|
|
 |
|
|
|
register |
bbs |
search |
rss |
faq |
about
|
|
|
meet up |
add to del.icio.us |
digg it
|
|
|
|
Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten \ Something D
Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten \ Something Dead this
Way Comes
Written 3-7-93 by: David Minter
Based on the movie Night of the Living Dead @1964 by Image
Ten Productions and the concept of the Book and Record Set
@1984 by Buena Vista Records.
This is the story of Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten \
Something Dead this Way Comes. This is as close to a book
as you'll ever get, so read along in it. You'll know it's
time to turn the page, or an excellent action break is
coming up, when you hear the zombie rending human flesh
like this... BLORCH! Let's begin now. Remember to
turn the page every time you hear the sound of the zombie
tearing out human organs, or rending human flesh. BLORCH!
It was ridiculously past Christmas time, but Rand
Peltzer still needed a gift. He always planned way ahead;
in fact, usually too far ahead. This was one of those
occasions and Rand, who was deeply lost in thought, was
doing his best to avoid the on coming traffic... on a
one-way street! He was pondering what kind of animal to
give Billy, his son, for Christmas this year. Every year,
he always gave Billy a pet and, in his delusion, believed
his son loved it. He was late for work at the Nuclear
Power Facility of Kingston Falls, Illinois. Also it was
1976, shortly before the first of a series of extremely
odd events occurred in the Peltzer family and Kingston
Falls as well. BLORCH!
Rand turned into the long, winding path leading to
the secluded woods that hid the plant's main reactors from
the prying view of the citizenry. As he always did, he
pulled into his parking place way too sharply and banged
into the side of the Vice Director's limo. He didn't even
flinch. Rand got out and inspected the damage to his car
only. Despite his concerted efforts toward the subject,
he could never quite figure out where these mysterious
dents came from. BLORCH!
Rand jocularly trotted into the main reactor room and
immediately made a mad dash for the coffee and donuts.
"Morning, Rand!" Doctor Blake called to him as she passed
by. Normally, her curvaceous figure would have turned his
head and made him contemplate being unfaithful to his
wife, Francine. But, he was hungry and he arrived shortly
after the fresh pastries had been laid out. "Morning,
moron!" some unnamed technician said in his direction. In
fact, the only thing that made Rand turn his head was when
Vice Director Wisemann came into the control cubicle.
BLORCH!
"Alright, you dopes! It's time to test our ability
to provide those power sucking leeches down there in
Kingston Falls, which you all are a part of, with the
juice they hunger for." Rand dropped his donut to the
floor and ran to his station before he could be detected
away from his post. He began thumbing various buttons and
staring intently at dials to make it look like he was
doing his job. "You're not fooling me," Wisemann said as
he passed by. Rand didn't care. He was too busy thinking
about his next visit to Chinatown. BLORCH!
Suddenly, alarm klaxons rang out all over the
complex. Lights flashed as a disco ball descended from a
hidden panel in the ceiling. A voice bellowed from the PA
system. "Emergency! Emergency! Accident on module
seven!" Wisemann stood to alert. "What is it?" It was
Rand who detected the problem because it was Rand's fault
in the first place. Before leaving last night, he had
neglected to open the cooling reactor flood gates all the
way. Slowly during the night, the fissionable materials
in the core were generating uncontrolled heat. The
approaching meltdown would make Three Mile Island look
like waiting in line at the DMV. BLORCH!
Vice Director Wisemann took the situation in hand
immediately. After first cowering under a table to regain
his courage, he crawled out from underneath and began the
disaster procedure. "Okay! Peltzer, how much time do we
have left?" "Approximately seven minutes . . . give or
take seven minutes." This somewhat throttled Wisemann. He
knew that he either had fourteen minutes left to live or
he would be dead within the next few seconds. "Alright.
We must act as if we had fourteen minutes. Debbie, prepare
the shelters. Stock as many extra provisions as you can
in them. Rand, transfer all the available cool material
into the reactor." Rand pressed the appropriate button
and the machines went to work. Robot arms opened the drums
of fresh plutonium and carefully, in their machine
precision, dumped the deadly substance unceremoniously
into the core. Afterwards, they engaged in a friendly
game of mechanical arm wrestling. BLORCH!
