design elements are good indicators that the object in question is evil:

Unnecessary faces. Evil objects are often decorated with faces that serve no purpose other than being scary. Door knockers. Banisters. Canes. If it’s something the director can show in close-up to build tension, it’s probably evil.

An overly complex, puzzle-like locking mechanism. Evil chests and ancient books are often secured with ridiculously overengineered locks. The reason is simple: The longer it takes for something to open after the key is turned, the more suspense.

Words from a nonexistent language. How do you know if the language is nonexistent? Easy. If you can’t read it, it doesn’t exist. Better to play it safe.

Human skin. Anything that’s covered in human skin (other than humans) is always evil.

5. USE THE DOG TEST. Canines are more than bed hogs and volunteer vacuum cleaners—they’re evil detectors. If there’s even the slightest whiff of paranormal peril, they’ll sniff it out. And when they do, how they react will tell you what level of evil you’re dealing with:

A) Spot takes no interest in the object. The object is not evil. Feel free to display it on your mantle. Give Spot a rawhide for his troubles.

B) Spot barks at the object. Best-case scenario, the object is merely inhabited by a friendly ghost. Worst-case scenario, the object is a bridge over which the armies of Hell will march into our world. Dispose of it immediately.

C) Spot pees on the floor and runs away. The object is evil. Dispose of it immediately. Don’t forget to clean your floor.

D) Spot drops dead on the spot. Run screaming from your home and never return. Make no attempt to contact family members you left behind. Start a new life restoring boats in a small seaside town in Mexico.

6. PROPERLY DISPOSE OF THE EVIL OBJECT. Once you’ve determined that an object is evil, don’t go tossing it off a bridge for some other unlucky schlub to find—make sure it disappears for good:

•    If the object is paper or wood, burn it to ash, mix the ashes with equal parts holy water, and use the resulting paste to paint a portrait of a smiling Jesus.

•    If the object is metal, melt it down and turn it into a pair of crutches for a wounded veteran.

•    If the object is plastic, use acetone (nail polish remover) to turn the object into a pile of smelly goop, light the highly flammable pile on fire, and use the resulting ash to paint a portrait of a smiling Jesus.

•    If the object is stone, break it up into small pieces, and use those pieces as slingshot ammo to hold back the Nazis from step 1.

KNOW YOUR HARBINGERS OF IMPENDING DOOM: LIGHT

In the Terrorverse, light is usually your friend. It cuts through the menacing night, chases away the shadows where creatures lurk, and blinds night-vision equipped serial killers. But there are times when light is the last thing you want to see. Especially when it’s coming from something (or somewhere) it shouldn’t:

ANYTHING THAT ISN’T A BULB OR FLAME. There are some things—wood, metal, briefcases, stone—that aren’t supposed to give off light. If they do, don’t stare in slack-jawed fascination. Run.

KEYHOLES. If there’s a powerful beam of light shooting through a keyhole, you can bet there’s something very, very nasty on the other side of the door.

EYES. Light only radiates from the pupils of evil creatures, and it usually signals an imminent attack.

MOUTHS. If light is pouring from your mouth, you’re about to be torn to shreds from the inside out and transported to another dimension—probably a bad one.

NOWHERE. The worst place light can come from is nowhere. Only the most powerful creatures are capable of self-illumination—namely demons and false gods. For dramatic effect, they’ll backlight themselves to constantly appear in silhouette.

CHAPTER IV

CRYPT-OGRAPHY

GHOSTS, ZOMBIES, AND THE REANIMATED

PETER

My granddad was a priest in Trinidad. He used to tell us, “When there’s no more room in hell, the dead will walk the earth.”

—DAWN OF THE DEAD (1978)

Dead people. Greedy sons of bitches. They had their time to exist, and now that it’s over, do they float peacefully into the next plane of consciousness? No. They want more. An equal stake in our world. And until they get it, they’ll rattle as many chains, terrorize as many children, and surround as many shopping malls as they can.

HOW TO SURVIVE A CEMETERY

In the real world, people go to cemeteries after they die. In the Terrorverse, people go to cemeteries moments before they die. Boneyards are the hubs of just about every horror subgenre because cemeteries stir the creepiest nooks of our imagination. They’re the place where our comfy little lives end and the long winter of death begins. And sooner or later, screenwriters will steer you to one. If you’re any kind of horror movie survivalist, you’ll run at the first sign of an epitaph. However, if the plot has made it impossible to avoid carrying a shovel through the gates, don’t just gallop in, or you might end up staying far longer than you planned.

1. KNOW WHEN IT’S TOO DANGEROUS TO ENTER. Common sense dictates that it’s always too dangerous to enter a cemetery if you’re in a horror movie. That goes double if the answer to any of the following questions is “yes”:

Did this land ever belong to Native Americans? You’re in a movie, so the signs should be laughably obvious—a tattered teepee or nearby casino, for example.

Are ravens sitting on the old iron entrance gate? Trick question! If the answer is “yes,” then there’s obviously an old iron entrance gate, which is the real sign that you shouldn’t proceed.

Is there a layer of smoke or mist over the ground? This would obstruct your ability to see things crawling out of the earth and make it more likely that you’d trip while trying to escape.

Is there fresh dirt next to any of the headstones? This one doesn’t need any explanation.

Are there stone angels on any of the graves or crypts? Too tempting for the director. Stone angels will open their eyes and watch you walk by, which always means something bad is about to happen.

2. TEST THE SOIL’S REGENERATIVE PROPERTIES. All cemetery dirt has at least some regenerative ability. The question is, does it take years or minutes to work its magic?

On your way to the graveyard, stop at the market and pick up a fresh fish with its head still on. Before you venture too far into the cemetery, bury the fish a little below the surface. Wait five minutes, and then exhume it. Interpret the results as follows:

The fish is still dead. Marvelous. Proceed with caution.

The fish is wriggling ever so slightly. A discouraging sign. Anything you bury won’t stay buried for long. Anything you dig up will be at least partially alive.

The fish is biting you. Not only is the soil extremely fast-acting (i.e., anything you exhume is going to be at full-strength), but it’s also soured (i.e., anything you bury that isn’t already evil will become so).

The fish bursts into flames. Hmmm. This is probably really, really bad. Run away.

3. DRIVE IN. Get that 4x4 as close to the burial site as possible before you step out—even if it means toppling a few headstones. And when you’re on foot, avoid walking over graves. Not because it’s disrespectful, but because you’re practically begging a zombie to thrust its hand through the soil and grab your ankle.

4. AVOID CRYPTS AND MAUSOLEUMS. If your mission leads you to the entrance of a crypt or mausoleum, know that you’re staring down into of the darkest corners in the Terrorverse. A walled (often underground) tomb with a locking door is a favorite daytime hang-out for vampires (for tips on what to do if you encounter one, see this page). Crypts should never be entered at night. Even during the day, it’s safer to knock them down and sift through the rubble with shotguns at the ready.

5. ADHERE TO STRICT BURIAL GUIDELINES. If you’re lucky enough to reach the burial site in one piece, don’t go any farther until you’ve reviewed these rules:

Never bury someone alive. When’s the last time you watched a movie where someone was successfully buried alive? They always escape, and they always come looking for you.

Never bury or exhume the bad guy. If your goal is to dig up the bad guy and make sure he’s still dead, guess what? He’s not. If your goal is to bury the bad guy because you’re sure he’s finally dead, guess what?

Never bury your child. Nothing’s more painful than losing a child, except losing a child, having that child turn into a zombie, and having to kill that zombie child with your bare hands.

Always place a lightning rod next to the gravesite before you dig. Otherwise, the thunderstorm that kicks up the minute you start digging will result in a lightning strike that brings the bad guy back to life.

Don’t stand in the hole when you open the coffin lid. As soon as you pry the lid off, the creature’s going to spring up like a jack-in-the-box and eat your face.

6. SHOOT FIRST, NEVER BOTHER ASKING QUESTIONS. If something moves, shoot it. Either you’ve just dropped a zombie that was headed toward the smell of your tasty brains, or you’ve killed an innocent old lady laying a wreath on her husband’s grave. Either way, give yourself a pat on the back. You did the right thing. Bury her, burn the wreath, and sleep well knowing it’s better to be wrong than dead.

7. HAVE AN EXIT STRATEGY. You should always know what your next move is in case the creature leaps out of the coffin or the zombies close in. If you were smart enough to drive to the burial site, get back in the vehicle and lock the doors. As always, the engine will fail to start until at least one window is smashed by your attacker(s). When the vehicle starts, point the headlights at the nearest fence and crash through.

Remember: Surviving a cemetery is like surviving a war. And who’d go to war without an exit strategy?

LEARN TO RECOGNIZE THE WARNING SIGNS OF A HAUNTED CEMETERY.

EJECTION SEAT #4:
THE COST-PROHIBITIVE LOCATION

Should you find yourself in the clutches of certain death—fangs to your neck, knife to your throat—there are only four proven methods of making a last-minute escape, methods called Ejection Seats because of their drastic, last-resort nature.

Ejection Seat #4 is the Cost-Prohibitive Location. Most horror movies are made on shoestring budgets, which is why they usually take place in inexpensive locations—the woods, a house, etc. The astute horror movie survivalist can take advantage of this. If you’re being chased by a chainsaw-wielding killer, retreat to a location that the filmmakers (and thus, your attacker) can’t afford to follow you to—somewhere requiring stratospheric location fees, hundreds of extras, and logistical headaches:

MANSIONS. Shooting at a mansion is pretty easy from a logistics standpoint, as long as the filmmakers fork over the $25,000 a day that some homeowners charge for the privilege.

AIRPORT TERMINALS. Shooting at a working airport is both expensive and time consuming, due to strict security guidelines, safety regulations, and ever-present noise.

MALLS. Shooting in a store means dealing with managers. Shooting in a mall means dealing with the managers of all the stores. That is, unless filmmakers shut the whole place down, which few horror movies’ budgets can afford. Then the mall must be filled with make-believe shoppers.

MUSEUMS. Filmmakers will have a hell of a time insuring burly union guys lugging lights and cables next to priceless works of art.

SPORTING EVENTS. Step one, pay the stadium. Step two, hire athletes to take the field. Step three, hire at least one seating section full of fans. Step four, declare bankruptcy.

CONCERTS. Filmmakers have to rent a venue, pay a band, dress the stage with all the necessary concert sound and lighting gear, and then fill the place with hundreds (if not thousands) of screaming extras—all of which cost big bucks.

LAW OFFICES. By the time the crew sets foot in the location, the producers will have so many contract restrictions, they won’t be able to roll a foot of film without incurring some kind of financial penalty.

THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE DEADLY: KNOW YOUR GHOSTS

Poltergeists. Specters. Free-floating, full-torso, vaporous apparitions. The real phantom menaces. Ghosts come in all kinds of exciting shapes and flavors. Some are merely nuisances, some are faithful companions, and others have the will (and the way) to drag a person out of this world. As a horror movie survivalist, you’ll need to be able to tell the difference—and that starts with a lesson in the six ghost archetypes.

#1 THE BUDDY. These are often the ghosts of children, and they spend their time trying to befriend living children. Buddies know they’re dead. In fact, after a brief postfuneral depression, they learn to see their new ethereal status as a plus—using it to score living friends by performing ghostly tricks for their amusement. Buddy ghosts can also be recently deceased parents who feel compelled to see their kids grow up, or benevolent spirits that take a liking to the new family that moves in.

Sample Dialogue: “If you need help with your Sunday school homework, I have a few connections!”

Danger Level: Low. If your kids are going to hang out with dead people, these are the dead people you want them hanging out with.

How to Deal with Them: Treat them as you would any other deceased friend or family member. If you’re lucky enough to get one from an interesting historical period, the stories they tell can be fascinating. They’re also great for spying on the neighbors and deterring theft.

#2 THE PEST. Moving your furniture around. Locking you out of the house when you get the newspaper. Popping out of the drain when you’re showering. Pests are the inmates who’ve been given the keys to the asylum. The class clowns who’ve been granted immunity from detention. They couldn’t be happier to be dead. It’s probably what they dreamt of their whole life. That’s because now their immature pranks have the added benefit of being 100 percent consequence free.

Sample Dialogue: “Yes! I have power over space and time, and I’ve decided to use that power to hide your underwear!”

Danger Level: Low. They’re annoying, but not interested in causing humans physical harm.

How to Deal with Them: Like any pest, you can’t give them the satisfaction of getting angry. Just ignore them. Don’t laugh at their antics, and don’t get angry at their childishness. Pretty soon, they’ll get sick of playing a tough room and move somewhere else. Unless you’re really something to look at in the shower.

#3 THE CHARITY CASE. These are ghosts who shook off their mortal coil without taking care of some important unfinished business. Business that they’ve decided to make your problem.

Sample Dialogue: “Help me count every grain of sand on Waikiki Beach, so that I might have peace at last.”

Danger Level: Moderate. If you cooperate with the errand, they’ll be friendly. But if you fail (or blow them off), they’ve been known to exact revenge.

How to Deal with Them: Get it over with. If you have to deliver a message to his widow in Alaska, just go.

#4 THE ATTENTION WHORE. They moan incessantly. Hover at the end of your bed. Write “get out” in the fog on your bathroom mirror. Day after day. Night after chain-rattling night. They just can’t bear the thought of anyone else getting on with life—especially in “their” house.

Sample Dialogue: “Booooo! Aren’t you scared? Oh God I’m so lonely.”

Danger Level: Moderate. They’re usually just crying out for attention. But in some cases, they go too far and harm the living, intentionally or not.

How to Deal with Them: They keep telling you to get out, but we all know that’s the last thing they really want. Who would they have to haunt if you left? Invite the ghost to a sit-down, and make it clear that you’d like to be friends—but only if the moaning and chain rattling stop.

#5 THE UNAWARE. Poor bastards. They have no idea. Just walking around like their flight landed safely. They’ll even carry on with their daily routines. Sleeping next to their spouse. Driving their cab. Wondering why everyone seems so distant.

Sample Dialogue: “What’s the matter, cat got your ton— … Hey, where you going? Hey, I’m talking to you!”

Danger Level: High. Because they’re not aware of their ghostly status, there’s a good chance they’ll inadvertently hurt someone while attempting human activities—driving a cab, for instance.

How to Deal with Them: You probably won’t have to. In horror movies, the only humans who can see or hear these ghosts are schizophrenics and sad little boys with single mothers. But on the off chance that you fit one of those descriptions, do not be the one to break the news. You don’t want to be within a nuclear mile when that bomb drops.

#6 THE ASSHOLE. Sometimes a person is just an asshole, plain and simple. Ditto for ghosts. Assholes aren’t lost between Heaven and Hell. They aren’t here to see Junior graduate or settle an old score. They’re just hanging around to wreak havoc in the living world. Who knows? Maybe they were wronged somewhere down the line and can’t let go. Maybe Daddy missed too many Little League games. It doesn’t matter.

Sample Dialogue: “Waahhhh! I’m gonna make your precious earthly lives miserable!”

Danger Level: Extreme. Their sole purpose is to terrorize humans and cause them physical harm—even death.

How to Deal with Them: Move to another state and never return. You can’t kill ghosts, and they’re next to impossible to trap. The only time you should stand your ground is if you’ve got a ghoulish ally who’s up to the task (only ghosts can hurt other ghosts). But if you are killed, look on the bright side: Maybe you’ll come back as a ghost and get to look at people in the shower.

KNOW YOUR HARBINGERS OF
IMPENDING DOOM: VISIBLE BREATH

When ghosts get angry, we get chilly. It’s elementary horror movie science. Ghosts are made of matter (mostly water vapor and phosphorus) that is slightly out of phase with our own. Just as one cable can carry hundreds of TV channels, the Terrorverse can accommodate hundreds of planes of existence. Ghosts merely inhabit more than one plane at a time (why do you think they call it “ghosting” when two images appear on the same TV screen?). And because they’re straddling two channels, ghosts act as a sort of valve for energy to flow back and forth between them.

When a ghost becomes angry, it heats up (the reasons for this aren’t fully understood). The angrier (hotter) it gets, the more energy (heat) it robs from our plane of existence. Therefore, when a room suddenly drops from toasty to freezing in a matter of seconds, there can be only one conclusion: There’s a seriously pissed-off presence nearby. And when a ghost loses its temper, bad things are about to happen.

So repeat after me: “If I see my breath, I’m close to death.”

HOW TO KILL THE LIVING DEAD

Anyone who’s killed by a zombie ought to be ashamed of themselves. It’s the equivalent of a fighter jet being blown out of the sky with a Nerf dart. Humans are superior to zombies in every imaginable way: We’re faster, smarter, stronger, more adaptable, and better looking. And yet, in zombie movies, our so-called heroes hole themselves up in a highly vulnerable location at the first sign of a limper. They sit around scratching their heads and getting hysterical while an army of the dead amasses outside instead of simply planning a counterattack.

HERO

(gasping for breath)

What are we gonna do? There … there must be two … three dozen of them in the front yard! At the rate they’re moving, they’ll make it to the porch in a few hours!

If you’re trapped in a movie that pits you against a partially decomposed, laughably uncoordinated enemy, don’t retreat: defeat.

1. STOP BEING SO PATHETIC. Pull yourself together! You’re the human! You possess complex problem-solving skills. You can run faster than a slow shuffle. Stop acting like prey and start acting like a hunter!

Of course you’re scared. Your self-confidence has been rattled by fear. So let’s puff up that chest and review all the reasons why humans are way, way more awesome than zombies:

Speed. Humans can walk at a good clip. Zombies use tortoises as skateboards. Well, most of them do. Though rare, fast-moving zombies do exist. Little is known about their origins, but they seem to be indigenous to Great Britain and remakes.

Complex problem-solving abilities. Humans send robots to Mars. Zombies are baffled by doorknobs.

Weaponry. Humans have a vast supply of guns, knives, chemicals, and explosives at our dexterous fingertips. A zombie’s arsenal includes teeth, and … wait … nope, that’s it. Teeth.

Strength. Zombies aren’t stronger than humans. On the contrary, their muscles have begun to rot, making them weak and brittle.

2. ARM YOURSELF. At the first sign of a zombie outbreak, raid the local gun shops, sporting goods stores, and “we sell everything ever made” megastores, and procure some instruments of undeath.

Rifles. The cornerstone of any anti-zombie campaign. Preferably high-powered semiautomatics.

Shotguns. Excellent for close-quarters fighting. Make heads disappear like magic!

Bombs. Whether a brick of C4 or a pipe filled with gunpowder and rusty nails, bombs are a highly effective means of vanquishing zombies.

Incendiary devices. Zombies are famously terrified of fire, and with good reason—they’re much more flammable than we are, since their flesh is so dry. And because they’re not exactly nimble, very few manage to stop, drop, and roll after they’ve been lit.

3. SET A TRAP. Sure, you can roam the countryside for months, taking on zombies one by one. Fighting them with knives and fists. But who has that kind of time? Zombies are cattle. Just drive them to the slaughterhouse. Here’s one way of terminating a truckload of dead heads at once.

4. FINISH THE JOB. After the bomb goes off, there’ll be bits and pieces of zombie everywhere. But you’re not out of danger yet. Here’s where those rifles and shotguns come into play. Being careful to keep your ankles away from their mouths, storm the blast area while shooting any remaining zombies full of lead.

5. BURN THE BODIES. Using a push broom or shovel, move the body parts outside, douse them in unleaded gasoline, and roast ’em. Take extreme care to keep their blood and saliva away from your skin, and don’t breathe in the resulting smoke—it could still contain traces of the zombie virus.

6. REPEAT AS NEEDED. The great thing about zombies? They’ll keep falling for it. Why? Because they’re stupid, and we’re awesome.

A. Place an explosive device in a confined area, then lure the zombies with fresh brains.

B. Wait for the zombies to arrive.

C. Detonate the explosives.

D. Take cover.

CREATING A SEMI-LIVING WILL

In the Terrorverse, every responsible adult has two wills: one to be carried out in the event of their death, and one to be carried out in the event of their semi-death. It’s crucial that you leave your family specific instructions on what to do if you become a zombie, if only to alleviate some of the guilt they might feel about chopping off your head.

Spelling out your wishes in black and white also eliminates the possibility of a painful, protracted legal battle, and ensures that—zombie or not—you’ll be allowed to die with some dignity. A semi-living will might be something as simple as this:

Last Semi-Living Will and Testament

I,___________________, being of sound, blood-enriched mind and living body, do hereby wish the following three steps to be executed with all due expedience and in the order specified, in the event of my transformation (whether accidental or otherwise) into a zombie:

1. My head shall be forcibly removed from my body.

2. No less than five (5) bullets shall be fired point-blank from a high-powered rifle into my brain.

3. My head and body shall be burned until nothing but ash remains.

I leave these instructions of my own free will on this day,___________________, 20___.

Signed,

_________________________

HOW TO KILL A VAMPIRE

They’ve been horror movie staples since Satan created the Terrorverse and said, “Let there be fright.”

