part0019

F ade in on the Scheherazade Palace in Los Viejos, Colorado, an old movie theater that closed its doors to the public in the summer of 1956. The marquee displayed Earth vs. the Flying Saucers, though a few of the letters went missing over the years. Posters from the last time the theater was open still adorned the walls letting people know War and Peace and Bus Stop were “coming soon.”

The box office window had an old, faded sign that read, Permanently Closed for Business .

Word on the street was they held private screenings twenty-four hours a day that played to an empty house, or the Illuminati with devil worshippers sacrificed virgins at every showing. Most folks just figured Old Man Jenkins had finally gone off his rocker, but he could afford to do whatever he wanted.

On Monday, July 1, 1985, the Palace was added to Mark Lassiter’s delivery route. The dock foreman refused to tell Mark why he was assigned a sixteen-foot refrigerated truck to deliver to an abandoned movie theater. Instead, the foreman just ran through the special protocols Mark had to follow, and said Old Man Jenkins was the most important client they had, and to not screw it up the way Tom had.

Mark climbed into the truck. A square box, eighteen inches on each side, sat on the passenger seat with a packing slip listing the titles of the movie canisters within. Some of them were opening in the next week, but some weren’t supposed to hit theaters until later that month: Back to the Future, Red Sonja, The Emerald Forest, Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, Silverado, Dr. Otto and the Riddle of the Gloom Beam. The other titles were in foreign languages.

He rolled down his window and waved to the foreman. “Shouldn’t this box be in the back?”

The foreman shook his head. “Jenkins likes to get the movies first, so they ride up front. Now go make that delivery and get your ass back here. Your regular truck will be waiting for you. This truck is exclusively used for Mr. Jenkins.”

“Because he pays a lot of money. Now get going. You can’t be late.”

Mark patted the box, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine purred, and the big truck handled like a dream, unlike every other vehicle he’d driven for Davis Deliveries.

Mark drove straight to the Palace.

He wheeled around to the back alley entrance as instructed. A massive electric fence stood guard with warnings to any who approached that touching the gate could lead to permanent injury or death. He got the remote from the glovebox, pressed the button, and waited as the gate swung inward.

He pulled through, and parked at the delivery door as the gate closed.

Mark climbed out of the truck as the delivery door creaked open, and a woman in her late twenties stepped outside. She wore tight blue jeans and a white button up shirt. Her brown hair tumbled over her shoulders, and her blue eyes locked onto Mark’s in a way he mistook for attraction.

“You’re Tom’s replacement?” she asked.

“Mark,” he said, nodding. “What’s your name?”

“Tanya. Did they give you the rundown?”

“Be on time, don’t knock.”

“No,” she said, leaning in the doorway. “The rules for the deliveries.”

He gave her a confused look. “Better tell me yourself.”

“Do you have your NDA?”

She sighed. “Wait right here. I’ll go get one. You’ll need to sign it before we go any further.”

She closed the door.

A few minutes later, she returned with several sheets of paper and a pen.

“It’s standard,” she said. “You can’t tell anyone what you see or hear inside. If you reveal anything at all, you’ll answer to Sheriff Jones.”

Mark skimmed the NDA, and it seemed pretty standard, until under Obligations of Receiving Party, he read: Penalties for disclosure include prison with a minimum sentence of ten years for minor infractions, up to permanent termination of all life functions and forfeiture of soul until the end of time .

He pointed to the clause. “Is this some kind of joke?”

She gazed at him, bored. “What part?”

“This says I can be killed if I talk.”

She nodded. “That’s correct.”

“Tom signed this?”

“He did,” she said.

Mark frowned. “Tom died in a car wreck on Saturday. There wasn’t enough of him left to bury.”

She shrugged. “Clearly unrelated, so you won’t have any hesitation signing it.”

“This won’t hold up in court.”

She handed him the pen, expressionless.

“Do you always take the deliveries?” he asked.

“Monday through Friday.”

He signed the form and handed it back. She held out her hand for the pen, and he returned that, too.

