Where strange fact and stranger fiction collide
Here is another short story that I wrote for the HP Lovecraft Film Festival Micro Fiction contest.
The thesis of this story was from a longer project that I was working on. If at the end of the world, religious people head to church or people with family struggle to be with their love ones at the end, where do atheist without anyone close go?
You may say that since I set this at the Hollywood Theater, the place where the HPLFF is held I was pandering. Well yes I was, but since I didn’t win, it cannot be that bad.
Since I Have No Church
Since I had no church when the world ended, I went to the only place that had ever given me solace, The Hollywood Theater. In a strange way, that may have contributed to the fact that I am seemingly the last person alive in Portland. When these strange creatures, appeared from another dimension, manifested in our plane, congregants assembled at their places of worship. Those who had friends and family gathered with their loved ones, and people who had trusted the government crammed into police stations and National Guard bases. All this did was give the floating iridescent multiple-eyed jellyfish, more humans to devour.
Since I didn’t fit in any of the aforementioned categories, I spent the last three days by myself, hiding from the monsters. They’re more than willing to leave a single human unmolested, when they could feast upon an entire congregation or an extended family. I spent the last three days scrounging supplies and foodstuffs. I have concluded that there is no reason to acquire any of the many weapons left behind, they are just traps. Nothing can hurt these creatures, and to try is suicide.
It has been twenty-four hours since I have seen another human being. A group in camo tried to convince me, I’d be safer if I escaped with them out of the city on what was left of I-5. I returned a few hours later to discover their bodies had been torn to pieces. But now I am tired of this cat and mouse game, so I have gone to the one place that has ever given me any degree of comfort. The Hollywood Theater. As a graduate film student, this was my study hall. I remember late nights standing outside after festivals discussing arcane intentions of obscure directors, with if not friends, the only people in the world who understood me.
My strange luck is still with me, as the Hollywood District is the only part of Portland that still has power. The theater was about to do a 70’s horror retrospective. This was the very films my college thesis was on. All my favorites are here. These were to me the bible on celluloid. Jaws, Alien, Carrie, and my favorite The Exorcist. If God ever spoke to me, he did it in the voice of Spielberg, Scott, De Palma, and Friedkin.
I start my festival for one and sit back in the projectionist’s chair. I can hear the monsters crash through the doors, as I eat my microwaved popcorn and drink my lukewarm beer. The noise of the film moving through the projector and the voices of the actors, cannot drown out the awful noise of the creatures make as they slither up the stairs, but I don’t care. I am going to be killed just like everyone else, but with my back to the terrors and my eyes on the screen, I will die doing what I love.