"Johnson, drain as much soft water readily available
onto the meltdown material." "Right," Russell Johnson,
who couldn't get a job worth squat after Gilligan's
Island, not even this one, said and went about his
sanctioned duty. "Peltzer! As soon as the fresh water
comes into contact with the meltdown plutonium, instruct
the robot arms to remove the cooled material." Rand, who
had actually fallen asleep despite the flashing lights,
noise, and general commotion, confusion, and tension, sat
up a little groggily. Through straining, bloodshot eyes,
he waited for the moment in question. The water came in,
the arms pulled the plutonium out, and Rand passed away.
BLORCH!
"Is he dead?" Rand could barely hear Wisemann's
voice through the haze. "No. He's just stunned." The
medic backed away, giving Rand the fresh air that medics
always allude to when they tell people to back away from
an unconscious victim. Rand sat up and placed a hand to
his head. "Hmmmmmm. Feverish. Yep, I'm still alive." He
stood much to the annoyance of the rest of the plant's
crew. In the few years that he had worked there since the
plant's inauguration, Rand had made very few friends. The
second thing to greet his newly gained consciousness was
Wisemann clutching him by his lapels. BLORCH!
"I'M TRIED OF YOU, PELTZER! That's the eighth
accident you've nearly caused within a 48 hour period! If
you don't straighten up your act, you're history! Now,
I've got to go and bury the radioactive wastes again! I
can't trust it to any of you fools because you're sure to
bury it in a reporter's backyard! I'm getting tired of
dealing with that too!" Wisemann turned on his heels and
headed out of the room. He spun around again and pointed
at Rand. "Remember, no more screw ups!" But, all of
Wisemann's words went for naught. BLORCH!
What could turn a once fine, upstanding, hard
working, honest citizen into a lazy slob and make a Vice
Director's words go for naught? Rand Peltzer had no
aspirations to work with nuclear death. He was, and
apparently always would be, an inventor. Unfortunately,
he was missing one prime ingredient necessary for becoming
a successful inventor. Talent. But human beings must
work to make money to eat to have the energy to work
further to eat more to work longer. Rand is no exception.
It might have been easier if only he had the comforting
thought of coming home to a family that loved him. He had
a family, but no such comforts. BLORCH!
Somewhere in the center of Kingston Falls, the High
Rise Bakery and Leather Goods store was thriving. High
Rise, as it's more affectionately known, was basically the
only place for bread or leather in the town. The place is
know as High Rise because a few years back, some cocaine
was mistakenly mixed in with the dough instead of flour.
As we all know, people cannot resist taking in the
wonderfully wafting odor of freshly baked bread as they
drive by a bakery or brewery. High Rise just barely had
enough in dividends to pay the legal fines. They adopted
the name in the hopes that it would show the people that
they were capable of admitting their mistakes and hoping
to start over. Amazingly enough, it worked. Even more
amazing than that, was the fact that Fran Peltzer worked
there. But what's startling is that, deep down in the
basement of High Rise's bakery, evil experiments were
being conducted. BLORCH!
Many lab-smocked scientists were busily engaged in
trying to find the ultimate strain of yeast. Current
yeast technology was adequate, but think of the revolution
in the baking industry that would be made if yeast could
be created to reproduce under less heat and a greater
rate, perhaps a geometric one! One yeast distillation
would make 177,777,007 loaves of bread! All of High
Rise's competition would be pushed off the face of the
Earth! They would become the dominating bread force in
the universe, cornering toast throughout eternity! It
might be a horrible concept to contemplate, but if you
were a part of High Rise's corporate board, the thought of
the profits generated by such an endeavor would have
mesmerized you, just as it did to the actual members of
High Rise's corporate board. What we all should have been
worrying about was the fact that High Rise's research and
development team had in fact succeeded! BLORCH
Doctor Cossack leaned over the bubbling test tube.
"Reduce gamma wave bombardment." The technicians behind
the protective lead shielding did as they were told.