He winked. “Then I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

She didn’t react. Instead, she said, “When you arrive, you are not to enter the theater. Do not look behind the curtains. Wheel the dolly to the concession stand, load the crates into the freezer, and place the box of movie canisters on the counter. Then take the old crates back to your truck.”

“And the old movie canisters?”

“Leave those. We keep stock of every film we’ve shown here since 1956.”

“That seems excessive.”

“Our clients sometimes request repeat screenings of their favorite films.”

“No matter what you hear behind the curtains, do not enter the theater. Got it?”

He leaned closer. “If I slip you ten bucks, can I sneak in to see Back to the Future early? We could watch it together. Maybe share some popcorn?”

“You can watch it when it opens at the Starlight like everyone else.”

“You get to see it today, though, right?”

“I have to change the reels.”

She propped the door open and he carried the box of movies inside.

The walls, floors, and ceilings were covered with black carpet. At the end of the hall, a red curtain separated the theater from the lobby. He heard gunshots, and figured they were screening an action movie or a western. An odd aroma drifted through the curtains.

“What is that smell?”

“Keep moving,” Tanya said.

There was nothing in the lobby except the concession stand and three stacks of large silver crates that Mark thought would make great footlockers.

The popcorn machine was empty. There wasn’t a soda machine, or any candy, or hot dogs. Just a counter with large, black trays.

Behind the counter, a massive steel door led to a freezer.

Tanya followed and when Mark set the box of movies on the counter, she opened it.

“Popcorn machine busted or something?” he asked.

“Our clients have other appetites. Go get the crates.”

Mark went out to the truck and opened the back. Two rows of silver crates like those in the lobby stood waiting to be unloaded. A dolly lay on the floor.

He brought in the new crates, and loaded up the empties, but they rattled when he tipped them onto the dolly.

“What’s in these?” he asked.

“Trays,” Tanya said, pointing at the black plates on the counter. “And some trash. You signed the NDA, so feel free to take a look.”

Mark opened the crate and saw T-bones, remains of chicken breasts, drumsticks, and pork ribs with dirty trays. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and closed the lid. The meat looked uncooked.

“Your clientele likes raw meat?”

“It’s a delicacy to some.”

He unloaded the rest of the new crates and loaded the returns.

“Thanks for your help,” Tanya said at the delivery door.

“It’s been weird,” he said.

She finally gave him a genuine smile. “Weird is normal here.”

He handed her the clipboard to sign for the delivery. “Just sign here,” he said, pointing. “Any chance you’re free for dinner sometime this week?”

She signed the board, and handed it back, still grinning. “Let me think about it.”

Dinner on Saturday was delicious, and Tanya was more open and friendly, but she mostly talked movies. She mentioned so many science fiction films that Mark took her for a drive down Highway 17, locally known as the Cosmic Highway due to so many UFO sightings. They parked in the middle of nowhere. It was a little chilly, but not to the point where he needed to turn on the heater. They reclined the car seats, sat close, and shared some body heat.

“I have to warn you,” she said, gazing at the sky, “my life revolves around movies.”

“I like movies,” Mark said. “I thought you might want to talk about something that wasn’t work-related, though.”

“Work is my life. We perform an important service to the world.”

“You don’t think entertainment is important?”

“Oh, it is,” he said. He pointed to the sky. “Look, a shooting star.”

Tanya leaned her head against Mark’s shoulder. He put an arm around her, and she didn’t pull away. Maybe there was such a thing as Hollywood love. He just needed a good soundtrack, so he reached over, and clicked on the radio. “You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)” by Dead or Alive blasted from the speakers. Mark turned the volume down, and punched a button to scan to the next station. “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” by Simple Minds came on. Tanya cuddled closer. The right music made a difference.

“I loved The Breakfast Club, ” she said, “but I don’t want to go back to high school. I’d rather we drove around like Holly and Kit in Badlands . Or maybe Bonnie and Clyde .”

“Or maybe we could pick a movie where we both get to live,” Mark said.

“Were you friends with Tom?” she asked.

“Nah. He was a dick,” he said.

“Good. Don’t do like he did,” she said.

