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Show Halloween spook alley reviews Tuesday, October 26, 1982 9 The moon was a mere sliver, not nearly full enough for a spook alley. Besides, I wasn't even in a spooky mood. Such was the state of mind in which I proceeded to a couple of Spook Alley's. , The first was the Newgate Mall haunted house presented by the March of Dimes and KJQ. Someone called it "The Muckenshovel Self-Service Department Store." It is said to be 64 rooms of bone-chilling terror. I've yet to figure out why. The advertisement in the paper looked good enough: a gruesome clawed hand, poised to tear some woman's throat out; scary stuff. I must say the actual spook alley was disappointing. I wasn't scared once. The experience consisted of walking through an assorted maze of dimly lit rooms. Each room contained some sort of horror or amusement, none of which were the least bit bone- chilling. Within this drab, darkened existence was an assortment of frightfully garbed peculiarities: werewolves, vampires, zombies, and the like. There were other things I couldn't quite identify. There are a few other oddities and annoyances which I encountered during my wanderings that I should probably warn you of. But I will restrain myself since the proceeds go to the March of Dimes, which makes the whole thing worthwhile after all. So if you have a few extra dollars to spend to go through a pretty funny haunted house, by all means humor yourself. Just think of it as a donation. It's rated "G" for Ghoulish. So take the kids. They'll love it even if you don't. My next stop was the Clinic of Terror in Clearfield. This spook alley is a brilliantly designed production in story form about a hospital where horrifying atrocities occur. The setting is perfect, consisting of of an old, battered building which resembles a hospital. The actresses and actors make up a cast of characters including an impeccably icy, domineering Dracula who almost holds you captive in his hypnotic aura. Another character is a slightly deranged Mr. Rogers who is better than the real Rogers himself. Before the tour began, the tour guide advised anyone who was wearing a pacemaker should abstain from the tour. I should have deduced something from that statement I didn't have long to wait to find out the reason for the warning as the element of surprise is introduced right away. The spooked person is constantly on egde, totally enveloped and intrigued by the fast moving plot. Unexpected surprises lurked around every corner and within every wall. Each chilling scene is very realistic and convincing. So if you find yourself in a spooky mood, try the Clinic of Tenor. It's a real scare. - , f - - v J ' -'4 cont. from pg. 8 developing in his brain. His eyes were open again and were almost reflected in the slick plastic lamination of the menu. But Howard wasn't looking at the menu. Rather, he stared through it, at Annie; for she, he decided, was the cause of his torment. She had been the first to laugh. Out of the corner of his green eyes he followed her ceaseless sweeping motion. He noticed how the wrinkles on her hands converged and relaxed with every movement. For someone who had betrayed him as Annie had there had to be a punishment. His heel began to jump up and down spasmodically as his twisted thoughts began to race. The punishment must include death; he was sure of that. After all, the death of his wife had been very effective for a while. He had had only to feign shock when they found her body in the alley and go through the mockery of a nauseous kiss at the funeral, and for a long time he had effectively buried the past and all its effects on the present. But apparently it hadn'e been enough. This time he must make sure the plan was so perfect, the means so complete, that Annie's death would iron seal the past in a tomb that would never be broken to hurt him again. He would become as before, a chrysalis in stagnate metamorphosis, riding the protective subway and screened from the crushing, pointing human race. In a sud den moment of self-doubt, a rush of fear filled his brain and stomach in a prickling throb. He falteringly lowered the menu shield. Close by, Annie joked horsely - with another customer. Their trivial laughter ceased abruptly as they became aware of Howard's attention. The blood vessels around Howard's nose blotched into indigo patterns. He blinked and was motionless for only a moment, then bolted. His outflung handprint now stained both sides of the cafe door. The day had come for closing. Howard knew the cafe locked its doors at 3:00 p.m. He entered at 2:45. In the glare of the swarthy late afternoon sunshine Annie's eyes tried vainly to focus on the fuzzy shape that emerged through the doors. Then he stepped into a shadow and she recognized him immediately. She began an effusive stream of words, but the grating sentence choked in her throat as a practical, olive green army surplus rifle was carefully sighted in on the white triangle between her eyes. She began to shriek a protest, but broke off and stepped back in bitter horror as Howard's lids ascended, the brilliant jade green eyes focused decisively, the flecks of the left glittering with malice. Howard drove the towering woman back mercilessly, his finger on the trigger daring her to scream as he herded her to the service quarters. A live wire of perfect silence stretched between them. Howard motioned for her to open the heavy walk-in freezer door. Once inside, he gave her only a moment before firing. Her scream strangled in a pool of rich, red blood, which struck almost immediately; its cold crystals forming quickly on the frosted floor of the freezer. Howard began to laugh. He stepped out of the freezer and swung shut the leaden door. He waited; slowly his numb fingers and toes resumed their circulation. He waited still longer for the degeneration of personality he had expected with so much faith. It was not happening... nothing was happening. He was still "idiot Howard." In disbelief he tried frantically to clamp his senses and become another specimen with brass plated feeling, as before. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but though he tried with frenzied effort, he could not stop the mocking flow gurgling inside him. The plan which had seemed so perfect had not closed up him, but her. In the engulfing insanity which seems perfect logic he once again swung the thick door wide. Then, from inside, listened to the final sound of the door as it thudded shut and the lach clicked into place. Serenely he arranged himself on the floor of the freezer cubical. His head resting comfortably on the dead woman's stomach, he settled down to await the warm sweet glow of nothing. "1 .i xttmxi iffifii r Photo by tlizabeth Aikenhead The Haunting Hour The haunting hour hovers like a beaked black bird poising to strike. In craniums, convoluted matter twist and twitches in phantasms. And night, dark as death, wraps a shroud round reality. Creaks crawl down our spines and October winds whisper secrets to the moon reflected in our widening eyes, prying eyes. Shadows in mottled shades of gray and purple shiver like veins pumping blood And fingering branches scrape the stars and our nerves. Mercilessly, the haunting hour preys upon our minds and vice-like squeezes imagination 'till it drips from every pore like poision Editor: Joan Wilcox Signature is published each Tuesday by the Signpost staff. Soliloquy was first published in the 1979 edition of the Aarduark Review. |