Tuesday, December 27, 1988

Tremors in the Night (1988-89)

“Now let’s play Pet Sematary. Load it into the Beta.”

A crowd of seven people surrounded the 28" T.V. Bruce Hewat, Andrew Gibbon, Derek Shantz, Carson Cook, Mark Hayashi, Ryan Oryniak and Quintin Hewlett were at a birthday party.

“We’ll save that for later.” Quint said. “Now let’s...”

His voice was cut dead by a loud rumbling coming from down the street. A sudden burst of light bled through the window in multicoloured streams, followed by a second blinding light and a gale wind. Three windows burst apart; the glass spraying the teens, ripped their clothes, punctured their skin, and blinded them. The bright, white light grew brighter and brighter. Then suddenly exploded.

“What the heck happened?” Derek asked as he dusted himself off.

“Earthquake!” Bruce exclaimed.

“No. It’s the spiritual entering of the Devil onto the Earth.” Mark said matter-of-factly.

“Shut up, Mark!” the group yelled.

“C’mon! Let’s see what happened!” Quint ran for the door followed by six people, the glass falling off them as they ran. Outside, the night was cold. She sank her cold teeth into her children.

“Geez, it’s cold out here!” Ryan protested. He tried to warm himself by running on the spot.

“You have good fun on your birthdays, don’t you?” Carson asked. Quint looked down the street towards the hospital, and noticed the house on the corner was well lit. he started running towards the black house.

“Hey! Where you goin’?” Derek asked.

“Come on! Come with me.” Quint continued toward the house. His guests followed.

The house was pitch black, except for the candle-lit windows. All was in perfect order, save for the garden. The plants had died, the path was twisted and torn, when once it was so tidy. The room on the third floor had no lights on, all the windows were broken and there was a man-sized hole in the west wall. The porch had holes in the floor, boards splintered and cracked, and the door was kicked in.

“What happened to this house? Derek and Andrew asked simultaneously.

“Earthquake!” Bruce exclaimed.

“Don’t think so, Bruce. A guy named Jack Spence lived there. He was a grandchild of the McKellars and a C.I.A. agent. He used to own half of the homes on this block. But he was murdered on November 27th of ‘82. Some say his ghost did the damage to the house and Jack was killed earlier than the 27th. But it was the murderer who did it. He was never found.”

“Do you think Spence’s ghost caused the rumbling and the light?” Andrew asked, intent of finding a ghost.

“No, it was the Devil.” Mark responded.

“Shut up, Mark!” Derek and Carson yelled.

Bruce walked up to the door. “Let’s go in,” he said.

“No!”

“Not me!”

“Don’t think so!”

The group started arguing. “Shut up! Either we enter or we don’t. Majority rules. Now who wants to enter?” Andrew said, leader-like. Four hands shot up. “Let’s go!”

The door creaked as Bruce and Ryan opened it. “What happened here?” Bruce asked. Chairs were knocked over, tables splintered, bottles broken and walls cracked.

“Don’t break anything” Ryan said.

“Not much chance of that. Everything’s already busted.” Carson said.

“To the stairs!” Bruce said as he did the dog-point.

“Shut up, Bruce. You’re so dumb!” Andrew said angrily.

“Yeah, c’mon you little...”

“Bruce!” Quint said.

The gang headed toward the stairs. They plodded up the stairs, the oak steps creaking with each pace. When they reached the top of the stairs, they were greeted by a big oak door.

“Who would use a door like that?” Mark asked.

“Good for keeping murderers away.” Quint answered.

Bruce bashed the door with his shoulder and it flew open. He cackled. “Shut up, Bruce!” the group shouted. They filed into the room.
“Holy. Who is that?”

A small man was huddled near a corner writing on a piece of paper. He was dressed all inblack, and his facial expressions were cold as the room he was in.

“Mr. Spence. Or his ghost,” Quint answered. He was just as scared as the rest of the group.

“I’ll never steal again. I promise.” Mr. Spence talked without moving his lips.

“Too late to plea!” A well-built muscular man stood by the window. It seemed as though he had just entered from the outside. He was shadowed and could not be seen.

“No please! I didn’t do anything!” Mr. Spence pleaded as the big man stalked forward, his huge hands clenched in fists.

“What a show!” Bruce said.

“C’mon, stop it. This is probably how it happened,” Quint said. “The police know not what happened.”

“Could we get on the news?” Mark asked.

“If we prove this is right.” Derek answered.

The excitement of the group built up as the big warrior picked up a chair and launched it at his victim. Mr. Spence dodged the shot, and the chair burst through the west wall. “Now you die!” the big assassin charged Mr. Spence and pushed him out through the hole. Mr. Spence screamed and suddenly stopped as he hit the ground with a thud.

A loud rumbling came from the heart of the house, and again a bright light blinded the group. “Not again!” Ryan shouted. The light exploded with a bang.

~

“I’ll never steal again. I promise.”

“Oh! My head.” Quint said as he stood up.

“Geez, not again,” Ryan said, angrily.

“Oh lord that hurt!” Andrew spoke with a touch of anger in his voice. He rubbed his arm. Carson and Bruce stood up and rubbed their sore muscles.