“What did he do?”

“He was late for a delivery. I like you, Mark. So please, don’t ever be late.”

“I like seeing you. I’ll never be late for that.”

“Even if you’re sick. Please don’t be late. We can’t accept any excuses.”

“Yeah, I got it the first time.”

“If the clients don’t like something, we have to change the movie quickly or they get upset. And believe me, you don’t want to see them upset.”

“Bad for business?” Mark asked.

“Bad for everyone.”

“All right,” he said, stroking her hair. “I won’t be late. So, what are your favorite movies?”

“My favorites are the ones our patrons can watch over and over again. Star Wars, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Laserblast, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Phantasm, and Jaws , though they tend to root for the shark. ”

“I totally get Star Wars and Raiders , but Laserblast? ”

“When humans are ruled by aliens, they appreciate that.”

“Odd clients,” Mark said.

“They aren’t from around here,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Never mind. You’d think I’m crazy.”

“No, not at all. I think you’re great.”

“Have you ever read anything by H.P. Lovecraft?” she asked.

“Can’t say I have.”

“He wrote about the Elder Gods. ‘The Call of Cthulhu’ and such.”

“Go on,” he said.

“Well, the Elder Gods, or the Old Ones as they’re sometimes called, they’re…they’re real. They devour bodies and souls, but my grandfather learned that they were distracted by movies. We’ve trapped them in the theater, and keep their attention by giving them a steady diet of stories and flesh. Otherwise… we’re all doomed.”

Even in the dark, Mark could tell she was serious, but she was also a little bundle of hotness, and while the crazy kept rising on the charts, he was horny, and now that the radio was playing “In the Air Tonight” by Phil Collins, he thought he could be Tom Cruise to her Rebecca De Mornay. Loving her might be worth some Risky Business , he thought, and moved to kiss her.

“That’s why you can’t ever be late,” she said, avoiding his lips. “While they sometimes request repeat showings, we need new movies to show them. All the time.”

“What if the projector breaks?” he asked, tossing some logic into the conversation.

“We have backups. Projectors, bulbs, two extra generators in case of power outages. We’ve got it covered,” she said, which under other circumstances might sound rational, but she followed it up with another batch of insanity. “The fate of the world depends on us keeping them riveted to the screen. We feed them raw meat, and the occasional human who screws up. Like my mother, who sacrificed herself when the film broke during Alien .”

“That sounds awful,” Mark said, wondering if he should give up and just take her home. The hotness chart didn’t have room for this much crazy.

“I know,” she said. “The film broke right as the alien burst from John Hurt’s chest. Your coworker, Tom, he was an hour late. We were supposed to get an advance copy of Explorers , and he gave a sad excuse about his mother being rushed to the hospital. What’s one life compared to billions? We managed to get The Rocky Horror Picture Show up and running before they escaped the theater. They love that movie, so we keep it accessible, but they prefer it Saturday nights at midnight. When Tom showed up, we fed him to the Old Ones. I don’t want to have to do that to you, Mark, but as they say, the show must go on .”

Her tone was sincere. “Fascinating,” Mark said, raising an eyebrow like Mr. Spock.

“That’s nothing compared to the busloads of people we bring in once a month. The Old Ones devour souls, you see, and…” She kept talking, but he’d finally heard enough.

Mark sat up, and looked around.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Looking for Allen Funt. There has to be a camera crew around here trying to see how much nonsense I’ll listen to before they tell me I’m on some Candid Camera special.”

“You don’t believe me?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, but no. Not a word. Anyhow, it’s getting late and I’ve got an early morning.”

Mark arrived on time Monday morning, and Tanya glared at him when he brought in the crates.

“Follow me,” she said.

“I have other deliveries to make.”

“Don’t talk,” she said. “In fact, don’t even whisper.”

She grabbed him by the hand, and dragged him through a set of red curtains leading into a short hallway to reveal a gap of about three feet before another curtain separated them from the theater. The odd smell intensified, but he couldn’t place it. On the left wall, a door led to the projection room.

Tanya guided him inside, then leaned close and whispered, “Look out the window at the audience.”

