notorious d.e.a.d.

There are some events you just don’t miss, like your child’s high school graduation or your mom’s wedding.  For Lenore, one of these can’t miss, absolutely must attend or die trying events was the grand opening of a Ben & Jerry’s in her hometown.

Lenore was certain that she was primarily responsible for the newest location of the world famous ice cream shop.  She had submitted no fewer than two hundred requests on the Ben & Jerry’s corporate website petitioning for her town to be the next to receive a shop.  Then there was her Twitter campaign in which she and a handful of her followers basically carpet bombed the Ben & Jerry’s account with tweets asking them to open a franchise in Lenore’s North Georgia town.

When she learned that the ice cream moguls had relented and a notice was posted in the newspaper announcing the construction of a new shop not ten miles from Lenore’s front door, she was ecstatic.  She dragged the family’s tent out of the attic and was preparing to camp out at the construction site until the shop opened, but her husband and two young boys pleaded with her to remain at home.  She agreed only when she found out the tent had a hole in the roof.

Now, months later, Lenore was among the throngs of people that converged upon the new Ben & Jerry’s location for the grand opening.  It was a carnival like atmosphere with balloons and games and the local radio station was broadcasting from the parking lot.  There was even a small stage where various up and coming musical acts performed for the crowd.  Lenore was not interested in any of the festivities.  She was in line for another free sample of ice cream.  This would be her fifteenth.  Her husband had long ago gone home with the boys, who had looked a bit green while clutching their stuffed bellies.

Lenore was not done yet, however.  There were still at least seven flavors she had not sampled and she was determined to try them all.

Chewing on her little wooden sample spoon in anticipation, Lenore approached the counter.  She was trying to decide between the Chocolate Nougat Crunch or the new Cannoli flavor when there was a commotion behind her.  Outside in the parking lot, people were screaming and running away from the stage.  Lenore then saw a man wearing baggy clothes and gold chains lumbering through the crowd, snarling and lunging at people as they passed.  She guessed he was one of the performers – a rapper of some sort – because he was still clutching a microphone in one hand.  A security guard approached and tried to subdue the rapper, who sank his teeth into the guard’s cheek and ripped away a thick hunk of flesh and muscle.  Blood splattered across the stunned faces of the two other guards who had arrived as back-up.  Lenore guessed this wasn’t part of the rapper’s act.

The Ben & Jerry’s employees and everyone who had been standing in line for free samples had run out of the shop to try and find their friends and families in the panicking crowd.  Lenore was alone in the ice cream shop.  Ignoring the rapper as he munched his way through what was supposed to be his potential fan-base, Lenore closed and locked the front door of the shop.  Walking to the counter she smiled at the gallons and gallons of frozen perfection spread out before her.  She grabbed a new spoon and dug in.

Priorities, man. You gotta have them.

My friend Lenore asked to be written into one of these zombie stories and I knew from the very beginning that ice cream had to be involved somehow.  I hope you like your story, Lenore.  If you notice, I made sure to note that your family was safe at home so you could eat your ice cream without feeling guilty.  I’m a softie that way.

If you’d like to read my other zombie stories just click here.  Or don’t.  No big whoop.

gimme a z!

Coach Turner stopped in the open doorway of Principal Worthy’s office. “I’m a little early,” she said. “I can wait and come back.”

“No, come on in. Close the door behind you.” He placed the file he was reading on top of a neat stack of identical-looking manila folders. “Please have a seat.” He motioned to one of the chairs facing his desk.

After the Coach sat, she ran her palms against her thighs. The tracksuit she wore was teal and yellow–the school colors–and the nylon fabric whispered with her every move. “This is a tough situation, sir. I try to handle any problems my cheerleaders may have myself, but Cindy’s situation seems too big to tackle alone.”

Mr. Worthy nodded. As was his habit, he’d removed his jacket this morning and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp blue Oxford shirt. His tie was still tightened in a perfect Windsor knot. “You were right in bringing this to my attention. The well-being of our students is my top priority.”

“We still haven’t been able to contact her parents. Left tons of messages on their cell phones. The home phone has been disconnected. No one has seen them at work.” She sighed as she clasped her hands together on her lap.

“This sounds worse than I thought.” He leaned forward, arms braced on the desk. “You’d mentioned her health.”

“She’s so pale, kinda green actually, and she practically sleepwalks through her day. It looks like she barely has the energy to get to class, much less practice the cheers. And she’s lost an alarming amount of weight. None of the other girls ever see her eat anything at lunch or after school.”

“So you think . . . ” He didn’t finish the thought, not wanting to assume.

Coach Turner nodded, her expression grave. “Yes. I think Cindy has an eating disorder.”