Cossack's mouth, protruding out from beneath the lead
goggles about his face, twisted into a smile of success.
"It works! It can survive outside of a lethal level of
radioactivity." He raised a hand and the ever vigilant
technicians, those that were still awake, turned off the
various apparatuses. The tell tale hum of radiation began
to die, but the sample of super yeast didn't! BLORCH!
Cossack snatched up the tube and held it proudly
above his head. "This is it! The moment I've been
preparing for all of my adult life has finally come! The
plans have reached fruition. Years of work, many of it
directed the wrong way, have paid off!" Smiling broadly
and insanely, he slowly turned his head to face the
technicians that had poured into the lab. The evil on his
face was horribly tangible, augmented by the eye goggles
which he still wore. "Inform the Old Man. We're ready to
begin mass production!" BLORCH!
A few blocks away, the Old Man in question was
reclining back in his frightfully expensive chair. He was
anxiously awaiting the return call on the one Cossack had
made earlier in the day telling him that all was almost
ready. His thoughts had begun to wonder to dollar signs,
wine, women, and song when the call actually came. He was
so wrapped up in his carnal lusts that he only noticed the
phone when Cossack called back to see if he had dialed the
incorrectly. "Yes? Cossack?! Is it ready? Good. GOOD!
Excellent!" Dropping the receiver, the Old Man dashed out
of his office, drooling at the prospect of profits. A
limousine was waiting for him; its destination: High Rise
Bakery and Leather Goods. BLORCH!
The Old Man burst into the lab, knocking a technician
aside with the force of the door. The subsequent injuries
killed him. Doctor Cossack greeted him with a seething,
boiling mass of oozing protoplasm. He stared at it for a
moment. "That's it?" he said pointing at the test tube
in a rather oddly amusing sort of way. "Well, as is true
of all the sciences, the truth isn't pretty." The Old Man
continued to stare at the entity in the tube. Unbeknownst
to him, the yeast stared back at him in its own unusual
way. "Okay. Have it your way. But, the main question
here is-" "The possible betterment to humanity?" Cossack
questioned. "No," the Old Man answered. "Profit
margin." Doctor Cossack had thought as much. BLORCH!
Cossack's previous estimation at the virus yeast's
potential hadn't been too far off. The Old Man wrung his
hands together and drooled even more. "To think, one
hundred seventy-seven million loaves of bread! There
would be enough dough to wipe all the cat dung off of all
the human feet in the world many times over." Another
thought other than greed overcame the Old Man's mind. "How
cheaply can we make this yeast?" Doctor Cossack grinned
evilly again. "Ah, that's the beauty of my Cossackus
Risae. We've spent approximately eleven million dollars
in the conception of this yeast." The Old Man swallowed
hard. "But to reproduce it, all we need is enough heat
generated by, oh, let us say, a modest grease fire." By
now, flames had erupted between the palms of the Old Man's
hands from rubbing them together so hard. "But-" That was
the second time during this conversation that Cossack had
said "but" in such a manner, and the Old Man didn't like
it. BLORCH!
"There might be a slight increase in cost for
disposing of the... ahem, failures." Cossack waved a hand
over a line of sealed drums. They were marked, "Hazardous
Biological Waste! Danger! That's Not To Imply That This
Stuff Is Deadly, But You Really Shouldn't Take A Chance On
Testing Out That Theory... We Haven't." "What are our
options in terms of cost?" the Old Man queried. "1.) We
could work with the EPA and dispose of this material at a
cost of roughly three million dollars. Or 2.) We could
illegally dump these drums down the ravine in the forest
behind us and hope they'll hit the river before any
environmentally viable material. This would cost us-"
Cossack paused while calculating the figure. "Nothing."
The Old Man didn't need any time to think about it. "I
opt for the illegal, and cheaper, method." Once again,
Doctor Cossack thought that that was what he would do. At
a wave of his hand, technicians, each one wearing three
radiation suits just in case, escorted a drum out of the
lab. As they passed the receptionist's desk, Fran Peltzer
greeted them with her usual repartee. "Good day, sirs."
