American Monsters (10 page)

Kaleanathi welcomes the four new spirits to her orange smog skies. There are many more sacrifices to come. She places Security Guards 1-4 outside The Mansion in the shape of gargoyles, tongues curled, claws extended, waiting for a signal. The fog is heavier now around The Motel Chain Mansion. The orange peels of sky peek through unsmogged areas like mandarin slivers of moon. The spirits percolate. The end draws near. Kaleanathi feels them walking around inside of her, exploring her tunnels. Some of them dance. Some of them are on drugs that allow her to suck their life energies. As she does, the smog thickens. Soon the woods, even, will be impermeable. Those inside, invisible, digestible, lambs come to their slaughter.

The camera cuts to the news, every hour on the hour.

Katie Hernandez:

... a car chase on the 110 that resulted in LAPD opening fire on the driver. At the moment there is a 20 car pile-up on the freeway, so take alternate routes. Weather in La-la Land is on the warm side, except for a fog bank that has settled itself over the infamous Motel Chain Mansion in the Hollywood Hills. Stay tuned and we’ll be back after these messages from our sponsors.

A quick cut to Slash’s car. Slash sings to himself, a tuneless song that consists of repeating “Debbie, Debbie, Debbie,” over and over again. His knife, wiped clean of Gaze's blood and fluids, lies on the seat next to him.

As he approaches the gate he places the knife in the glove compartment. The black Humvee in front of him is full of men. They look like jocks, maybe a fraternity. Slash has been watching two men in the backseat make out with the one girl in the car. “Debbie, Debbie, Debbie” he sings to himself as he watches.
That’s the way it’s supposed to be,
he thinks to himself.

Slash:

I’m coming to get you, little Debbie, Bitch. You are mine.

Cue creepy music.

The camera moves ahead to the “fraternity” Humvee. These are The Vikings, a gang of white supremacists who also happen to be a part of a huge-scale ecstasy ring that ties back to mob money in Arizona. The men are all dressed as different porn stars from Boogie Nights. The girl in the backseat is dressed as Rollergirl and is being simultaneously groped by both men.

Viking #1/Dirk Diggler, from the backseat:

So how are you liking ecstasy?

Rollergirl:

Mmmmhmmmmmm.

Viking #2/Reed Rothschild, from the backseat:

You are so fucked up right now! Give me a blow job.

Rollergirl, in a state of confused euphoria, does exactly as he says. The other men hoot and cheer her on.

Viking #3/Jack Horner, from the passenger seat:

Take her clothes off man, someone should get laid before we get up there.

Viking #1/Dirk, from the backseat as he undoes his pants:

I’m first. Fuck sloppy seconds.

The men in the backseat rip Rollergirl’s clothes off. She is out of it, hardly saying a word except for “Ow” when Viking #1/Dirk begins raping her. She is unable to say stop. She closes her eyes. Words have abandoned her throat. Viking #2/Reed switches places with Viking #3/Jack in the passenger seat and he proceeds to rape her too as the other men holler and take swigs from a vodka bottle. They are close to the gate, so the men cover her up, pay the fees, hand over the tickets and drive up to their parking spot. Viking #4/Buck Swope gets out of the car and pulls Rollergirl with him. He drags her to a darker area and dumps her, naked except for the pair of roller-skates. She moans.

Rollergirl:

Why are you leaving me here?

Viking # 4/Buck:

We already fucked you, what good are you now?

Rollergirl begins crying. Huge heaving sobs that echo in the woods and punctuate the music.

Viking # 1/Dirk:

Men, let’s go.

Viking # 2/Reed:

FUCK YEAH!

Viking #3/Jack spits on her as they walk by.

Slash goes looking for the dumped woman. He saw the sex and knows she is one of those Debbie girls. But he can’t find her. He looks everywhere and figures she either is hiding or maybe the men came back for her. Or maybe someone else took her to play with...

Slash, voice over:

Motherfucker.

(beat)

Many more where she came from.

Slash walks up the hill to the house. Yes, many more where she came from. Almost like heaven, with naked angels and stuff. He snorts to himself and continues.

The Firebirds, dressed as Charlie’s Angels, arrive at the door of The Mansion along with a few other assorted cool chicks. Chaos and Glamour arrive just afterwards. Chaos is dressed as Poison Ivy, and Glamour as Catwoman. They stand outside the Mansion for a minute before they go in.

Galactic Canary:

Weird, huh? You can’t really even see the house until you are literally right in front of it.

Glamour:

It is beautiful though. So ornate. Oh, and look at the gargoyles up there.

Chaos:

Is that thing winking at me?

Glamour:

Okay, princess, you are supposed to wait to get to the party before you get high, you know.

Chaos:

I’m not high, you bitch. Just look at it, I swear to God.

Cherry Thrush:

Oh my God, she’s right. How did they do that? It’s a pretty neat trick, I guess. Strange, though.

Glamour:

Well we’re heading inside. You ladies have a great night.

Firebirds:

See ya later. Bye. Take care.

The camera shoots upwards, as if attached to a 30-foot pole. It follows the ridges of The Mansion, past the winking gargoyles, past the sneering eyes of the house, up to the tower that Mr. Motel Chain had built especially for this night. He is up there now with DJ Fetish, formerly John Doe, discussing the party.

DJ Fetish:

I can’t believe you have girls DJing at this thing. Girls can’t spin.