Unlike clumsy slashers or tantrum-throwing poltergeists, vampires are graceful. Refined. They don’t kill for pleasure or souvenirs, they kill for food—and they’re not picky eaters. The young, spry, and infirm are turned into involuntary blood donors in equal numbers. “Anything with a beat is meat,” as vampires are fond of saying. Fighting them with your bare hands is suicide. Guns? No effect. Crosses make them laugh. And contrary to popular belief, they’re actually quite fond of garlic. But that’s not to say that they’re invincible. In fact, vampires are among the most vulnerable villains in all of horrordom—as long as you know how to exploit their weaknesses.

1. SET FIRE TO THE LAIR. Every vampire has a safe house, a dark place to crash during those dangerous sunlight hours. These are often crypts, caves, and basements—places that offer plenty of protection from the deadly rays outside. That is, as long as they stay inside.

So how do you get a vampire to leave his lair during the day? Set it on fire. The vampire will wake up with two unsavory options. Option 1: Run outside to escape the fire. Result: Burned to death by sunlight. Option 2: Stay inside to avoid the sunlight. Result: Burned to death by fire.

2. OBTAIN A LICENSE To BLESS. You want to vanquish a vamp? Graduate from the seminary. Priests have the power to marry couples, preside over services, and, best of all, turn regular water into holy water. And holy water is like battery acid to bloodsuckers. Sure, you could just ask a priest for a few gallons if you didn’t feel like going though all the trouble, but a real vampire hunter is locked and loaded with the power of Christ 24/7 and uses that power to preemptively bless as much liquid as possible: swimming pools, bottling plants, rain clouds, even reservoirs.

3. SHOOT THEM WITH BLOOD-TIPPED BULLETS OR ARROWS. “Wait, don’t vampires like blood?” Sure, if it’s fresh and warm. But if the blood comes from something that’s already dead, it gives them a fatal case of food poisoning.

Buy a bucket of blood from a meat-packing plant and dip your bullets or arrows in it. Let it dry and dip again. Repeat this process until each projectile has a thick scab on its tip. Pouring a teaspoon of blood into shotgun shells works, too.

4. OPEN A 24-HOUR TANNING SALON. Vampires love to look good. Sexy hair. Sculpted bodies. Tailored outfits. But what’s the one fashion accessory that’s beyond their reach? A healthy tan. Vampires know that the artificial UV rays of a tanning bed won’t hurt them. What they don’t know is that your tanning beds come with built-in pneumatic stake drivers. Anyone who schedules a tan after midnight has to be a bloodsucker. Sure, you’ll kill a few innocents here and there. But if they were tanning in the middle of the night, they were probably very lonely people anyway, and nobody will miss them.

EVERY VAMPIRE CRAVES A GOOD TAN.

5. INTERVIEW IT. Ultimately, a vampire’s vanity is its greatest weakness. No bloodsucker can turn down the chance to tell its life story, especially to an author or journalist. You’d think they’d be reclusive—cautious of drawing attention to themselves, lest they stir up any local vampire hunters. But they couldn’t care less. They live long, lonely semi-lives. What’s the point of it all if they don’t have anyone to share it with? Place an ad like this in the classifieds, and get ready for the phone to start ringing:

VAMPIRES WANTED

To be interviewed by media professional for sympathetic, comprehensive look at their lives. Discreet. Two-hour maximum commitment. No compensation. Contact: [your e-mail or phone number here]

How you ambush and kill them when they show up is your choice.

6. BECOME A VAMPIRE. It’s the nuclear option of anti-vampire warfare. Destroy the enemy, even if it guarantees your own destruction.

Becoming a vampire is easy. Just wander the dark city alleyways (near cemeteries if possible) until one comes along and sinks its fangs into you. As your blood is being drained, request a membership in Club Dead. They’ll have you suck blood from them, and before you know it, you’ll be craving some red nectar. Once you’re transformed, finding other vampires will be easy, since bloodsuckers can smell each other from great distances and you’ll be invited to all their parties. And since you’re now as fast and as strong as they are, killing them will be easy, too. Of course, the rub of this whole deal is that once you’re done killing all the other vampires in your area, you’ll have to kill yourself.

HOW TO TELL IF YOU’VE BEEN DEAD SINCE THE BEGINNING OF THE MOVIE

Used to be that a man knew where he stood. Whether he was battling vampires or amorphous blobs, a horror hero could always count on one thing: He was alive. But these days, there’s a new dance that’s sweeping the Terrorverse: the twist. The shocking revelation at the end of the movie—he’s been dead since the 10-minute mark. It’s a device that would never be accepted in any other genre.

SONNY

You mean I …

(bites fist)

You’re tellin’ me I never made it past them tollbooths on the causeway?

To achieve this hoodwink, horror screenwriters give their heroes a condition known as F.R.E.D., Failure to Recognize Earthly Death. If you’re trapped in a horror movie, don’t take anything for granted, least of all your life.

1. RETRACE YOUR STEPS. Were you recently involved in anything that could have sent you to an early grave? A robbery? A car accident? A plane crash? Something you feel lucky to have narrowly survived? Do you remember what happened immediately afterward? Did you wake up in the hospital surrounded by friends, family, and flowers or is the whole thing a blur? Is there a large chunk of time you simply can’t account for? Posttraumatic time loss is a leading indicator of F.R.E.D.

2. ARE YOU BEING HAUNTED? F.R.E.D. victims often experience a phenomenon known as reverse haunting. This occurs when they mistake living people for ghosts—usually a family that’s moved into “their” house. Just as ghosts appear solid to certain living people, living people can appear as apparitions to certain ghosts. Ergo, if your condo suddenly becomes infested with ghostly men, women, and children who act like they own the place, they just might.

3. OBSERVE OTHERS. How do others act toward you? Are they rude? Disrespectful of your personal space? Do they fail to hold the door or apologize when they bump into you (and has that been happening a lot)? Do they avoid eye contact unless they’re dogs, homeless people, and creepy children? Do your poker buddies always forget to deal you in? Are your kids more standoffish than usual? Does your wife bring strange men home and sleep with them like you’re not even there?

The problem may not be your less-than-winning personality, but rather your less-than-detectable pulse.

4. BREAK THE RULES. Being dead has its advantages. For one, you’re not governed by rules of common sense and decency. Therefore, one of the surest ways of confirming your death is testing whether or not those rules still apply.

Enter restricted areas. Perhaps a locker room of the opposite sex or the Pentagon. If no one stops you (and you aren’t a transvestite or four-star general), you might be dead.

Stop flushing. If no one complains after a few days, there’s a solid chance your waste is not of this earth.

Root for the Yankees at Fenway. If you don’t die by the seventh-inning stretch, you’re already dead.

Use the salad fork for your main course. If no one snickers at your stupidity, all signs point to your morbidity.

Wear socks with sandals. Or black shoes with a brown handbag. If you don’t get any disapproving looks from the local fashion police, you’re almost certainly dead.

Mess with Texas. No live human being could mess with Texas. If you succeed in messing with Texas, it’s a sure bet you’re as dead as a June bug in July.

5. BE SPECIFIC. Your screenwriter’s working overtime to stay one step ahead of today’s savvy audience. In order to make it seem as if you’re still alive, the writer has to create situations in which people look as if they’re responding to you even when they aren’t. And to do that, the writer desperately needs you (the hero) to be as vague as possible:

HERO

Listen, Sam.… I know I haven’t exactly been the world’s best brother, but I just want you to know. I love you.

SAM

(looks away, whispers)

Why, Liam? Why do bad things happen?

Which means that you should be as specific as possible:

HERO

What’s the square root of nine?

SAM

(looks away, whispers)

Why, Liam? Why do bad things happen?

6. KEEP A TIME JOURNAL. Based on a handful of interviews with F.R.E.D. victims who had recently become aware of their death (but not yet moved on to the next plane) it seems that ghosts experience short “bursts” of existence. Some omnipresent editor reaches in and makes one burst seamlessly flow into the next in such a way that the ghost has no idea that anything out of the ordinary has happened.

Because of this phenomenon, F.R.E.D. victims are notoriously bad at keeping appointments, since their time has little to do with ours. If you’re a normally punctual person who suddenly starts missing lunches or wondering where the time went, try keeping a log of your day. Simply write down where you are and what you’re doing every half hour for 12 hours, and then review your log in the evening. If you have significantly fewer than 24 entries, there’s a chance someone’s been cutting out parts of your existence.

7. FORCE THE ISSUE. Ultimately, all the journal keeping and specific dialogue in the world is no match for a trip to the convenience store. You really want to know if you’re dead or not? Force the issue. Walk up to a stranger and ask the time. Stroll into traffic and see if anybody swerves. Walk into a convenience store and try to buy a pack of cigarettes. If the clerk doesn’t seem to see or hear you, you’re dead. If he sells you a pack of smokes? You’re alive.

Careful, though. Those things’ll kill ya.

IF A MAN GOES UNNOTICED IN A WOMEN’S RESTROOM, HE’S BEEN DEAD SINCE THE BEGINNING OF THE MOVIE.

CHAPTER V

FANGS OF FURY

ALIENS AND BEASTS

NEWT

We’d better get back, ’cause it’ll be dark soon, and they mostly come at night … mostly.

—ALIENS (1986)

I have to admit … I’m rather fond of aliens and possessed beasts. Unlike some of our clumsier adversaries, there’s a certain class to the way they savagely kill. In some ways, it’s an honor to be murdered by them. That said, it’s an even greater honor to light a victory cigar from their burning corpses.

HOW TO SURVIVE A GLOBAL
ALIEN ATTACK

The TV sputters, then quits. Dirty dishes rattle in the sink. An earthquake? Before you even finish the thought, the power cuts out. You open the drapes, letting in the sulfur-yellow glow of streetlights. Then it hits you:

YOU

But if the power’s out, why are the streetlights still …?

You notice neighbors gathered in their yards, eyes wide as saucers, pointing at the sky. A sky filled with yellow lights. And so it begins.

Rumors fly. One hundred ships. One thousand, hovering over every major city in the world. Tanks roll through the streets. World leaders address their anxious flocks. Religious services are standing-room only. Heart attacks and attempted suicides wreak havoc on emergency rooms. And then there’s you. Wondering whether to stay, go, or swallow that cyanide capsule you’ve been saving for just such an emergency.

1. DON’T BE A SUCKER. It’s a movie rule that dates back to the Truman era: When aliens come to Earth en masse, they do not come in peace. Ever. No matter what olive branch they offer in one purple hand, they’re concealing a ray gun in the other. One alien? No problem. You’ve got yourself the makings of a fine coming-of-age movie. More than one alien? It’s a full-scale attack. Guaranteed.

There are only three reasons aliens come in groups:

To eat us. Apparently, humans are quite the scrumptious delicacy. (Though you have to wonder, what do they eat back home?)

To enslave us and steal our resources. Their planet’s almost out of crude oil, so they’re here to take ours. (Ha, ha! Joke’s on them!)