“Too late to plea!”

“We have to stop him, or this could go on for ever.” Mark said as he looked toward the spirit. He stood up. Mark’s hair was pure white with plaster dust.

“I’ll stop it!” Andrew said as he marched forward.

“Andrew, no!” The gang yelled as they reached to grab him, but he shooed their hands away.

“No darn ghost is going to stop this party.” He marched up to the big spectre and grabbed his arm firmly. Andrew finally saw the features of the assassin’s face. His nose was rounded perfectly at the end, and his mouth was curled in a wicked smile.

His smile left as he looked down at the small teen who held his arm so firmly. “Puny wimp!” the assassin said as he lifted Andrew off the ground.

“NO!” Carson yelled as he tried to run toward the big man. But his friends held him back.

“We can’t help him! No one can now! We aren’t superpowered. We’ll die!” Quint protested. The group held Carson back until he finally gave up.

“Um, please could you put me down? I have some homework to do.” Andrew asked, his arms tight on the spectre’s hands.

“You want down?” the spirit asked, his eyebrows poised questioningly. “Then go down!” He raised Andrew even higher and threw his arms forward.

Andrew flew through the wall and fell downward. “Oh sh–“ He screamed until he landed on a spiked flagpole. The bronze maple-leaf punctured his little chest. The leaf was covered in blood.

“NO!” the group cried, their voices echoing through the oak halls of the house.

“Thank you.” Mr. Spence’s spirit said. A bright light suddenly engulfed him, then he disappeared. The assassin then jumped through the window and landed on the second floor roof of the house, then disappeared.

“Darnit! Andrew was so nice.” Derek said, as tears fell from his eyes. “Stupid party. Andrew dies!”

The group sniffled for a moment, then Quint spoke up. “We mustn’t worry! We’re trapped in this house until we kill that spirit. He’s trapped too. Mr. Spence isn’t, at least we saved him!”

“We’re not the Ghostbusters! This won’t be easy.” Mark said.

“I could make a ghost trap, if Spence has the parts.” Quint said.

“Let’s do it!” the team yelled.

~


“Holy! This dude loves weapons!” Bruce said.

Racked up on all four walls of the second floor den, was a ton of guns and explosives. Bruce grabbed the first SAR Galil assault rifle and a .45 Magnum that he could see. Quint headed straight for Spence’s electronics lab. It took half an hour to complete their arsenal.

Bruce was covered in bullet belts. His two guns were at his sides. Quint and Mark had finished building their ghost trap. Derek and Carson were planning the attack. Ryan was on guard for the ghost.

“Let’s go kick butt!” Bruce started cackling again.

“Shut up, Bruce” the group said angrily. They marched off in two groups of three in search of the ghost. Carson, Derek and Mark took the first floor and the basement. Quint, Ryan and Bruce took the second and third floors.

~

“Cars? You there Cars? Carson!” Derek searched the room for his friend. A crash rang in Derek’s ears. “Is that you, Cars?” He pulled out his sub-machinegun. “No more games, come on out of there.” He tensed, and almost pulled the trigger of the 9mm Uzi.

Racing toward Derek in a blind fury, the spirit roared. Derek’s lithe body shivered as he looked up toward the spirit. His fear turned to anger.

“You killed my friend, you son of a –“ He fired his gun at the spirit. The bullets passed right through the spectre, but did blow holes in it. Or so he thought. Blood raced through Derek’s body, as through the spirit’s wounds.

The spirit backed off, but then charged at the little teenager that hurt him so. Derek fired again, this time with no effect; he missed the target twice. The spectre roared with anger and continued toward his enemy.

Derek tried to duck but the spirit slashed his throat with his sharp claws. Derek’s limp body fell to the ground, blood spurting out the large wound.

~

Carson could feel the pounding of his heart. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. The Ingram Model-10 he carried was getting heavy.

“Funky party this is. Geez it’s cold in here.” Carson did not know if the cold was a spirit or from outside. A small breeze blew his hair around. He gazed at a west facing window. Its curtains fluttered in the wind. His body shivered.

I wish Jeff were here. Nice of him to date his girlfriend, Carson thought.

~

“Bullets won’t hurt this thing unless it’s an effeetamo. This trap is designed to catch this ghost. Then we’ll be free! Mark helped me with the design.” Quint showed his invention to his two partners. “It only works once. Mr. Spence had no more D-cells. If we miss...it’s over! Bruce, if you break the device, you’re dead!”

“Funky! But will it work?” Ryan asked.

“I hope so,” Quint said.

~

Mark walked quietly through the basement. He held a Model 3000 Smith and Wesson shotgun. His grandmother had taught him basic weaponry; he knew how to fire a 3000.

I’ll find that mutha! I’ll find that mutha! he kept telling himself.

A small cup fell over and landed on the floor with a crash. Mark spun around and fired toward the noise, all in one clean motion. He hit a wooden crate and it splintered, then blew to pieces. Mark quickly reloaded. His pockets bulged with bullet cartriges.

“Stupid gun,” Mark said. “I wish I never agreed to take the basement.”