Leaning back in his chair, Principal Worthy shook his head. “We’ll need to get social services involved.”

“Definitely.”

A commotion outside the office interrupted their conversation. Coach Turner stood and opened the door as Principal Worthy walked around his desk to join her in the hallway. A few yards away was Cindy, looking as gaunt and green and lethargic as the Coach had described her. But what had caused a few of the other students to cry out in alarm was what Cindy carried. Clutched in her right hand was a human skull.

“Things may not be as bad as we feared,” said the Principal.

The Coach looked at him as if he’d grown a third eye.

He waived a hand toward Cindy. “Well, she did bring her lunch today.”

A very special thank you to my wonderful friend April for giving me the idea for this story.  I wish I had not waited until the last minute to write it so I could have played around with it a bit more.

And, yes, I did wait until the last minute because I woke up this morning completely oblivious to the fact that it is the first of the month.  Panic may have ensued when I finally figured it out.  But I managed to assemble “Cindy” and bang out a story before the end of the day.  Sorry for falling asleep at the wheel, guys.  I’ll try* not to let it happen again.

To see what all this is about, please visit my Zombie-A-Month 2013 page.

*No promises, people. 

 

game over

Mrs. Ward walked into the living room and tripped over a discarded remote-controlled robot.  “Justin!” she yelled over her shoulder towards her son’s room.  “I swear I’m going to just throw your toys away!”  She bent to pick up the robot and stormed down the hall to his room.

Yellow caution tape stretched across Justin’s door, holding up a sign declaring “DO NOT ENTER!”  She gave three sharp raps on the door, but there was no reply.  She placed her ear against the wood and heard the digitized music from one of his video games.  “I know you’re in there,” she said knocking again.  “If you don’t answer me, I’m just going to come in.”  The music continued, but there was no word from Justin.

“Okay.  Last chance.”  Mrs. Ward waited three seconds before turning the knob and swinging the door open.

A rancid smell like rotten meat assaulted her and she raised her hand to cover her nose.  “Good god.  Did you leave a sandwich under your bed again?”  The dark room was lit only by the television, the flashing screen asking if Player One would like to resume the game.  Justin sat on the floor at the foot of his bed facing the tv and from her angle, Mrs. Ward could only see the back of his head and the tops of his shoulders.

She tossed the robot toy on his bed and said, “I swear, those games are going to rot your brain.”

Justin didn’t acknowledge her.

“Can you at least look at me when I’m talking to you?”  She walked further into the room, kicking aside energy drink cans and game controllers.  “Answer me, young man.”  When she was close enough to finally face her son, she gasped and backed away, hands clutching at her throat.

Justin’s attention wasn’t focused on a joystick.  He was bent over a severed arm, gnawing at it like a wild animal.  Light glinted off a gold ring on the arm’s hand, which flapped around like a fish on a dock as Justin ripped into the flesh.

Mrs. Ward released a strangled sob.  It was her husband’s wedding band.  And there, just visible from around the far corner of the bed, she saw a pair of legs wearing her husband’s work trousers and loafers.  A black puddle surrounded the legs and spread across the carpet to where Justin sat.  She knew if she turned on the overhead light, the puddle would be red.

She backed away a few steps then stopped.  What could she do?  Where could she go?  Everyone she loved was in this room.  And everyone, including herself, was now broken beyond repair.

Falling to her knees, she crawled to her son.  “Justin?”  Tears streamed down her face as she settled down by his side.  “Give mommy a hug, sweetheart.”

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, robots are out and zombies are in for 2013.  I couldn’t be happier about the return of my undead friends.  The calendar company did issue a Fold Your Own Unicorn calendar as well this year.  I was tempted.  But eventually decided that twelve months of homicidal unicorn stories may be too weird even for me.  So zombies it is.  And I realize that this story is very bleak.  I promise that the tone of the story is not a reflection of my state of mind regarding the year to come.  In fact, the more optimistic I am, the more horrible my stories tend to be.  So, um, sorry in advance for that.  Heh.

Also, if you look closely at the photo, you’ll see everyone’s favorite redneck zombie hunter taking aim at my latest zombie pal.  I am now the proud owner of a Daryl Dixon action figure.  Life just doesn’t get any better than this, folks.

If you’re confused as to what all this is about, please visit my Zombie-A-Month 2011 page to see how this business got started.

sharing is caring

You guys know this thing I do with the robots, right? And that last year I did the same thing with zombies?