To destroy us for no reason. That is, other than the fact that they’re total dicks. Dicks who (after eons of evolution, philosophical discussion, and scientific advancement) have decided that the meaning of it all is to kill.

Never trust an alien. Not even if they give you the cure for cancer wrapped in the end of world hunger. Don’t you realize they’re just making sure we’re plump and tumor-free?

2. STAY AWAY FROM THE SHIPS. Let those flute-playing hippies be the first to feel the aliens’ wrath. “Oh, look! They’re flashing some lights! Aren’t they pretty? I wonder what’s gonna happen next?” Allow me to ruin the surprise: You’re going to be blasted with a Xoraxian Krellbor that turns your bones into lava.

3. LOOT. You might think that looting is wrong, but when the ships begin firing, you can drive over to the local megastore and wait patiently for one of the cashiers to show up for work. And when you finally grow a brain and realize that civilization is closed until further notice, throw a shopping cart through the window and start grabbing supplies:

Food. Dry, canned, and powdered only. As much as you can carry.

A pistol. And plenty of ammo. Not for fighting aliens—for protecting yourself from humans who decide they want some of your supplies.

Camping equipment. Tents, sleeping bags, flashlights, waterproof matches, hand-cranked radios, binoculars, knives, propane tanks, blankets, batteries, and rope.

First aid supplies. Bandages, hydrogen peroxide, and pain relievers are priorities.

Large-capacity squirt guns. See explanation on this page.

4. RETREAT TO A REMOTE LOCATION. Even the biggest alien invasions are limited to urban areas, at least during the first phase. If they’re here to eat us, that’s where the most people are. If they’re here to enslave us, that’s where our heads of state are. And if they’re just dicks, that’s where they can do the most damage in the shortest amount of time.

You have no business being anywhere near a metropolitan area. If you’re in a tiny, long-forgotten town that you’ve been dreaming of leaving your whole life, stay there. If you’re a city dweller who drives into the surrounding countryside and makes snarky remarks like “Can you believe people live out here?”, go live out there.

GOOD REMOTE LOCATIONS:

Woods (spring and summer). Leafy treetops provide excellent cover, and abundant wildlife provides food when the canned stuff runs out.

Caves (fall and winter). There’s a reason we lived in them for thousands of years. They’re easy to heat, they protect you from the elements, and they keep you well hidden. The deeper the cave, the better.

BAD REMOTE LOCATIONS:

Cornfields. These are probably being used as terrain markers or staging areas for the invaders. Besides, a cornfield is one of the last places you want to be in a horror movie (see “What to Do If Your Corn Has Children in It,” this page).

Prairies. Wide open spaces have no hiding places.

5. STAY CLOSE TO WATER. If you have a boat, now would be the time to get something more practical than a superiority complex out of it. Aliens tend to ignore the 70 percent of our planet covered in water. Drive a few miles offshore and wait this whole mess out if you have the option. If you have access to a submarine, even better.

If the closest you can get to water is the puddle that forms on the roof of your tent, fear not. Remember those large-capacity squirt guns you looted? Fill them up and keep them close at all times. If you run into a spaceman, you stand a better chance of killing it with a good soaking than a hail of bullets. Alien invasion movies are basically metaphors for man’s overreliance on technology, so it’s almost always something primitive that brings the aliens to their knees. Earthly bacteria, bee stings, or water.

ZORAC

Prepare the fleet! The blue planet shall be ours!

CROM

But the blue planet is covered in korlock!

ZORAC

So?

CROM

So, doesn’t korlock turn our syndaks into meklar?

ZORAC

(thinks)

Good point.

(to others)

OK, everybody hear that? Stay away from the korlock parts.

CROM

But you can’t just …

ZORAC

ENGAGE!

WHEN ALIENS COME TO EARTH EN MASSE, THEY DO NOT COME IN PEACE. EVER.

POOR CAREER CHOICES FOR HORROR MOVIE CHARACTERS

Surviving a horror movie is hard enough without choosing one of these 99.9 percent fatal professions:

A) GRAVEDIGGER. A job that requires you to dig graves. In a cemetery. Alone.

B) POLAR SCIENTIST. “Hey, I know—I’ll go to the most isolated part of the world. A place where night lasts for six months! What a great idea!”

C) SECURITY GUARD. If something goes bump in the night, you’re the guy who has to check it out.

D) CAMP DIRECTOR. You’re an authority figure who bosses teenagers around in the middle of the woods. It’s a shock you lived long enough to read this senten— …

E) HOOKER. Prostitution is so fatal in movies that hookers rarely even get the courtesy of an on-screen death. The first time we see them is when our grizzled hero cop is scraping them out of several Dumpsters.

F) JANITOR. Strange. You could’ve sworn you locked the door to the pool. Why are the lights off? And why does that laughter sound like it’s coming from the water?

WHAT TO DO IF THERE ARE SNAKES ON YOUR PLANE

Bears on a bus? Sign me up. Meerkats on a sailboat? Adorable. Snakes on a plane? The very definition of terror.

Horror movies and airplane movies coexisted peacefully for more than a century. Sure, there were a few isolated incidents—a monster on a wing, a psychotic passenger. But they were always minor. Focused on an individual rather than the entire plane. That is, until the long-standing truce was shattered. We now live in a Terrorverse where no one is safe from a painful, venomous death.

Thank you for flying American Scarelines.

1. RECRUIT SKILLED PASSENGERS. “Wait … isn’t step one ‘land the plane’?” Sure, if you’re over land. But guess what? You’re not over land. You’re nowhere near land. And if by some miracle you are over land? The landing gear doesn’t work. Your screenwriter is no dummy. You think somebody sadistic enough to trap hundreds of men, women, and children in a tube full of snakes is going to let you off that easy?

The first thing you need to accept—no matter how tough you think you are—is that no one can survive this ordeal alone. You need help. And lucky for you, an airplane is just the place to find it. In movies, all transoceanic flights have at least one of each of these on the manifest:

•   Dangerous criminal who the government has decided to transport on a commercial flight for some reason. This individual will have street smarts that might come in handy.

•   Federal agent accompanying the criminal (an FBI agent or air marshal) who’ll have the guns and training to help you stay alive.

•   Hijacker who was planning on storming the cockpit and diverting the plane, but that was before he was surrounded by cobras. He’s probably a retired soldier with some valuable skills, so save your political differences for another movie.

•   Doctor to treat any snake bite victims. And by treat, I mean “apply a cold cloth to their forehead while they die miserably.”

•   Guy who knows a tiny bit about flying, who’ll be able to keep you in the air after the pilots die (usually somewhere around the 30-minute mark).

2. GET HIGH. I’m talking stand-on-the-seat-cushions high. Snakes slither across the floor, meaning that’s the last place you want your ankles to be. If the plane has two passenger decks (a Boeing 747 or Airbus A380), you’re better off on the higher deck, since the infestation probably originated in the cargo hold, and it’ll take more time for the snakes to climb their way to you.

3. COVER THE FLOOR WITH MOTHBALLS. The chief ingredient of mothballs is naphthalene, which also happens to be the chief ingredient in many snake repellants. So the next time you’re boarding a flight and someone asks you why your carry-on smells like a grandmother’s closet, just give them a wink and say, “Let’s hope you never have to find out.”

4. CREATE A LUGGAGE AVALANCHE. Instruct the passengers to open all the overhead compartments (be careful—items may have shifted). Next, force your way into the cockpit and replace the dead pilots with the guy who knows a tiny bit about flying. Over the intercom, tell the passengers to move into the front two-thirds of the cabin. Next, disengage the plane’s alpha limiter, a built-in device that prevents the plane’s nose from lifting, and pull back on the yoke to bring the plane into a steep climb. The yoke will begin to shake in protest. Pay it no mind.

Back in the cabin, the snakes will start falling into the rear third of the plane along with all that loose luggage. The ones that aren’t crushed to death will have to slither their way through a mountain of Louis Vuitton, buying you a little time.

4. UNLEASH A SUITCASE FULL OF MONGOOSES. Laugh all you want. But the fact is, snakes are the number one cause of death in horror movie aviation. Is it really so stupid to buy a little traveler’s insurance in the form of a bag of half-starved mongooses?

You can try to bring two bags packed with mongooses, but most airlines have a limit of two carry-ons—and your other one is already full of mothballs.

5. BLOW ’EM AWAY. It all boils down to this: No screenwriter (or director) can resist the chance to do a big “depressurization” scene. According to movie physics, everything that isn’t nailed down can be sucked out of a bullet-sized hole in an airplane’s fuselage. No matter how many snakes you destroy, they’ll keep on coming until you give the filmmakers what they want:

1.   Buckle up. Get everyone’s tray tables stowed and seatbelts tightly fastened.

2.   Lower the oxygen masks. Rest assured that oxygen is flowing, even though the bag does not fully inflate.

3.   Shoot one of the windows. Here’s where the gun carried by the federal agent (or hijacker) comes into play. As soon as a bullet penetrates a window, the cabin will turn into a deleted scene from Twister.

4.   Get the plane below 10,000 feet (3,000 m). It should only take a few seconds for all the snakes to get sucked out, so the guy who knows a tiny bit about flying should dive the plane to this altitude, where the pressure equalizes and there’s enough oxygen to breathe.

Well that wasn’t such a chore, now was it? All that’s left to do is sit back and wait for the guy who knows a tiny bit about flying to bring the massive jet in for a smooth landing, despite the fact that he’s never flown a real plane before.

SNAKES ON A PLANE ARE NO MATCH FOR A VICIOUS MONGOOSE.

10 WILDLIFE CREATURES THAT ARE ALWAYS EVIL

1. MONKEYS. Opportunistic bastards. A monkey would sell its own mother for a stale banana peel—which is why they’re always recruited as spies for the enemy.

2. ROTTWEILERS. Dogs are universally good, with one exception. It seems that Rottweilers put their paw print on a contract with Satan, since they’re always portrayed as rabid psychopaths or guardians of the Antichrist.

3. SHARKS. They’re bad enough in the real world. In horror movies, sharks can carry a grudge, solve problems, eat boats, and track humans halfway across the globe.

4. RAVENS. As birds go, ravens are actually quite pleasant. Unfortunately, they’re also classic harbingers of impending doom.

5. CATS. Whereas monkeys are evil because it pays well, cats are just plain evil. They don’t need an incentive to sell you out or steal your baby’s breath; they do it for the sheer pleasure of being rotten.

6. RATS. Where there’s one rat, there’s 14,000. And where there’s 14,000 rats, there’s some sociopath using them to murder people.

