1. BITS IN BAGS (2002)

“We’re only on the front porch of a monstrous

mansion full of critical zombies waiting to be

awakened and engaged.  Soon enough – we’ll be

in the basement.”

n  Philip Brophy, Horrality – The Textuality

   of Contemporary Horror Films

Bits in Bags

2002

The six women spattered with black-blood muck stood around a puddle of ooze and entrails.  They each held a black garbage bag of varying weight.  Odd soft shapes bulged through the stretching plastic.

            First Girl wiped some gore from the bridge of her nose.  She flicked something wet and fleshy from her greying hair.  She sighed and stared up at the moon.  She spat into the puddle. 

‘Girls…I think we deserve a drink.’

Fourth Girl, who looked like a hacked-up, scarified Lynn Lowry, dropped her garbage bag and eased a small bottle of something nasty from her back pocket. 

She handed it to First Girl who took a pull. 

First Girl passed it to Third Girl, her beautiful pale face hidden by long dark hair.  She drank deeply and thought of a Valentine’s Day long ago. 

Sixth Girl looked far too young and sweet for such a gathering.  With eyes burdened with having seen far too much, she sipped.  She coughed.  She sipped again. 

Fifth Girl, wilted but wide-eyed, drank next, wishing she’d brought her camera. 

Second Girl was so withered and stick-thin she looked as though a short whiff of the bottle would be enough.  She drank anyway.  Praying silently that her curse was broken.

Fourth Girl took her bottle back.  She drank and stared into the puddle.  Even though it was too late, she wanted to make a toast of some sort.

‘Who’s the monster now?’ she asked. 

With ridges of scars framing her cat-shaped eyes, she glared at the puddle as if expecting a reply.  She almost looked disappointed when one didn’t come.

***

It was surprisingly easy.  It was a trap without much finesse or substance and it was sprung smoothly.  All the Final Girls needed was a couple of bear traps, a set of Japanese brand-name kitchen knives, a thick roll of garbage bags, some heavy-duty garden cutting equipment and for one of them to go topless. 

The man-monster came.  As he always did.  Lured by the sight of fit young flesh and the desire to fuck it up.  He couldn’t help himself. 

While his family’s home burned, he chased the girl, Third Girl again through the woods.  He was aware of the déjà vu.  He recognised Third Girl’s figure, the height of her breasts, the length of her strides.  The sound of her screams was different this time though.  They seemed forced and self-conscious.  Still, he didn’t care. 

He wanted to play with her insides.  To create wounds, openings, to make her unrecognisable and new.  To do things he didn’t get the chance to do with her before.

He loved her so much that his heart almost beat when he thought of her.

Something heavy and hard bit into his right leg. 

Then his left. 

Then there were more familiar faces, all around him and the glint of sharp new metal, so different from his own rusted, chipped and dull blades. 

They descended on him.  All sharp slicing metal and frenzied grunts. 

They showed him his own blood and his own insides, and this excited him all the more. 

They hacked and slashed at him. 

They wilfully coated themselves in his fluids and examined small, severed pieces in the moonlight.

Finally, he died again. 

As if at a bacchanal, the women fell on what remained.  All except Sixth Girl, who hung back but who smiled all the same. 

The Final Girls reduced him to the puddle of slop that they now gathered around and spat in and cursed at. 

They reduced him to bagged bits they could heave over their slender shoulders and go their separate ways with. 

And go their separate ways they did. 

For a time.