Mr. Motel Chain:

Well, this is the new millennium, is it not? You don’t think it’s fair that out of fifty headliners, one of them is a female team?

DJ Fetish:

Good point. Anyway, it’s not like they’ll play again after tonight. Lame bitches. So anyway, everything is set. The music is programmed, and I go on at midnight. Let the party begin.

Mr. Motel Chain:

Just keep yourself out of trouble until then. You know what to do.

DJ Fetish:

Yeah.

Mr. Motel Chain:

The event ends at 6:00 a.m. That’s when you'll get your million, provided everything goes as planned.

DJ Fetish:

It will. I'll see you at six.

They shake hands, and part company.

The camera does a vertical drop to the foyer of The Mansion. Jade and Sandalwood, the folk/funk DJ’s, are spinning crazy mixtures of music. At the moment they are playing a remix of Ani DiFranco’s song “Freakshow”. Just a moment ago, they were mixing James Brown’s “The Payback” to tripped out jungle beats. Jade is into 70’s funk, and Sandalwood spins folk music. They rework history through funky beats, combining disparate genres. They also happen to be telepathic, and usually argue as they spin.

Jade, silently:

I just got this great song called “Topless in Rio.” It’s an import, I think you’ll like it. It would go great with that one song of yours, you know?

Sandalwood, also silently:

I will not play a song about being topless in Rio. This scene is not about naked women. It’s about sharing and meeting people and dancing your heart out to pure music. Not loaded topless shit. What is that?

Jade:

Girl, what are you talking about? It’s a fucking song. It’s not a lifestyle.

Sandalwood:

But it is. The music we play is the soul of the party. If you corrupt it with sex and confuse the whole thing it will all fall apart.

Jade:

I don’t know what parties you’ve been going to, but in case you haven’t picked up on this just yet, this scene is finished. We are witnessing its last legs. Look at all this corporate shit. Mr. Motel Chain is bullshit. This place has already lost its soul. Sometimes I think I can feel it when it happens. So fuck off, I’m playing my cool new song.

Sandalwood:

Sorry, I didn’t think you’d get your bra all in a twist about it.

Jade:

At least I wear a bra, you floppy-titted hippie.

Sandalwood:

Hah!

They laugh out loud, hug, then continue to spin, but remain silent, both internally and externally. The room is filled with people bouncing up and down, some performing intricate hand and feet movements, some chasing energy balls around their bodies, people in sparkly clothes and fuzzy pants, glowing beads swinging and fists pumping to the music.

The camera moves from Jade and Sandalwood back to the foyer of The Mansion and runs along the lines of paintings on the wall. Mr. Motel Chain did not collect these paintings, and if you were to ask him he would first assume that he’s had them for ages, but on second glance he would have to say he has never seen a single one of them before. They are intense shades of red and maroon. Palimpsests of sprawled people, the reds used almost like a screen over the pencil lines behind them. People can’t take their eyes from them.

Ichor enters the room. He is what wolverine from the X-Men would look like as a vampire. He grew a soul after dropping ecstasy for the first time, and he no longer kills his human prey. Instead, much like the infamous serial killer Peter Kurtin, with his heightened scent for blood, he sniffs out menstruating women and feeds off of their blood. He’s noticed how much healthier he has been since he started this uterine drinking. On entering the painting-laden foyer he almost passes out from the overwhelming (and delicious) smell of menstrual blood. Did every woman in this room just happen to be on her period today? He begins looking at the paintings and notices the smell gets stronger the close
r he is. He also notices the smell is not fresh. He begins laughing and turns to the people next to him.

Ichor, laughing ironically:

Menstrual blood ― so many uses.

They look at him quizzically.

Ichor:

The paintings, they’re done with menstrual blood.

Random Raver Girl:

Ew, get me out of here.

They leave. Ichor is intrigued by these paintings and tells a few more people what they’ve been painted with. Most people get disgusted and leave, which Ichor finds even more amusing than the blood paintings. He sees a group of three girls, Dentata, Wake, and Uteri, the latter two getting ready to drop their ecstasy.

Ichor:

You ladies want to hear an interesting tidbit about these paintings?

Uteri, interested more in the guy than the paintings:

What?

Ichor:

They are done with menstrual blood.

Uteri:

No way.

She even goes closer and touches it.

Uteri:

Wait, how do you know? It doesn’t come off.

Ichor, smiling and shrugging:

I have a sense about these things.

Uteri, to Ichor:

Are you here with people or...?

Dentata, irritated:

Do you guys need water? I’ll just go get it for you.

Wake, to Uteri:

Is she okay?

Uteri:

She’s just sore about the E that’s all. Maybe she’ll decide to drop one.

Wake:

Doubtful.

Ichor, distracted by the paintings, and a delightful new odor issuing from Uteri, is only half paying attention to their exchange. Dentata returns.

Dentata, with water:

Here.

Uteri:

That was quick.

Dentata:

It was free so I just got everyone a bottle.

Dentata hands out the four bottles of (spiked) water. Not that they know it’s spiked, they’re just happy it’s not $5 a bottle or more, as usual.

Uteri, to Ichor:

So, are you dropping tonight?

Ichor:

Oh no I don’t do those kinds of drugs. You go ahead.

Uteri:

Ladies, cheers!

Uteri and Wake clink bottles and down their little pills. Dentata looks on ruefully and Ichor begins to get hungry.