Mark rolled his eyes, but did as she said. He slipped around the projector, which clicked along throwing a Chinese chop-chop movie on the screen.

He leaned close to the window, and put his hand up to block his reflection for a better view into the theater.

A face with too many eyes stared back at him, and a mouth with far too many sharp teeth opened and smacked against the glass, scratching it.

Mark jumped back, but Tanya put her hands on his shoulders to keep him from falling.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Shh. Go back to the glass,” she whispered. “That one is just curious, but it can’t break through, and it will settle down now that it knows you’re here.”

He eased himself back to the glass, and the creature slid into its seat. Row after row of dark and slimy creatures gazed enraptured at the kung fu dancing on the screen. Tentacles waved. Tongues slurped. Some of the Old Ones had scales. Some sported manes of wild hair and antennae. Others had eyestalks growing out of their heads and wings sprouting from their shoulders.

“My grandfather is about to feed them. Most snack breaks are just dead animals, but I had him move up the main course for your edification.”

Mark started to speak, but she put a finger to his lips.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “they’re sedated.”

A side door opened, spilling yellow light onto the front rows. Old Man Jenkins wheeled in a gurney that held an elderly naked man.

He parked the gurney at one end of the row and motioned for the creatures to remain seated. He rushed out, then returned a moment later with another gurney holding a naked woman.

Eventually four snacks took up the gap between the front row and the screen.

Old Man Jenkins let himself out as the credits started to roll.

Tanya grabbed a microphone, and spoke into it. “Snack break for five minutes while we change the film. Our next feature is Invasion U.S.A. s tarring Chuck Norris.”

She pointed at the glass, and pushed Mark forward.

When the credits ended, the creatures pounced upon their meals. They bit off heads, ripped bodies apart, and passed arms, legs, and torsos for the others to share.

Mark’s stomach flipped and Tanya handed him a bucket.

“They’re all terminally ill patients from hospice centers in the region,” she said, offering him a rag to wipe the vomit from his lips.

Mark couldn’t speak. He focused on keeping the contents of his stomach in the bucket.

She got the Chuck Norris movie prepped and said, “You can go now. And while it should go without saying, don’t be late, or they’ll be dining on a healthier, younger snack.”

The next day, Tanya was waiting outside when Mark pulled up in the delivery truck.

“I thought you might quit,” she said.

“Bills to pay,” he said.

“You’re the only living outsider to ever witness the devouring of souls.”

“It was terrible.”

“Small price to pay to keep the world safe. You do understand that’s what we’re doing, right?”

“I considered going to the sheriff,” Mark said.

“He knows all about it. When we don’t have enough hospice patients, he brings us criminals from the penitentiary. He says they’re on death row, but I don’t know. There’ve been a lot of them.”

“You’re okay with this?” he asked.

“If not for my family, and others like us around the world, the Old Ones would have already feasted on every soul on the planet.”

This time, Mark believed her.

A few weeks later, life threw Mark a curveball. He started his route five minutes late, and didn’t get across the railroad tracks before the train arrived. It shouldn’t have been an issue, but he stopped too close to a station wagon in front, and a Corvette practically drove up his tailpipe. There wasn’t room to get turned around without hitting another vehicle. “The Power of Love” by Huey Lewis and the News played on the radio.

Mark kept looking at his watch. If he didn’t get moving soon, he might be late for the delivery. He didn’t have a time-traveling DeLorean, and Tanya told him they were on a tight schedule because the clients knew Re-Animator was going to be delivered. They really wanted to see it.

Traffic was backed up and there was nowhere to go. While he didn’t believe the fate of the world rested on his delivery because Tanya could start another movie, he knew they wouldn’t forgive him for being late. Mark couldn’t wait any longer. He wheeled the truck off the road, clipping the station wagon because he didn’t want to crunch the Corvette.

The driver of the station wagon got out of his vehicle and gave him the finger, but Mark just waved, and gunned the engine. There wasn’t any traffic going back the way he came.

If he took Turner Avenue to Ward Street, he might be able to go around the train. It was his only hope.