7. BATS. It’s not a bat, it’s a vampire.

8. OWLS. Owls have been waging a PR campaign to change their perennial image as evil creatures. They’ve bought their way into a few family films, playing the faithful friend or endangered species, but don’t be fooled—they’re coldhearted killers.

9. SLOTHS. There’s actually nothing to suggest sloths are evil. But seeing as they’re the only animal named after a deadly sin, it’s probably best to avoid them.

10. WOLVES. It’s not a wolf, it’s a werewolf.

HOW TO SURVIVE A SPACE-BASED HORROR MOVIE

Isolation. The secret sauce that makes horror movies so deliciously unnerving. Ninety-nine percent of the time, heroes are utterly alone. That isolation can be physical (a remote cabin, a snowbound hotel), metaphysical (insanity, the afterlife), or both. But nothing compares to the isolation of space.

Rescue could be light years away. Running outside isn’t an option. And what you’re up against never has fewer than two mouths. Worse yet, space-based horror movies are among the most expensive to produce—meaning their writers and directors are a cut above direct-to-video. And the more talented your filmmaking adversaries, the more likely that the final frontier will become your final resting place.

1. NEVER ANSWER A DISTRESS SIGNAL. Why would you ever go toward a place where people are in distress? In horror movies, “Help!” doesn’t translate to “Our hyper drive is on the fritz again.” It means, “No one else lived long enough to send this message.” By the time you arrive, not only will everyone be dead, but whatever killed them will be hungry. This is precisely why caller ID was invented.

COMMUNICATIONS OFFICER

Captain! A distress signal from the orphan transport vessel Charity 7! They say something strange is happening to the orphans!

CAPTAIN

Yeah, um … let that one go to voicemail.

2. NEVER INVESTIGATE A FAILURE TO RESPOND. The only thing more ominous than a distress signal is no signal.

•   If a distant colony stops transmitting, the colonists are dead. Make no attempts to recover bodies or equipment. Proceed to step 7.

•   If a ship doesn’t respond to hails, either the crew is dead or they’ve been driven insane by some faceless evil from another dimension, and will eat the soul of anyone who boards. Proceed to step 7.

•   If a fellow crew member doesn’t answer the intercom, a liquid formerly known as your shipmate is being vomited onto the engine room floor after disagreeing with an alien’s stomach. If he or she was in a section that can be remotely jettisoned, you might want to go ahead and do that. Otherwise, pull the self-destruct handle and book it to the nearest escape pod.

3. NEVER EXPLORE AN UNEXPLORED PLANET. This isn’t science fiction. Strange new worlds aren’t inhabited by talking monkeys or technologically gifted, sexy utopian women. They’re cold, dark rocks harboring terrible secrets—secrets that gobble up your crew one by one. If you happen upon a world that isn’t listed in the Pocket Planetary Atlas, keep on truckin’.

4. NEVER GO THROUGH A WORMHOLE. Some things are best left unknown.

Writers have been trying to hammer that one home since Pandora’s curiosity first brought evil into the world—all because she simply had to know what was in that box. And yet horror movie characters continue to ask, sometimes in the most demanding terms:

“What’s in the box?”

Wormholes are essentially shortcuts through hundreds, millions, or even billions of light years of space. Like Pandora, you might stare into those luminescent ripples of dark matter and wonder what’s on the other side. Think of the stories you’d be able to tell. You’d be the Magellan of the modern era. All you have to do is move ever so slightly forward and break the surface. And so you do. And just as light and time begin to take on the turquoise hue of impossible speed, you have a moment of nauseating clarity: “Wait a second … I’m in a horror moviiiiieeeeeeeee.” It’s too late.

5. TURN ON THE LIGHTS. According to space-based horror movies, sometime in the not-too-distant future, ship design is going to take a quantum leap in stupidity. Fed up with building brightly lit, space-saving vessels, designers are going to add deck after useless deck to their increasingly mammoth tankers of the galaxy. These fusion guzzlers will have random steam-belching pipes, rotating beacon lights, and an endless supply of hiding places—but a very limited supply of lightbulbs.

The director and cinematographer are at it again—sacrificing realism for mood and increasing the scare factor by decreasing the illumination. But you can fight back without even leaving the bridge.

YOU

Computer, set all onboard lights to 100 percent.

COMPUTER (V.O.)

Are you sure? That seems awfully inefficient.

YOU

And the fact that this ship has 26 decks for five crew members? That isn’t inefficient?

COMPUTER (V.O.)

Good point. Raising lights.

6. KNOW WHEN TO ABANDON SHIP. The filmmakers want you to see this thing through to the bitter end. Save the nobility for real life. There’s no shame in heading for that escape pod at the first hint of danger, such as:

Anything pops out of anybody’s chest. Whether it’s an alien or the Tootsie Roll owl, get the hell out of there.

You’re on a rescue mission. This has already been covered. There’s no such thing as a rescue in space. You’re merely the second wave of victims.

Your dead wife is walking around the ship. You’re going crazy, and the ship wants you to go even crazier. Leave immediately.

You can’t stop building things with mashed potatoes. Actually, you should stick around for this one, it’s pretty cool.

7. NUKE ANYTHING THAT EVEN REMOTELY CREEPS YOU OUT. It’s the only way to be sure.

THE PRE-HYPERSLEEP CHECKLIST

Do you lock the doors before you go to bed? Of course you do. We’re vulnerable while we sleep, so we take precautions. But what if you’re planning on sleeping longer than eight hours? What if you’re going to snooze for two or more years? Your precautions need to be more thorough than locking the door. If you’re about to take a hypernap, don’t rest until every one of these boxes is checked:

[ ]   Scanners detect no unidentified life-forms or movement aboard.

[ ]   Crew and passenger ultrasounds are negative for alien embryos.

[ ]   Ship’s computer has no secret instructions to terminate life support.

[ ]   Women are dressed in sexy cotton undergarments.

[ ]   Plotted course doesn’t pass through any asteroid belts, stars, or black holes.

[ ]   Coffeemaker is set to start brewing 10 minutes before alarm clock.

WHEN VISITING AN UNEXPLORED PLANET, BEWARE OF COLD DARK ROCKS HARBORING TERRIBLE SECRETS.

CHAPTER 666

THE SATANIC “VERSUS”

CURSES, DEMONS, AND THE DEVIL HIMSELF

REGAN

What an excellent day for an exorcism.

—THE EXORCIST (1973)

(Sung to Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence”): Hello Satan, my old friend. I’ve come to fight with you again. Because you’re worse than any poltergeist. You turn our kids into the Antichrist. And the demon, that you planted in that girl—made her hurl. Now hear my sound … of violence.

WHAT TO DO IF YOUR CORN HAS CHILDREN IN IT

Not only is farming one of the deadliest horror occupations (remoteness, animals, sharp things everywhere), but in the hands of most screenwriters, cornstalks are antennas for receiving evil. Why? Because they’re a clear metaphor for isolation, easy to get lost in, cheap to film in, and—best of all—very, very hard to see in. Because cornfields are such ripe horror territory, they’re often infested with demons, sign-making aliens, winged carnivores, and worst of all … fanatical children.

A religious child infestation is every corn farmer’s worst nightmare. The onset is sudden, and the results can be disastrous for the crops. If left untreated, the little buggers will make themselves at home, using inventory to make crucifixes, trampling paths everywhere, and chanting Bible passages day and night. If your infestation has already progressed to conducting human sacrifices and summoning false gods, burn the whole mess and collect government subsidies until next season. But if you’ve caught it early enough, here are some safe, somewhat humane ways of driving them out, each step increasing in severity.

1. FIRE UP THE CROP DUSTER. Farmers use aircraft to spray their fields with bug-killing chemicals. You can employ the same method to counter the effects of corn-dwelling kids. But instead of spraying pesticides, you’ll need to blanket the infected area with something that neutralizes naughty children. Some suggestions:

Crushed Ritalin. Nothing soothes the savage preteen like a bloodstream full of methylphenidate. Get your hands on several cases of Ritalin, mill it into a fine powder, and dust away. Before you know it, the little buggers will be off to find the nearest Sylvan Learning Center. About 40 pills per child should do the trick.

A skimpy tank top. Due to their religious fanaticism, corn-dwelling children dress like eighteenth-century puritans—a weakness easily exploited with a single piece of twenty-first-century clothing. One of the female pests will happen upon the tank top and try it on, instantly making her the hottest girl in the cornfield. The other females will divide into two groups: those who befriend the girl to bask in her popularity, and those who denounce her as a “total whore.” The males, meanwhile, will practically tear one another apart trying to be with her. Result? What had been a harmonious, God-fearing community is now a John Hughes movie, and the colony destroys itself from within.

Pot brownies. It doesn’t matter what kind of demon they have protecting them, nothing has more power over a child than the smell of fresh-baked brownies—especially when you’ve been gnawing on nothing but raw corn for months. Drop a few pot-laced batches (you’re on your own when it comes to scoring the ingredients) over the focal point of the infestation and wait for the hungry vermin to gobble them up. When you hear “Redemption Song” or “Comfortably Numb” in the distance, that’s your cue to drive into the field, round them up (they won’t resist), and dump them at the nearest 24-hour diner, where they’ll share a plate of gravy fries and talk about death till the sun comes up.

2. BUILD A BASEBALL FIELD. If crop dusting comes up short, don’t despair. In the late 1980s, a loophole was created in the “all movie cornfields are evil” law, and you can reap the benefits with only a small investment of time and money.

First, clear a few acres of your corn, preferably near your farmhouse. Next, build a baseball field. You’ll need some dirt, chalk, fencing (for the backstop), a few poles, some lights, and, of course, regulation bases. The whole shebang shouldn’t run more than a few hundred thousand dollars, assuming you do the labor yourself.

Once the field is complete, it shouldn’t be more than a few days before deceased Hall-of-Famers show up for practice. At this point, your cornfield has been transformed from evil to merely enchanted, and the children will be forced to leave.

A word of warning: If you leave the baseball field up too long, you’ll be swarmed with motorists who felt compelled to drive all the way to your farm to see it. You also run the risk of your dead father showing up.

3. CONDUCT AUDITORY WARFARE. In 1989, the United States invaded Panama and cornered dictator Manuel Noriega, who’d taken refuge in the Vatican Embassy. Since they couldn’t enter the embassy without permission, the Army turned to an alternative weapon—rock and roll. Using a huge speaker, they blasted the building with ear-piercing music. Eventually, Noriega surrendered. (In 1993, the U.S. government tried a similar thing during the Waco standoff, with less desirable results.)

Aim a group of giant concert speakers at the infested area and blast the most child-repellent noise you can think of. The vermin will either be driven out or driven insane, which is a win-win situation as far as you’re concerned. A few playlist possibilities:

The O’Reilly Factor for Kids audiobook. Imagine the horror of getting advice on being a teenager from the 50-something who wrote this: “The adult doesn’t have to be in the room snappin’ to OutKast, but one of these specimens must be somewhere on the premises.”