She savored the wonderful scent of baking bread emanating
from the drums as they rolled by and wondered why these
strange men were wheeling them away. BLORCH!
Thirteen year old Billy Peltzer trotted his way into
the Feldmans' living room. The Feldmans were the
Peltzers' next door neighbors and agreed to watch Billy
after he came home from school and until either of his
parents got home from work. Mister Feldman was currently
engaged in breathing techniques to help his pregnant wife
when the time came. This always bored Billy and so, he
had gone into the living room to watch some tv.
Unfortunately, the only thing on of any interest to Billy
was Frankenstein Junior and the Impossibles. This in
itself wasn't interesting enough to hold a boy's
attention, especially a 13 year old, so he switch off the
set and turned on the radio. One of his favorite songs,
"The Sloop John B." by the Beach Boys, was ending and
another of his faves, "They're Coming to Take Me Away! HA!
HA!" by Napoleon XIV, was just beginning. He had some
homework to do, but that crap could wait. BLORCH!
Billy's eyes lit up as his father came into the
living room. "DAD!" he shouted and dashed at him, arms
outspread. Rand greeted his son with a reciprocating hug.
Billy was slightly crying. "Oh, Dad. I'm so glad you
came! You can take me away from all this... until
tomorrow. God, how I love weekends!" Rand looked over
his shoulder in the general direction of the panting,
gasping, moaning, and screaming of the Feldmans. "I can
see why," he said as he scooped up his son as best he
could, despite the fact that Billy was 13. They quickly
left the house and got into Rand's truck. "Son," Rand
began as he pulled out of the driveway and out into the
street. "I'm going to have to drop you off at the plant.
Mom's gotta work late and I've got other work to do."
Billy looked up into his father's face. He knew very well
that Rand was going into Chinatown to get him another
asinine animal for Christmas. BLORCH!
Back at the power plant, Vice Director Wisemann
cursed in the main reactor room. He always had such
trouble with the citizen proof lids to the toxic waste
drums. Finally, he had the last one in place. He stepped
back to admire his handiwork which he had had to engage in
yet again and again, it was that Peltzer's fault. He was
going to have a hard enough time explaining this one away
without having to deal with that idiot. Using the
slightly rusty dolly, Wisemann placed the drums on it and
rolled them into the storage unit several floors down.
Minutes later, a tired, sweating, panting Wisemann came
back into the room. Awaiting him was thirteen old Billy
Peltzer. BLORCH!
Wisemann was well and totally screwed at the sudden
appearance of a child in such a high security area. "What
are you doing here, boy?" he said with less ferocity than
should have been necessary. "My father works here," Billy
began nervously. "He had to drop me off here at the plant
while he went to Chinatown." Wisemann, at the realization
of such a startling oddity, turned to slowly walk out of
the room. He didn't get far. "Wait a minute. Who's your
father? No." He held up his hands. "Let me guess. Only
Peltzer would be stupid enough to leave his son at a
nuclear power plant while he goes gallivanting off across
the nation. Oh, well. You might get an education at
that." He started to leave again, but stopped once again.
He went over to a side desk, opened a drawer, and removed
a three by five card, some tape, and a black marker, one
of those kind that smells really great but makes you sick
afterwards. He began scribbling something onto the card.
He picked it up, held out in front of his face, read it
clearly to make sure his point came across, laughed at his
own joke, walked over to a bank of controls, and taped the
card to it. Not even Peltzer's son would be dumb enough
to do it, but perhaps someone else in the plant might be
and he couldn't afford anything else to happen to him
today. As he left the room, Billy turned to the card and
read it, pondering its meaning. BLORCH!
