Horror Show Read Online Free PDF Page A

drawer number, I don’t know why. Sometimes you remember little details like that years later. It was drawer 66, like in ‘get your kicks on Route 66.’
    â€œSo Buzzy hauls him out, gets behind him, and … ah, you sure you want to hear this?”
    â€œYes. Absolutely. Please go on.”
    â€œHe works him like a marionette.”
    â€œHoly shit,” Clint whispered. He resisted the urge to check the cassette machine again.
    â€œThis guy stank. I don’t know how Buzzy did it. He was a trouper, or one sick puppy. Probably a little of both. He had to work like hell to get the guy to bend. Rigor mortis, you know. It was positively ghastly, if I do say so myself.”
    Landis smiled again. Thin, dry lips parted, revealing stained teeth. Pale, receding gums flashed. It was the smile of a very old and sick predator.
    â€œI could light my cigar, you know. The smoke keeps ’em away.”
    â€œWhat?” Clint asked.
    â€œThe bats.”
    â€œThe bats?”
    â€œYeah, they can’t stand the smoke, it makes ’em keep their distance. Should I light up?”
    Clint nodded.
    Landis chuckled, another first. “Works every time,” he smirked, his lungs rattling, “So, where was I? Oh yeah. Kingston balked. I can’t say that I blame him. He threatened to walk out on the whole production, said he had ‘standards.’ Ha!, that’s a laugh. I wound up offering him more money.”
    â€œHow much?”
    â€œChump change,” the old man said with obvious disgust. “That turkey would do anything for money. Believe me, I know.”
    â€œHe did it?”
    â€œDamn right he did it. In one take. Kingston should have gotten the Academy Award for that, except that he wasn’t acting. He was scared shitless. The guy looked great on film—the dead guy, not Kingston. He wound up being the star of the picture. We used him in at least twenty shots, and he never complained.”
    Landis paused, waiting for a laugh, then continued. “We even used a few of his dead buddies. Easiest bunch I ever worked with. Real pros. They worked cheap, too.”
    Clint’s jaw dropped. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would get all this. But there it was, immortalized on tape. Did the old man tell the truth? Could this be just another one of his scare tactics?
    â€œAre you serious?” Clint asked.
    â€œAs a heart attack,” Woodley replied. He edged forward on his seat.
    â€œI go in for a close-up. Chet Bronski is the cameraman, a prince, and he’s pulling in just as Buzzy thumbs one of the eyes open. I’ll tell ya, we all shuddered to see what was gonna happen. The camera zooms in and …” He paused. “… and it’s full of worms.”
    Landis flopped back in his lounger again. He raised his glass to his lips, then stopped, leveling his gaze into Clint’s face.
    â€œThat shot made the movie,” he said, then swallowed the last of the whiskey.
    â€œWorms?” Clint whispered.
    â€œYeah, squirming like amoebas. They started coming out, right on cue, and I held that close-up for at least sixty seconds. Onscreen, it seemed like a half an hour. People in the theaters shrank down in their seats and gasped. Christ, what a moment! I was at the Royal Theater in Anaheim for the premier. In those days you always opened out of town, and people started screaming. Some lady barfed. It was my crowning achievement on film. I scared the shit out of ’em.”
    He put the glass down and tapped his knee.
    â€œThat’s my business, scaring people.
    â€œThat poor son of a bitch was a movie star after he was dead. Can you believe that?”
    Clint shook his head.
    â€œI guess you could say people were dying to get in my flicks,” the old man rasped, more coughing laughter spraying from his mouth.
    Landis Woodley’s eyes glimmered. Pig’s eyes, Clint thought. Cruel and tiny, they were