Jimmy Buffett’s “Margaritaville.” Scientists have proven that listening to this song causes acute hemorrhaging of the eardrums in anyone under 47.

Old people complaining. Nothing is more aggravating to kids than listening to their parents and grandparents tell the same sob stories of how hard life was when they were young. Simply recruit an old person, give them a microphone, and get them to babble about any of the following: their polio-stricken little brother or sister, the war, or their alcoholic father who lost his job at the plant and beat them with a belt.

4. EXPLOIT THE NEVERLAND RANCH RESPONSE. If all else fails and you still can’t bring yourself to torch it all, there’s only one weapon left in your arsenal. Convert your farm (at tremendous expense) into a magical ranch full of exotic animals, amusement park rides, famous people’s remains, and gigantic silk-covered beds. Then invite the children over for a slumber party.

Just as a gazelle is born knowing to run when it sees a lion, today’s children are born with the Neverland Ranch response, an instinctive compulsion to run away when confronted with exactly this situation.

A HORROR MOVIE PARENTING GUIDE

Being in a horror movie is hard enough. Raising a kid in one can be hell. If you’re the proud parent of a creepy child, keep this quick reference guide handy in case of emergency:

SYMPTOM: My child’s imaginary friend is “talking” through his or her index finger.

TREATMENT: Your child’s “imaginary friend” is actually a very real manifestation of his or her psychic abilities. Therefore, listen closely to whatever it has to say, and act accordingly—even it if tells you to cancel travel plans or cut your spouse’s head off.

SYMPTOM: My child is speaking a language he or she never studied.

TREATMENT: This is a classic demonic/satanic possession symptom, though it can also result from a mischievous ghost using your child as a human hand puppet. (Note: If your child is speaking Latin or speaking backward, you’ve definitely got a possession.) Either way, summon a Catholic priest, who will be able to determine whether an exorcism is necessary (if so, see this page).

SYMPTOM: My child is having conversations with the TV or dead people.

TREATMENT: Your kid is probably being visited by a lost soul with some unfinished business or who is just looking for companionship. Usually nothing serious. In fact, the ghost can be quite nurturing and educational. However, they can cause physical harm in rare cases. Proceed with caution.

SYMPTOM: My child’s nanny just hanged herself in front of us.

TREATMENT: Unfortunately, your child is the seed of Lucifer, heir to the throne of eternal agony.

SYMPTOM: My child screams obscenities at me, slams doors in my face, and tells me that I’m going to rot in Hell for all eternity.

TREATMENT: There’s nothing wrong with your child.

HOW TO PERFORM AN EXORCISM

As powerful as they are, demons lack one thing we puny humans take for granted: a body. But every so often, Satan paroles an inmate and sends it topside with explicit instructions: Hijack a vulnerable human body. What does Beelzebub want with a measly meat puppet, anyway? Simple. The scales of good and evil are precariously balanced. Tip them ever so slightly in one direction (a handful of demons taking human form will do it), and before long, God’s on the ropes.

Spend enough time in the Terrorverse, and you’ll encounter a human who’s the subject of a hostile takeover. When you do, it’s important to act quickly and decisively, because the fate of the world (and perhaps all of existence) is in your hands. So keep your cool, and know your rites.

1. CONFIRM THE NEED FOR AN EXORCISM. You don’t want to go through all the trouble of carrying out an ancient ritual only to discover your supposed victim merely neglected to take their meds. The Catholic Church created strict guidelines for the rite of exorcism back in 1614—guidelines that have remained largely unchanged in 400 years. However, one notable amendment came in 1952, when priests were warned not to confuse mental illness with demonic possession (as opposed to the old days, when the two were inseparable). Look for the following signs to determine that an exorcism is more urgent than a shrink.

Telepathy. A demon will be able to mine your thoughts for fears, regrets, and embarrassing details as well as project nightmarish visions into your head. It may also be able to predict the future.

Telekinesis. Demons have the ability to mentally manipulate objects—making doors slam, shaking beds, hurling knives across the room, etc.

Language. When possessed, victims are fluent in languages they’ve never studied (usually Latin). They may also have the ability to speak backward or in multiple voices.

Appearance. Eyes that have changed color or gone completely white and skin that is pale and covered in lacerations are sure signs of demonic possession.

2. GATHER THE REQUIRED TOOLS. You’re going to need help, and lots of it. According to the rites of exorcism, only an ordained Catholic priest can perform the ritual. So the first “tool” you’ll need is a man of the cloth. The rites call for an older, morally pristine specimen. But forget the older part—performing an exorcism is like going 12 rounds with Ivan Drago. The elderly need not apply. Your priest should be in killer shape—well rested, with zero emotional baggage. No recently deceased parents, no scandals, and no deep insecurities. If he’s hiding anything, the demon will sniff it out in a heartbeat, and your padre will be at risk of becoming possessed himself.

The next “tool” is a physician. Both you and the victim are likely to get some cuts and bruises during the exorcism. It’s best to have an able-bodied M.D. on hand, just in case. The doctor should be the same sex as the victim (to avoid any scandalous touching that might empower the demon).

And then there’s you. You’ll be on hand to provide whatever physical and moral support you can, beginning with gathering the following items:

Bible. These can be found in most hotel rooms.

Crucifix. Not too big or too sharp.

Holy water. By the bucket.

Surgical masks, gloves, and rubber boots. Blood and vomit will be flying.

Rope. For tying the victim to the bed, and for tying the bed to the floor.

Warm clothes. The temperature is bound to drop as the demon does everything it can to make you uncomfortable.

Fresh coffee. It’s going to be a long night. Keep the pot full.

3. PREPARE THE ROOM. First and foremost, the room should be on the ground floor. Too many priests have been lost as the result of accidental or intentional leaps from high windows. If the victim’s bedroom, often the easiest place to stage an exorcism, is on an upper floor, move the victim to a bedroom on the ground floor. Place a plastic drop cloth on the floor and set all the collected tools within easy reach. Finally, remove all occult objects. Some of these may seem innocent, but to the trained exorcist, they’re express lanes to downtown Hell:

Stuffed animals. Children practically worship their precious bears and ponies. Such idolatry is expressly forbidden by the Ten Commandments.

Dungeons & Dragons. A game created by the Dark Lord to lure young nerds into his service.

Harry Potter books. Never mind that the letters in “Harry Potter” can be rearranged to spell “Thy Terror, Pa!” (“Pa” is an obvious reference to God.) These books encourage young readers to imagine a world filled with ghosts, witches, and naughty children. And imagination is the devil’s playground.

Non-Christian albums. These are music to Satan’s ears.

Computers. The Internet is a haven for smut peddlers and secularist bloggers.

4. START WITH A PRAYER. Any prayer will do. Make sure to ask for God’s divine assistance with the difficult task ahead, and profess your personal unworthiness as a sinner a few times. Throw in a little Latin for seasoning.

5. TAKE ROLL CALL. Place one hand on the Bible and the other on the victim’s forehead. Command that any demons present reveal themselves. The demon will begin to resist. Ignore it and continue to step 6.

6. READ SCRIPTURE. The following passages are recommended in the Catholic Church’s official rites:

John 1:14. “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.”

Mark 16:17. “And these signs will accompany those who believe: In my name they will drive out demons; they will speak in new tongues.”

Luke 10:17-18. “The seventy-two returned with joy and said, ‘Lord, even the demons submit to us in your name.’ He replied, ‘I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.’ ”

Luke 11:14. “Jesus was driving out a demon that was mute. When the demon left, the man who had been mute spoke, and the crowd was amazed.”

7. COMMAND THE DEMON TO LEAVE THE VICTIM’S BODY.

This is where the priest’s voice should reach full fire-and-brimstone pitch. Make repeated references to the power of Christ. Repeat this phrase over and over again: “Depart then, impious one! Depart, accursed one! Depart with all your deceits, for God has willed that man should be his temple!”

8. BE READY FOR DEMONIC COUNTERATTACKS Your demonic foe won’t go quietly into that eternal night. It’ll do everything in its considerable power to confuse, tire, anger, and manipulate you. If given the chance, it’ll kill you, too. Everyone on the exorcism team needs to stay focused if there’s to be any hope of success. And to do that, they need to know what’s coming:

Personal insights. Nothing that comes out of the victim’s mouth (including vomit) should be given a second thought, no matter how personal or painful it is to hear.

Visions. Don’t take anything you see at face value, no matter how real it seems. This includes the appearance of dead friends, dreamlike flashes of hideous faces, and images of your own death.

Vulgarity. Catholic priests are celibate, and there’s nothing demons love more than pushing those dusty buttons to make them sweat. Be ready for pornographic dialogue.

Displays of power. Levitation, window rattling, temperature fluctuations, electrical disturbances, appearance changes, furniture moves, and head spinning, to name a few.

9. MAKE SURE THE DEMON’S REALLY GONE Sometimes, those tricky little hellions will pretend to flee in the name of Christ when in fact they’re just laying low until you leave. So before you go ahead and proclaim victory over the armies of the damned, it would behoove you to conduct a few experiments to confirm the total absence of the demon:

Have the victim take communion. Minions of Satan don’t react well to the Eucharist.

Take the victim to a zoo. If the animals become uneasy, you’ve still got a problem.

Give the victim a bath. Don’t tell them that they’re bathing in holy water! If they do fine, the demon’s fled.

WHEN PERFORMING AN EXORCISM, READING SCRIPTURE CAN DIFFUSE A TENSE SITUATION.

WHAT TO DO IF YOU HAVE ONLY SEVEN DAYS TO LIVE

There’s an old axiom, “Tomorrow is promised to no one.” Well, that goes quadruple in the Terrorverse—especially when you do something to raise the ire of the Reaper. Maybe you watched a cursed videotape on a dare. Maybe you escaped some gruesome fate you weren’t meant to escape. Or maybe death just has a good, old-fashioned grudge against you. When your flight to the afterlife switches from “delayed” to “now boarding,” you can adopt one of two philosophies:

“A dying man needs to die, as a sleepy man needs to sleep, and there comes a time when it is wrong, as well as useless, to resist.”

—Stewart Alsop

OR

“ ’Tis very certain the desire of life prolongs it.”

—Lord Byron

If you decide that it’s useless to resist, don’t waste another precious minute reading mediocre metafiction. Get out there and live the next seven days like you’ve never lived before. But if you agree that the desire for life prolongs it, spend each day as follows:

DAY 1. HAVE A GOOD CRY. You deserve it. Finding out you have only a week to live is a good excuse to throw a pity party. Take a day to curl up with a box of tissues, a container of rocky road, and the dulcet tones of Oprah. Feel sorry for yourself. Feel scared. Feel free to get stinking drunk.