Far away, just outside the limits of Chinatown, Rand
was bopping to his favorite song, "YMCA" by The Village
People, coming from the radio of his pick-up. This did
nothing to settle the now rattled nerves of the poor
kangaroo strapped into the back of his truck. Rand had
gotten such a great deal on the animal. The whole day
would have been perfect if he hadn't come across that odd
curio shop in a dark, back alley through a maze of musty,
cobble-stone streets. The old, Chinese man he had
encountered inside had been very aloof but not actually
violent until he started to leave. His words still rung
in Rand's ears along with the cries of the whimpering
kangaroo. "THIEF! Get out of here! The light bulb was
our idea! I hope I never see you again! Otherwise, I'll
become very irate!" All Rand had wanted was directions to
the nearest pet shop in Chinatown. Luckily, while walking
back to his car, he had seen the kangaroo hopping in the
window of another colorful curio shop owned by a Chinese
lady. BLORCH!
Back in Kingston Falls, a radio was being shut off in
a car resting in the woods behind the nuclear power plant.
All it had to report was the daily lunatic antics of the
DJ, Rockin' Ricky Rialto. Night was rapidly falling.
Johnny never had many dates in high school. In fact, this
was his first... and invariably, his last. There! I've
said it. There's nothing any of you can do about it.
He'll die and no matter how much you come to pity him over
the next few paragraphs, Johnny dies! I'm not going to
bring him back. I mean, even if DC is EVER stupid enough
to kill off their number one creation, Superman, he'll
stay dead. No resurrections, clones, robots, or Carl
Weathers. Anyway, he twiddled his eyes as his thumbs
stared... No. Wait. That's not quite right. He twiddled
his thumbs as his eyes stared at his date's cleavage.
Barbara, his date, just continued to stare at the slight
green glow emanating from the Kingston Falls Nuclear Power
Facility. BLORCH!
Lover's Lunge ( It was changed from Lover's Leap
for obvious reasons. ) was just beside the woods that
concealed the plant from most of Kingston Falls. It was
the single place in the city where horny teenagers could
try out their new found sexual prowess freely. This was
what Barbara thought Johnny was trying to do. Johnny had,
in fact, thought about raping her earlier, but he was such
a wimp that he couldn't bring himself to do it. Even now,
Barbara thought she could actually feel Johnny's gaze
burning right through her bosoms. BLORCH!
For some odd reason, images of her grandfather
came to mind. He always had something to say on the
subject of carnal lust. "Girl, you'll be damned to hell
if you enjoy it! You'll also be damned if you allow this
filthy bastard to lay his grubby paws on you. That's
right! He's coming to get you, Barbara!" Her mind began
to rot as her grandfather continued to lecture her in her
mind. "He's coming to get you, Barbara! They're coming to
get you, Barbara! They're all around you!" Barbara began
frantically lolling her head all about, a wide, blank
expression in her eyes as she continued to search for her
assailants. "They're here now! And you are not ready!
They're coming to take you away! Ha, ha!" BLORCH!
Finally, her gaze rested on Johnny. "They're
coming to get you, Barbara! Look! There's one of them
now!" She continued staring intently at Johnny, just
waiting for him to pounce on her. Johnny just smiled, but
he could see that his first and invariably ( I can't
possibly stress that enough. ) last date was a total
washout. He started putting the car in gear. "Alright!
I can tell by the blank stare that you're not enjoying
yourself. I'll take you home." Suddenly, Barbara jerked
back. "Oh no you won't!" she screamed as she leapt out
of the car. "You shan't have me!" she shrieked, running
into the woods. Johnny reached out. "No! Wait! Don't
run into the woods! There might be zombies!" he called
out, jokingly. Seeing that her running away wasn't a
joke, he got out of the car and followed. BLORCH!
All Barbara could do was stumble about the woods
aimlessly with her grandfather's words echoing in her
skull. "They're coming to get you, Barbara! They're all
around you!" "Barbara!" Johnny called. "Please come
back! You might get hurt out here in the woods! It's
so... woody!" Barbara turned back to face Johnny and
tripped. Damn high heels! They always ruin a girl's
escape in a horror movie. This gave Johnny the time he
needed to catch up. He put his hands around her heaving
shoulders and shook her, not violently but then again not
gently either. "Barbara, what's wrong? It's me, Johnny.
You know, the one you always cheat off of whenever we have
an algebra test." It just wasn't getting through to her.