Well, I had a few people tell me that I should contact the “Fold Your Own” calendar people and let them know how I was abusing enjoying their product.  I toyed with the idea for a while, shelved it, pulled it back down and tossed it around, forgot about it, then finally said, “Why the heck not?” (a different four letter word may or may not have replaced “heck”)

So, by the power of the internet (not to be confused with the power of Grayskull) I found a contact email address for the calendar division of Accord Publishing and I sent them an email. Please note how carefully I crafted the text in an effort to not sound like a crazy person or an attention whore (yes, much restraint was shown by me).

Greetings!

Last year, my husband bought me the Fold Your Own Zombie: 2011 Calendar. I loved it even before I removed the protective plastic packaging. Each month, I would assemble a new zombie pal to keep me company at work. I loved it so much, I started looking for a 2012 Fold Your Own calendar in November. I was hoping for more zombies, but was not disappointed when I saw that the new theme was robots. I was also happy to see that your robot designs have just as much character, charm, and attention to detail as their zombie counterparts.

Okay, here’s where it gets a little awkward. See, I had quite a few people tell me that I should contact the maker of the Fold Your Own Calendars.

Why? Well, last year on the first of the month I would post a picture of my freshly assembled zombie along with an original story starring my new undead pal. I started it on a lark, but those posts became quite popular in my little circle. I am continuing the “picture and a story” tradition with the robots, too. I was told that the makers of these calendars may like to know how their product is being used out in the world and that they are bringing joy to (at least a few dozen) people. So, that is the reason for this here email.

If you are interested, you can see all my assembled zombies and read their stories by going here: http://fixitordeal.wordpress.com/zombie-a-month-2011/

And here is the link to the robots: http://fixitordeal.wordpress.com/robot-a-month-2012/

Thank you for giving me something to look forward to every month!

Sincerely,
Amy

I sent it off not really expecting any sort of reply.  Just putting it out there felt kinda good.  I wiped away the proverbial dust from my hands and went about my business.

Well, slap me silly and call me Susan if I didn’t get a response that very same day.

Hi Amy,

Thank you SO much for writing! That is probably the greatest thing I’ve seen in quite a while. I have shared your email with all of our in-house creators. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to hear from someone that is enjoying our calendars. You’ll be happy to know that we are currently working on the 2013 titles: Zombies and Unicorns!

Sincerely,
Andrea Mehlem
Accord Publishing

How rad is that? Did you see the “SO” in all caps for emphasis? And the “greatest thing I’ve seen in quite a while”? I’m going to imagine that Andrea sees all kinds of super-fantasic-great things every day working with “in-house creators” and all, so this is quite a compliment. And ZOMG! Zombies and Unicorns next year!?! I’m gonna have to buy more glue.

The lesson I learned from this: saying something nice is always appreciated. I already knew this, but it’s good to get a reminder every once in a while.

Speaking of reaching out and saying stuff (awkward transition, I know), how would you like the opportunity to say stuff right here on this blog? I am currently accepting applications (or a raised hand, or just a nervous glance in my direction) for guest bloggers.  If you are interested, email me at amy(dot)c(dot)severson(at)gmail(dot)com (I may even tell you what the “C” stands for).

I play pretty fast and loose around here, so I don’t have many restrictions on content. Heck, you don’t even have to have your own blog. This could be a chance for anyone to dip their toes in the blogging hot tub before they drop their towel and slide on in (ohhh yeeeah).

Please don’t let the skeevy metaphor deter you from volunteering.

You can keep your swimsuit on.

on the first day of christmas

Daryl walked to the edge of the clearing and stopped so suddenly I almost stumbled into him.
“What is it?” I asked in a half whisper.
He squinted his blue eyes and pointed ahead, then raised his crossbow and took aim.
“What are you looking at?”
“In the tree across the way,” he said
“Is that a partridge in the pear tree?” 
“Yep,” he said. “Now, hush.” Daryl steadied himself then pulled the trigger on the crossbow. There was a rustle within the tree then a soft thump as his quarry landed in the tall grass. He turned to me, displaying a satisfied smirk. “We got dinner.” He shouldered the crossbow and walked to the tree.
“What would I do without you?” I asked, following him.
He snapped off a piece of dry field grass and placed it between his teeth. “Starve, I reckon.”

~*~

So, not only is this the second post in one day (shocking, I know), but this little drabble seems to have something to do with a certain Christmas song.  What is this craziness, you may ask?  Well, I have accepted the challenge of Blogdramedy and am participating in her BlogFestivus.  I’ll let her snazzy little graphic explain the premise for me.

Yep.  It’s the 12 Days of Christmas.  Bloggy-style.  We have to use the “gifts” in the song somewhere in a 144 word story (12×12, get it?).  So, this one was “partridge in a pear tree,” obviously.  Tomorrow, there will be a story with “two turtle doves” featured, then “three french hens” and on and on.  The best thing about this challenge is that the stories don’t have to have anything to do with Christmas whatsoever if we don’t want.  I like that.  Christmas and me aren’t exactly best buds.