Better? Good. Now get over it, you pathetic mess.

DAY 2. PARTNER UP AND START SLEUTHING. If you’re going to beat death, you’re going to have to face it head-on, and you’re in no condition to do it alone. You’ll need a partner, preferably an uncursed person of the opposite sex, who will bring some much-needed perspective to the situation. Plus, you’ll get to sleep with her later in the movie. Everybody wins (including the audience).

Together you should set off investigating the source of the curse. But before you hit the road, get on the Internet. Horror movie characters usually find valuable information online—especially if they’re in a sequel.

YOU

My God … look at this.

(clicks mouse)

There are hundreds of Web sites and message boards about people who’ve died after saying those magic words. Boy, if only I’d learned to use a computer before today, huh?

Armed with whatever information you can find, start pounding the pavement looking for additional clues. Return to the tomb you raided or track down the relatives of other victims. The hope is that you’ll follow the breadcrumbs all the way to the source of the curse’s power and find some way to appease it, thus lifting your death sentence.

DAY 3. STALL THE FILMMAKERS. If your investigation hasn’t met with any success by Day 3, it’s time to think about slowing this process down. Trip up the filmmakers using these passage of time countermeasures:

Dress in period costume. Viewers will wonder if they’re watching a flashback.

Stay away from clocks and calendars. Instruments such as these make it all too easy for the director to illustrate the passage of time.

Avoid montage-related activities. The last thing you need right now is a montage to burn through a few days in matter of minutes. (For a guide to montage activities, see this page.)

Don’t waste time sleeping. You probably skimmed “How to Stay Awake for a Week” (this page), thinking, “I’ll never need this.” Well, you need it now. Every moment spent snoozing is a moment on the cutting room floor.

Keep talking. Especially when you’re on the move. Filmmakers tend to condense travel into a few shots. But if you continue spewing dialogue while you’re on the move—especially dialogue relevant to the story—they’ll be forced to keep it in the final cut.

DAY 4. SET YOUR AFFAIRS IN ORDER. If you haven’t solved this thing by day four, it’s time to consider the possibility that you’re not being asked back for the sequel. I’m not telling you to admit defeat—not by a long shot. But I am telling you to be smart. To get a few things out of the way while there’s still time:

•   Create or update your will.

•   Write your memoirs.

•   Tell the people you love that you love them.

•   Tell the people you hate that you hate them.

•   Make any necessary religious pilgrimages or preparations.

•   Go skydiving.

•   Spend an obscene amount of money on yourself.

•   Give an obscene amount of money to a hobo.

•   Kill the hobo with your bare hands just to see what it feels like.

DAY 5. TRY TO CUT A DEAL. Things aren’t looking good. Fighting death head-on is getting you nowhere. Maybe you’re going about this whole thing the wrong way. Maybe you should be negotiating with death. Maybe there’s something you can do for death in exchange for getting the curse lifted. Carry out some kind of errand? Pass the curse to others? Kill a hobo? Wait … you already did that. Point is, this is a horror movie. Death is everywhere. If you want to talk to it, all you have to do is close your eyes and open your mouth.

Wait till nightfall, find a nice, spooky place with no one else around, and invite death to the bargaining table. Just close your eyes and speak into the darkness:

YOU

Um, Mr. Reaper? Grim? You there? It’s me. The one who you’re coming for in 48 hours. Listen, um … I was wondering  … is there some kind of arrangement we might be able to work out? Quid pro quo? I scratch your robe, you scratch mine?

(nervous laughter)

Death? Hello?

Since you’re in a movie, death will give a clear signal if the answer is “yes.” A candle will blow out, a wolf will howl, or (if the filmmakers are feeling uninspired) the word “yes” will write itself in a foggy mirror. If that’s the case, great. Let the negotiations begin. If not …

DAY 6. HAVE ANOTHER GOOD CRY. Other than praying for a favorable last-minute plot twist, there’s not much that can be done. You might as well enjoy what little time you have left. Are there any items on your Day 4 list that you didn’t get to?

DAY 7. FIND A DE LOREAN. You’re probably going to die today, my friend. Don’t feel bad. You tried. But in the end, “Tomorrow is promised to no one,” right?

It’s time for one last cross-genre Hail Mary pass: time travel. Find a local scientist, physics professor, or inventor, and beg for help in throwing together a time machine (assuming there isn’t a De Lorean in the garage already). If you manage to build it fast enough (before the screenwriter gets wind of what’s happening), it just might work.

Using the machine, go at least one week forward or backward. If you go backward, you can avoid doing whatever it was that got you in this mess in the first place. If you go forward, then technically you’ve lived longer than the one-week limit on your life, and beaten the curse.

SATAN CAN APPEAR IN MANY FORMS. HOPE YOU DO NOT SEE THIS ONE.

HOW TO DEFEAT SATAN

In the unlikely event that you’ve read this book from beginning to end, you’ve learned how to deal with some pretty unsavory characters. But nothing you’ve faced so far can come close to preparing you for the most dangerous character the Terrorverse has to offer:

The devil himself.

This isn’t some second-rate demon moonlighting as a little girl. It’s not a clumsy wisecracking slasher or a killer doll. This is Satan, people. Lucifer. Mephistopheles, if you will.

Take every bad thing that’s ever happened since the dawn of time—every injustice, every murder, every war, every tragedy, and every broken heart. Multiply the sum total of all that pain to the 48 billionth power, and you have roughly the amount of evil Satan sprinkles over his morning cereal.

The point is: Satan is very, very evil.

And not just evil—all-powerful. Pound for pound, el Diablo is every bit as omnipotent as God (in the Terrorverse, anyway). You? The puny horror movie character? Not so much. There’s no clever trap you can set. No magic words that will make him disappear. When Satan says “die,” you say “how violently?” It’s that easy. Unless you have the balls to stand up to him.

Picture this: You’re battling the devil. Maybe he’s in human form, or maybe (budget permitting) he’s chosen a more traditional representation—a red, fire-breathing goat-demon combo of some kind, each tooth a sharpened gargoyle. His tail whips back and forth, smashing nearby statues to pieces. His horns belch black smoke as he saunters toward you. You flatten your back against the cold stone of the exhibit hall, cornered, trying not to stare into those eyes—those dead, sulfur-yellow eyes. This is it. This is how I die. No awkward product placement or jarringly good dialogue can save you now.

He leans in and opens his jaws—the heat coming off his skin blisters your forehead. His breath takes years off your life (irrelevant, since you’re about to die anyway).

And then you remember. There is one thing that can drive the devil away.

SHOW HIM YOUR PENIS. When the devil has you at claw’s length, you need something shocking. Something dramatic. Something that will make the entire Terrorverse collapse in on itself. And there’s only one object with that much power:

A penis.

I offer this simple equation: Full-frontal male nudity (P) does not exist in the Terrorverse (T). Therefore, if P is present, T cannot be present. And if T is present, P cannot be present.

In other words, if a man lets it all hang out for the world (i.e., the audience) to see, whatever movie he’s in cannot, according to the laws of movie physics, be in the horror genre.

If you have a penis? Marvelous. Drop your shorts and make Papa proud.

If you don’t? Find someone who does, and fast.

It may seem like a juvenile response to a desperate situation. A sad attempt to mask fear with immature humor. Maybe it is. But would you rather die with dignity or live with nudity?

Are you not—despite everything you’ve been through—still alive after all these pages? Put your faith in this last step, too. If you’re ever face-to-face with Satan, show him the goods.

EPILOGUE

TANGINA

This house … is clean.

—POLTERGEIST (1982)

When is it safe? When we see credits rolling in front of our eyes? Hear applause? When the killer suddenly takes off the mask, shakes our hand, and says, “Nice working with you”? No, it’s never safe.

Once you’re in the Terrorverse, you’re in for good—even after the movie that brought you there has wrapped. You succeeded in vanquishing the enemy? Great. Chances are you made it to the final credits, and you’ll lead a long, peaceful life (especially if your movie bombs at the box office). But there will always be the possibility, however slight, that you’ll be called back for sequels.

Screenwriters will keep dreaming up new villains and killing methods. Directors will get sleeker and bloodier. And the enemy will keep its fangs and machetes razor sharp.

You’d better keep your skills the same way.

APPENDIX: ADDITIONAL STUDY MATERIALS

If you want to become a writer, you start by reading the classics. If you want to survive a horror movie, you learn from the characters who’ve survived the classics (or at least made it to the third act). Your DVD player is a weapon. Load it with the best ammo available.

ALIEN (1979)
Perfection.

ALTERED STATES (1980)
Paddy Chayefsky. Horror movie. Rent it.

AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON (1981)
Funny. Scary. Sexy. Hairy.

THE AMITYVILLE HORROR (1979)
Bad things happen in house. Family buys house. Bad things happen to family.

THE BIRDS (1963)
How good is Tippi Hedren in this movie? Rhetorical question.

BLACK CHRISTMAS (1974)
The best of the “sorority slashers.” Olivia Hussey slumming it between Franco Zeffirelli epics, and Margo Kidder before Superman sucked all the sex out of her.

THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT (1999)
The idea everybody wishes they’d thought of first.

BRIDE OF CHUCKY (1998)
A deliciously campy series at its deliciously campy best.

THE BURNING (1981)
A superior summer camp slasher. Two of its writers, Brad Grey and Harvey Weinstein, went on to become industry moguls.

CARRIE (1976)
If you haven’t seen this masterpiece yet, pelt yourself with tampons and go to your prayer closet.

CHILDREN OF THE CORN (1984)
Original and creepy, despite some laughably bad special effects (especially toward the end). Spookiest opening music ever.

CHRISTINE (1983)
The reigning champ of the ultrarare “evil car” genre.

CREEPSHOW (1982)
Stephen King playing a hillbilly. Ed Harris disco dancing. E. G. Marshall barfing cockroaches. What more do you want?

DAWN OF THE DEAD (1978)
What has a more painful bite, the zombies or the social commentary? George A. Romero skewers American consumerism (and several characters) in this scary, funny, gory, satirical, sort-of sequel to Night of the Living Dead.

DEAD ALIVE (ORIGINALLY RELEASED AS BRAINDEAD (1992)
The last (and best) of Peter Jackson’s early, irreverent, hilarious, low-budget gore-fests. Maybe the bloodiest movie of all time.

THE EVIL DEAD (1981)
“Hi, my name’s Sam Raimi. This is my friend Bruce Campbell. Here’s a classic horror movie. Enjoy.”

THE EXORCIST (1973)
The power of Christ compels you to watch this movie at least once a year.