In her mind's eye, all Barbara could see was Johnny
groping at her secondary sex characteristics. He pulled
her closer to his face, hoping she might recognize him and
come out of her self-induced paranoia. It didn't work. It
did, however, give Barbara the chance she needed. BLORCH!
Instantly, she brought her hands to Johnny's face and
clawed at his flesh with her fingernails! Johnny
screamed, brought his hands to his face, tumbled
backwards, and over the lip of a nearby ravine. Barbara
didn't even bother to see if he was alright. She just
scrambled to her feet and started bolting for home. Her
mind was filled with Johnny's long, lingering scream as he
fell and her grandfather cackling gleefully. BLORCH!
The fall was not what killed Johnny. True, his body
smashing onto the jagged rocks at the bottom of the ravine
did nothing to help him. But the sudden cascade of toxic
waste pouring over his broken, crippled body and into the
gashes along his face and into his mouth and seeping
through his skin was what did Johnny in. Being buried in
fifty pounds of genetically altered mutant yeast was what
brought him back to life again. Okay, so I lied about
Johnny. BLORCH!
The radioactive material continued to wash over the
yeast. It still emanated from the crack in the drum where
it had crashed into the lip of the ravine. Washing away
bits of yeast, the fluid worked its toxic wonder on the
yeast, mutating it further. The yeast and the sludge
( Sounds like a great name for a show, doesn't it? )
merged to form a primordial ooze of epic proportions. This
ooze rolled along its merry way, eventually leading to an
Indian burial ground where it lost its momentum and began
coagulating. Soon, its mass was sufficient enough to push
its way through the soil, bathing the Indian corpses
beneath with a new life. Filled with vigor and
claustrophobia at suddenly being reanimated and
discovering ther were surrounded by six feet of dirt on
all sides, the "living dead" began clawing their way
through the sod and into the new world that awaited them.
BLORCH!
Johnny burst through his prison of yeast. He had
used his new found strength for the first time. Slowly,
he stumbled towards the edge of the ravine, drawn by the
lights of Kingston Falls. He stared down at this new
wonder. He could see people milling about on their
various missions and concerns, trying to get them
accomplished before night settled itself in for the night.
He was hungry, and he knew, instinctively somehow, that
food awaited somewhere down there.
This is the end of Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten \
Something Dead this Way Comes. Once again, I've decided
to invoke the first person perspective and talk to you.
The only thing I have to say here is that on 3-3-91, I
wrote Gremlins: Rewritten \ The Gift of the Mogwai a.k.a.
Never Stray into Chinatown. What's significant about that
is I started writing this story two years and four days
later ( 3-7-93 ). Page up if you don't believe me! Also,
I've seen two movie versions of Richard Matheson's "I Am
Legend" ( a tale of the recently dead returning to life as
vampires that inspired "Night of the Living Dead" ) on tv.
Oh, so you want to know about the next story, like a title
and some plot threads and other crap to whet your literary
appetite? Well, no such luck! Just wait and see because
I'm not quite sure myself what will happen next. Alright,
I'll tell you the title. Be here next time for Night of
the Living Dead: Rewritten II \ Guess Who's Coming to
Dinner? and maybe some fabulous prizes! Probably not.
Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten \ Something Dead this
Way Comes @1993 by David Minter. Based on the movie Night
of the Living Dead @1964 by Image Ten Productions and the
concept of the Book and Record Set @1984 by Buena Vista
Records.
Night of the Living Dead @1964 ( Twenty years after
Gremlins was copyrighted? Hmmmmm. ), 1984 ( The year that
Gremlins was copyrighted! Hmmmmm. ), 1986, 1990 by Image
Ten Productions and George Romero, John Russo, and Russ
Streiner.
Buena Vista Records is a subsidiary of Walt Disney.
|
|
|
To the best of our knowledge, the text on this page may be freely reproduced and distributed.
If you have any questions about this, please check out our Copyright Policy.
totse.com certificate signatures
|
|
|
About | Advertise | Bad Ideas | Community | Contact Us | Copyright Policy | Drugs | Ego | Erotica
FAQ | Fringe | Link to totse.com | Search | Society | Submissions | Technology
|
|
|
|
|
|
