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After watchingRabid, I found myself sympathizing with the infected wolf that serves as the “monster” in the latest offender of the long line of animal attack horror movies that seem to be sinking their pointed teeth into the market and not letting go. By the time I walked out of the theater, I, too, felt like a drooling, murderous fiend. Five dollars, forthis?
Rabid, a ponderousCujoknockoff, starts with a close-up shot of a “wolf” (clearly a husky mix—at one point, you can actually see its tail wagging as it looks to its off-screen trainer for cues) fighting what is just as clearly an animatronic opossum. As the wolf slinks off the battered victor, red in both tooth and claw, the camera pans to an ominous-looking foam leaking from the opossum’s fangs.
The scene then cuts to our main couple, Sandy and Ron (Blake and Medeiros), who are going to Ron’s uncle’s cabin to “take the next step in their relationship.” But their romantic interludes are repeatedly interrupted by mysterious scratching sounds, not-so-distant howls, and, at one point, a jump scare. Because as it turns out, there’s a mountain man out there too, tracking down the wolf like Ahab and his white whale, but—like the wolf—he gets distracted by the sight of fresh meat. More fool him, as the wolf chooses this voyeuristic post-coital moment to drag him away, leaving a trail of dyed-red corn syrup in their wake.
Most of the suspense in the film, however, comes not from the monster itself, but from watching Sandy’s clothes become repeatedly ripped, mauled, and torn from various close-calls. By the end of the film, her jeans have become frayed cut-offs and her sweater, wool pasties connected by strips of fabric even more tenuously held together than the film’s plot.
Lest you go to the theaters hoping for a peek of full-frontal, the film disappoints in even this.
Movie score: F
-James York (Movie Critic Depo, 1998)
Chapter Eight
Even Defeat Was a Kind of Ecstasy
Rafe didn’t come back all night. Which was a good thing, she told herself.
But the house felt strangely unsafe with her being in it all alone. Even though she had made a point of checking every door and window to make sure they were all locked, it was as though she could feel the potential for danger undulating in the air like a current. The fence encircling the yard was low and could be jumped, and the large glass windows could easily be broken.
It was nothing more than an illusion of safety.
Donni ate olives and crackers and a few white-flecked cubes of cheddar for dinner before she locked herself in her bedroom. Around 11pm, a car went by, the lights filtering through her blinds like the bars on a jail cell. She peered out through the curtains and saw the promised cop car rolling slowly down the streets. It didn’t stop, and soon it was gone, taking none of her insecurities with it.
Finally, she popped two Benadryl and hugged her dog tight, shifting at each sound, both real and imagined, until she finally tumbled into a deep, nightmare-ridden sleep.
When she woke up, she felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. She checked her phone. The only notification was from a makeup brand who wanted to send her a box of Halloween-themed lipsticks. No payment, they were quick to add, but she could keep all the merch for a good review.
Sighing, she accepted the shitty offer—because how else was she going to stay relevant?—before making her way to the bathroom. ‘Paid in exposure’is going to be written on my tombstone, she thought, but thinking of tombstones made her think of Opal, and the killer who might be stalking her even now, and her mood quickly soured.
(TWO LITTLE BITCHES ARE GOING TO DIE)
Could it really be one of her fans? She hadn’t really considered that, not until Rafe had brought it up. But thinking about Rafe was a mistake, because it made her remember what had happened in her kitchen. The way he’d gripped her between her legs from behind while thrusting against her. The way he’d run his hands over her as if she already belonged to him. The way he’d breathed her in like a drug. Just thinking about it made her feel a little light-headed.
It had been so stupid. But he just kept pushing and pushing, and finally, something inside her had just . . . snapped. She wanted to rip off that mask of control he wore like a second face and leave him feeling weak and foolish for once. It had almost worked, too, but instead of getting what she wanted, she had only made him angry, and with his obvious need for control, he would be that much more careful around her now.
His suggestion to go to Red Cypress Estates had been a good one, though. It was the only lead she had and she needed to go grocery shopping, anyway; she could roll the visit into a single trip and save on gas.
The funeral home was silent as she pulled into the mostly-empty drive, although there were a few crows perched on the gateposts. She thought they were decorative until one of them moved, flapping towards her with a cry that she couldn’t help find menacing. There was something ominous about the lot, framed by low-hanging clouds and that wall of cypress.
It wasn’t Ralph behind the desk today, but Darwin. Donni couldn’t remember the relationship between them and didn’t care, but she was annoyed to have expected Ralph’s quietly awkward solicitousness, only to end up with Darwin’s rather forceful cheer instead.
“Donni Blake,” he said, slapping the desk. “We’ve got a celebrity in our midst.”
She forced a bright smile. “I was wondering if you could help me.”
“Of course, of course.” He slipped around the desk easily in spite of his bulk and gripped one of her hands in both of his. “Tell me, what can I do for you? I believe we just hosted the service for your departed husband, God rest his soul. I hope everything was satisfactory?”
“Um, yes—it was lovely.” She gave a small tug on her wrist. His grip didn’t budge. “But I found a bag in the parking lot,” she added, improvising quickly. “It looked like someone had purchased a wooden box for their loved one’s ashes and then forgotten it. Do you think you could look up their receipt for me? If I had their name, I could call them. Or you could.”
“Of course,” he said again, making her suspect that this might have been his favorite word. “We can do that. That’s kind of you,” he added, over his shoulder, as he walked back to the register. “You’ll probably make a grieving family very, very relieved.”
I don’t know about that, she thought grimly, folding her arms.But they’ll certainly be surprised.
Darwin tapped a couple keys and frowned. “That’s odd.”
“What’s odd?”