FINAL DESTINATION (2000)
Smarter than the average slasher. Actually, that’s not saying much. Let’s go with, “original, slick, and lots of fun.”

THE FLY (1986)
David Cronenberg’s dark portrait of a man falling apart (in every sense); loosely based on the 1958 original. The role Jeff Goldblum was born to play, if you believe in that sort of thing.

THE FOG (1980)
A good old-fashioned atmospheric ghost story—slowly, creepily building to an unforgettable climax.

FRIDAY THE 13TH (1980)
The movie that invented half the rules this book teaches.

HALLOWEEN (1978)
The movie that invented the other half—and catapulted John Carpenter and Jamie Lee Curtis to the big time.

THE HILLS HAVE EYES (1977)
The old “family’s car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, family gets brutally attacked by inbred cannibals, family decides to exact revenge” bit.

THE HITCHER (1986)
How many times do I have to tell you: Never pick up Rutger Hauer!

HOSTEL (2005)
The first 40 minutes are a porno. The next 50 are a series of snuff films. Is this really a horror movie? I’m not sure. All I know is, I can’t stop watching.

HOUSE OF 1000 CORPSES (2003)
Start with one pound of The Hills Have Eyes, add a cup of Rob Zombie’s insanity-laced blood, and cook over the flames of hell for 89 minutes.

THE HOWLING (1981)
Apparently, everybody had full moon fever in 1981.

INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS (1978)
A bug-eyed Donald Sutherland, a pre-Fly Jeff Goldblum, and Mr. Spock (sans ears). Directed by Philip Kaufman before his Oscarnominated career took off.

JAWS (1975)
Young, hungry Spielberg. Young, hungry shark. Perfect script. Perfect cast. You’re gonna need a bigger boat.

LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT (1972)
Psychos rape and murder girls. Psychos move in with one of the girls’ parents. Parents bite off psycho’s penis.

THE LOST BOYS (1987)
A gang of hard-partying California vampires rides dirt bikes. And the Coreys exude their special brand of BFF chemistry.

MISERY (1990)
Rob Reiner bats .1000 when it comes to Stephen King adaptations. James Caan and Kathy Bates are pretty decent, too.

NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD (1968)
The one and only.

A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET (1984)
Wes Craven discovers a new species of slasher, while Johnny Depp gives “wet the bed” a whole new meaning.

THE OMEN (1976)
Think of this film as the final installment in a “Satanic Trilogy” beginning with Rosemary’s Baby and The Exorcist. All three feature superior scripts, actors, and directors, and all three have that tasty mid-’60s to late-’70s grittiness.

THE OTHERS (2001)
A stylish, subdued take on the classic haunted house movie. Nicole Kidman sticks the landing.

PET SEMATARY (1989)
The movie that crosses a sacred line, turns around, pisses on that line, and goes on its merry way.

PHANTASM (1979)
Unlike other super-low-budget late-’70s horror directors, Don Coscarelli isn’t content with knife-wielding maniacs and summer camps. He’s more interested in interdimensional grave robbers and chrome spheres of death.

POLTERGEIST (1982)
Incredibly dated PG fun. Jerry Goldsmith’s score is unreal.

PSYCHO (1960)
The first (and still the best) slasher movie.

RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD (1985)
A hilarious send-up of the Romero zombie universe—and surprisingly ahead of its time (running zombies, talking zombies—even contraption-building zombies). Fast, disgusting, and overflowing with nudity. Written and directed by Dan O’Bannon, cowriter of Alien.

THE RING (2002)
By far the best of the Japanese remakes. The most terrifying opening sequence since Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure.

ROSEMARY’S BABY (1968)
A pre-exile Roman Polanski makes one of the scariest movies of all time, and he does it without an ounce of gore. Any film that can make Scrabble scary is an automatic masterpiece.

SAW (2004)
A new take on the “gamesman slasher,” with some clever twists up its sleeve. Actually, just one clever twist.

SCANNERS (1981)
Another David Cronenberg study of humans playing god with science—this time to gain telepathic powers. You’re probably wondering, “Do we get to see a head explode in this movie?” The answer is yes. Yes, we do.

SCREAM (1996)
Finally! Horror movie characters who’ve read this book!

SE7EN (1995)
I went to see this film by myself on a cold, rainy Boston day. I haven’t smiled since.

THE SHINING (1980)
The best movie ever made? Or merely the best horror movie ever made? A question for the ages.

THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS (1991)
Can you name another horror movie that won an Oscar for Best Picture?

SILENT NIGHT, DEADLY NIGHT (1984)
One of the better Halloween clones, and a Christmas Eve tradition in the Grahame-Smith household.

THE SIXTH SENSE (1999)
“Hi, my name’s M. Night Shyamalan. Trust me … you’ll learn how to pronounce it.”

SLEEPAWAY CAMP (1983)
Most. Insane. Ending. Ever.

SLUMBER PARTY MASSACRE (1982)
Take some busty teenaged girls, add an escaped mental patient, and you’ve got the romantic comedy hit of the summer! Just kidding. He kills them all.

THE STEPFATHER (1987)
Terry O’Quinn’s seemingly normal (yet quietly psychotic) parent is right up there with Jack Nicholson’s Jack Torrance in The Shining. A vastly underrated movie.

SUSPIRIA (1977)
Italian master Dario Argento’s flamboyant, inventive, acid-trippingly colorful opus. One of the best-looking horror movies of all time.

THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE (1974)
Anyone who hasn’t seen this film is a terrorist.

THE THING (1982)
John Carpenter and Kurt Russell at their tough-as-nails, hard-drinking, unshaven best. Never mind the comparisons to Alien. Never mind the fact that it bombed. It’s a must-see. Dog lovers be warned.

28 DAYS LATER (2002)
OK, so not all zombies are laughably slow and clumsy. Or (technically speaking) zombies.

FIVE COMPLETELY INESSENTIAL HORROR MOVIES

These five films have but one lesson to teach us: No matter how stupid an idea is, there’s always somebody willing to put up the money.

HALLOWEEN III: SEASON OF THE WITCH (1982)

After just two Halloween movies, the producers decided the franchise was due for a reboot. So Michael Myers was benched in favor of Conal Cochran, evil toy maker and owner of the Silver Shamrock Company. Cochran’s killing methods were a tad more complicated than Myers’s: He planned to unleash chaos by selling special Halloween masks. Masks that had been fitted with computer chips containing—I shit you not—tiny pieces of a stolen boulder from Stonehenge. Upon hearing the jingle in Silver Shamrock’s commercial, anyone wearing the masks is killed by … the magic of Stonehenge? Needless to say, Mike was back in action for the fourth film.

JAWS: THE REVENGE (1987)

The film that finally sank the franchise. Chief Brody’s widow (he apparently died of a heart attack triggered by his fear of sharks) decides she’s had enough of Amity Island and heads to the Bahamas to be with her son’s family. But unbeknownst to her, a relative of the sharks killed in previous installment follows her from New England, hell bent on seeking revenge on the surviving members of the Brody clan. Even worse, in addition to holding grudges and being able to track humans thousands of miles, this shark also roars when it leaps out of the water! Scary! Michael Caine takes a paycheck as the loveable charter pilot “Hoagie,” and Mario Van Peebles’s “Hey Mon” portrayal sets the Civil Rights movement back a hundred years.

HOUSE OF THE DEAD (2003)

I know it’s trendy to pick on Uwe Boll—widely accepted as the worst director of our time. But I can’t resist. This movie is just too damned terrible. Like most of Boll’s work, it’s loosely based on a video game. We follow a group of teens to a remote Canadian island for the rave of the century. But when they arrive, they discover that the rave—indeed, the entire island—has been overrun by zombies. Naturally they decide to stay and help themselves to the leftover booze, eventually holing up in an old house to be picked off one by one. A paper-thin premise, sure. But it’s the acting that makes this one so special. Boll elicits performances that make Short Circuit’s Johnny 5 look like Marlon Fucking Brando.

FEARDOTCOM (2002)

Here’s how I imagine this movie being pitched: “OK, so it’s like The Ring, right? Only instead of a videotape that kills you seven days after watching it, we have a Web site that kills you two days after you log on to it! That’s five whole days faster! And here’s the best part: It kills you with whatever your worst fear is! Right? Only we’ll never really fully develop that idea. Instead, we’ll focus on a really boring relationship between this gruff detective and this female health inspector who’ve been assigned to the case. You feeling me? But we’re not done yet! There’s also this ghost, right? This ghost of a little hemophiliac girl who used to play at an abandoned steel mill, OK? And she … wait, I forgot something important. Oh, right—we’ll also make it insufferably boring, and even more confusing than it seems so far. Still with me?”

LEPRECHAUN: BACK 2 THA HOOD (2003)

The original Leprechaun was a classic, due in part to Jennifer Aniston’s star-making turn as “Tory.” Leprechaun 2 added a delightful wedding component for the ladies. Next came the Vegas-based Leprechaun 3 and the space-based Leprechaun 4—“home” and “run,” respectively. Then it was back to Earth for Leprechaun in the Hood, which answered the age old question, “What would happen if a magical killer leprechaun was unleashed in Compton?” Everything was going swimmingly. That is, until the producers decided to sacrifice quality and go for the quick buck. In Back 2 tha Hood, we have a leprechaun taking massive bong hits, battling drive-by gangsters, and being dragged beneath low-riders. The dignity and subtlety of the first five films? Gone. Pawned off for a series of cheap gags and black stereotypes. Like that infamous pot of gold, the producers have stolen something sacred. And it’s we, the fans, who’ve paid the price.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to all my friends at Quirk, especially: Doogie “The Doogieman” Horner, Melissa “Depths of Hell-O” Monachello, and David “Put the Lotion in the Basket” Borgenicht. A special rattle of the bones goes to Jason “Invaders from the Planet” Rekulak, who’s guided me through three books now, despite the fact that we’ve never met. The way I see it, this means (A) he’s a ghost who needs to nurture one last writer before he can find eternal peace, (B) I’m insane, and he only exists in my imagination, or (C) we do everything by e-mail.

A special thanks to illustrator Nathan “Not Just Crazy Like A” Fox, for his rare combination of incredible talent and incredible evil.

I wouldn’t have survived without my beloved “Monster Squad,” a group of grown men who’ve retained a sad (for them) but helpful (to me) adolescent passion for horror movies. Jason “Dug Grave” Dugre, Steve “To Hell I Go” Sabellico, Brent “The Nice Guy with the Monosyllabic First Name” Simons, and Eric “The Nebbish Jew” Goldman—along with member at large Kevin “Ch-Ch-Ch” Chesley.

Finally, a special thanks to Cody Zwieg—and an extra-special thanks to Wes Craven.