The spirit raced around the room unseen, bumping bottles and containers on the floor. Mark spun around and pointed his gun at each sound. Suddenly, the spirit raced toward his next enemy.

“You stopped y job! Now you’ll pay!” The spirit dove into Mark’s body, his claws protruded outward. The sharp bone ripped through the little teen’s flesh. He screamed until the claws punctured his lungs. His body tore in hald and fell to the ground, his gun falling with him. Blood gushed out of the large holes, splashing a book lying in the corner.

~

Carson searched the dining room for the spirit.

“Darn thing won’t show up,” he said. “I’m wasting my time.”

He lifted a plastic cover off a chair. He sighed.

~

“Don’t bump the lamp!” Quint said as he, Ryan and Bruce marched the hallways of the second floor. Bruce’s arm tapped the brass lamp, and it fell to the wooden floor with a bang.


“Geez, Bruce! I said don’t touch it!” Quint spoke, angrily.

“But I didn’t touch it!” Bruce protested.

“Oh be quiet, Bruce.” Ryan said, his eyes filled with laughter.

Screams rang in the group’s ears. “That was from downstairs. C’mon!” Ryan spoke. He dragged Bruce and Quint through the hallway and down the stairs to the basement. As they reached the bottom of the basement stairs, they saw the spirit race away from the dead body of Mark.

“After it!” Bruce yelled. He sped off toward his enemy, followed closely by Ryan.

Quint walked up to Mark’s body and noticed a leather book lying in the corner. The blood on its red bindings was still fresh. Quint picked up the thick book and read the title: The Useful Book of Spiritual Entities.

“Who would write something like this?” he said to himself. He flipped through the pages and stopped at a sub-titled named Effreetamos: The Living Dead. Quintin started reading.

~

“Get that thing!”

Bruce and Ryan ran through the rooms of the large basement chasing the spirit ahead of them. The spirit stopped and turned around. “Now you die!” it said. The spirit charged the two.

Bruce raised his SAR and fired at the spirit. All the bullets tore though its body, and the spirit was blown backwards through a window. But its curse did not allow it to leave. It bounced off a forcefield and smashed into a table.

“I am ruler! I am BRUCEBO!” Bruce yelled as he raised his gun in the air.

“Keep shooting, Bruce!” Ryan yelled as he fired at the spirit. His gun jammed. “Darn gun!” he yelled as he threw it on the ground. He pulled out his M-01 and Uzi 9mm and fired at the spirit. The spectre rolled around, screaming, bullets entering his body.

Bruce stopped. “No bullets left.” he said. Then he threw his SAR at the spectre.

“I didn’t run out. Funky guns have lots of bullets.” Ryan said, still firing. Then he ran out of ammo too. “Crud! These funky guns are dead!” Ryan dropped them on the ground.

The spirit got up, slowly. “Darn you, mortals! You shall suffer!” It charged the two, arms in a V position. His claws protruded outwards. The two humans tried to dodge the blow, but the spirit’s sharp claws ripped through their arms. They screamed out in pain, blood rushing down their arms, washing off the dirt.

The spirit turned around and charged the two.

“IMSH NAT MINEJEK BKORSHAB”

The spirit suddenly stopped.

Bruce looked toward the sound. He saw a figure standing near a doorway. “Quint!” he yelled.

Quint ran out under the spirit and dropped a small device on the ground. As he did, three old looking papers fell out of his pocket. Bruce picked them up. “Dropped something?” he asked.

“Thanks” Quint said as he grabbed the papers and started running from the stunned spirit. The two huddled in a corner near Ryan, who was lying on the floor in great pain. The spirit still held its place, frozen in time.

“How did you do that?” Bruce asked as he stared at the spirit.

“Tell ya in a minute,” Quint replied. He pulled a small remote from his pocket. “Watch this!” he pressed down on a red button. White light poured out of the ghost trap, then disappeared. “Darn! Didn’t work!” Quint said. “Have to rely on the papers.” He pulled three papers from his pocket.

The spirit awoke from the stun spell and continued his charge toward the humans.

Quint started reading. “MINATH ZINK QUEAZYN BNJKOGW! QUI ZITH YIATH JBORK!”

Just before the spirit hit the frightened teens, a vortex appeared behind it. It howled as it was drawn back by the powerful wind. It flew into the centre of the whirling mass. Then, as quickly as it came, the vortex disappeared, swallowing the spirit.

“Wahoo! It worked!” Quint yelled.

Bruce and Quint jumped up and rejoiced. They ran over to where Ryan lay.

“Ohmygosh! This reallyhurtsitreallydoes!” Ryan spoke fast because of pain and excitement.

“Slow down. We won!” Bruce said.

“Let’s leave. Ya, you too,” Quint said as Ryan moaned. Quint and Bruce picked Ryan up in their arms and carried him to the door.

“Hey. Anyone know where Cars is?”

“I bet he’s sleeping!”

~

Carson patrolled the hallways of the second floor, searching for his friends.

“They probably made this up!”

He entered a book-filled den, and sat on a wooden chair in the corner.

“I’ll just wait here for them.”