Turner Avenue was clear, and he made good time, but the route took him a mile out of the way. Finally, he found a street that went through, and he swung onto Main Street. He checked his watch. It all depended on the lights.

Mark ran three red lights, and pulled up to the theater two minutes late. Tanya leaned against the door, checking her watch as he hopped out of the truck.

“That was a close one,” Mark said.

“You’re late,” she said.

“Traffic,” Mark said, shrugging.

“Give me the movies,” she said.

He got the box out of the truck and handed it to her.

She ripped the flaps open, dug through the canisters to find Re-Animator and let out a sigh of relief.

“Get unloaded,” she said. “I’m going to get this spooled up.”

Once Mark was done, he went back inside with his clipboard for her signature, but she wasn’t in the lobby.

There were no sounds from inside the theater either.

Was there a problem with the film?

Mark pushed through the curtains to go to the projection room, but found himself face-to-face with an ugly green tentacled creature. Thirty eyes on stalks turned toward him, and a gaping maw filled with teeth released a stench worse than the local sewage plant. Mark nearly wet himself but Tanya opened the door.

“Go back to your seat,” she said to the beast.

“I know you’re hungry, but go back to your seat. Dinner will be ready soon.”

The eyestalks turned to her then to Mark then back to her. She pointed to the exit. “Go.”

The beast shambled back through the curtain.

Mark let out the breath he’d been holding. “Thank you,” he said.

“You owe me,” she said. “You were late.”

“It won’t happen again. I promise. I need your signature then I’m outta here.”

She took the clipboard, pulled a pen from her pocket, and signed. She handed the board to him.

“Thank you,” he said, and turned to go.

Old Man Jenkins blocked his path.

“We have no tolerance for tardiness,” he said.

“Please, Grandfather. It was only two minutes. I like him. He’s a good guy,” Tanya said.

Old Man Jenkins stared into Mark’s eyes. “Yes, I suspect he’s very good. Very good and very tasty to some.”

“Move it, old man,” Mark said, trying to push past him. The man didn’t budge. He was stronger than he looked.

“You were late. There’s a price to pay,” Jenkins said, taking a syringe out of his pocket.

“You’re crazy if you think you’re feeding me to those things,” Mark said, taking a step back and raising his fists.

“Grandpa, please,” Tanya said. “We budgeted the time to change the film. Mark has been early some days, too. We can give him one more chance. I really like him.”

Tanya nodded. “Let’s make the one exception. Please?”

The old man hesitated, then lowered the syringe. “Mark, do you like Tanya?”

“Uh… yeah… she’s… amazing?”

“Are you willing to marry her? Help her with the family business? Give her healthy children to take us into the future so I can retire?”

Mark turned to look at Tanya, thinking things couldn’t get any stranger. A shotgun wedding proposal in a theater filled with freaky creatures? This couldn’t be real, but it was. At least Tanya was beautiful. Even if he said yes, he could always back out later.

Mark nodded and lowered his fists when the old man seemed satisfied.

“I’d be happy to carry on the family tradition.”

Old Man Jenkins smiled, and stabbed Mark with the syringe.

The world went hazy and Mark fell into Jenkins’ arms.

Mark felt like he was rolling downhill into a haunted house. Green and brown creatures occupied theater seats. Some held bottles of Louisiana hot sauce. Others ketchup and mustard. One tentacled thing clutched a packet of sweet and sour sauce.

Old Man Jenkins’ voice came over the speaker. “Today, we have an extra snack before our next feature begins. And Mark, I’m really sorry about all of this. Tanya’s real broken up about it, but she’ll get over it in time. And you can take great pride knowing you did your part to save the world.”

Mark tried to roll off the gurney, but a creature leaped on him. It was the same one he saw at the entrance. It slithered its tongue over his face, then whipped out a container of greasy butter and squirted it on Mark’s forehead. Next came a couple shakes of Worcestershire sauce, and the pièce de résistance , a dash of garlic salt that went right up Mark’s nostrils. He felt a sneeze coming on, but the creature opened its mouth wide.