For today’s story, I managed to sneak in a little zombie love.  Don’t see it?  Well, that’s Daryl Dixon from The Walking Dead shooting dinner with his crossbow like a boss.  I like Daryl.  He’s dreamy.  And wears zombie ear necklaces.

So, tune in tomorrow to see what I do to those poor turtle doves.

And, be sure to check out the rest of the gang who are participating in BlogFestivus.

Blogdramedy (writing challenge instigator)
Shouts from the Abyss
Stevil
All My Answers
Tori Nelson
A Few Clowns Short
Grouchy Mom
Rewind Revise
The Original Bean
My life: a constant work in progress
Becoming Bitter
PamBamBam
Clan of the Cave Hair
Words that Rhyme with Purple
Mad Hatters
A Daft Scots Lass
Random Says
Susan Forte PR
Slightly Whimsical

 

abra-cadaver

The audience was deathly silent, barely breathing, as they witnessed the macabre magic show presented to them on the small stage. 

At first, the act was no different than any of the others that had performed at the club.  The smiling magician in top hat and tails had bounded across the stage with a flourish and looked confident under the harsh glare of the spotlight.  He charmed the audience with his humor at the same time delighting them with his tricks.  Playing cards vanished and reappeared.  Colorful scarves floated in mid-air.  A white rabbit was plucked from his upturned top hat.  Laughter and applause followed each trick. 

It was during the rings act that things began to fall apart.  The magician pulled the rings from his jacket and stood for a moment, staring at them like he’d forgotten their purpose.  Regaining his composure, he mumbled an apology and made a show of proving that the thin metal circles were, indeed, solid.  Then, after he’d joined the rings together with a quick flick of his wrists, he fumbled them and they clattered to the wooden stage floor.  There was a gasp from the audience, followed by a heavy silence. 

Again, the magician apologized, but the words were stuttered and slurred.  He shook his head, as if to clear it, and stumbled to his prop chest.  He bent down into the chest, nearly falling over, and tossed aside cards and flowers and scarves until he found the item he was searching for.  Standing up, he swayed a bit then held aloft the hand saw and requested the assistance of an audience member.

No one was quick to volunteer. 

The magician wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket and scanned the audience with glassy eyes.  Leveling his slack-jawed gaze on a young woman seated in the front row, he crooked a finger at her, beckoning her up on stage. 

The woman hesitated, but not wanting to hold up the show, she slowly stood up and walked forward.  Taking the magician’s offered hand, she climbed the three steps up to the stage.  She gave the audience an uneasy wave and smiled before laying down on the narrow table the magician had pulled from the wings. Her eyes widened at the sight of the saw, shaking in the magician’s unsteady hands as he raised it over her.  She whimpered, but remained still, gripping the sides of the table. 

Anyone who thought the magician’s shift in demeanor was all a part of the act, quickly changed their minds once the screaming began. 

The woman wailed as the magician, if you could still call him that, furiously ground the saw into her thigh.  Blood splattered across the stage and the stunned faces of everyone in the first row.  The woman’s screams continued even as the crazed magician sawed through her femur, but she was drowned out by the chaos in the audience.  People shrieked and clamored over each other to reach the exits, knocking over chairs and tables.   Meanwhile, above the melee, the magician gnawed on the woman’s now completely severed leg. 

No one noticed the white rabbit hop silently out the back door.

And so it ends.  This, the last zombie of 2011 and his little rabbit companion.  Back in January, I started this endeavor on a lark. I assembled my first zombie and while thinking of what to say to introduce him to you, dear reader, a story about my new undead friend formed in my mind.  So, a story is what I posted.  It was fun and was met with approval, so I followed suit in February, then in March, and before I knew it, I had a right popular little project on my hands.  But, like all good things, Zombie-A-Month 2011 has come to a close.  I may bring the whole gang together for a shindig at the end of the year if I can get them all to stay still for a photo.

What does 2012 have in store?  Well, I think I may have another monthly project waiting in the wings.  They’re not zombies, but like our brain-munching pals, they are single-minded, relentless and tend to cause all kinds of trouble for us humans.  Stay tuned . . .

 

the best defense

“Welcome back to the Undead Sports Network, everyone.  I’m Tred Worthingstone here with Dacron Stevens reporting live from The Skull Dome where the Morristown Moaners are trailing the Bakersfield Bobcats 0-7.  That was one heck of a first half, wasn’t it, Dacron?”

“You said it, Tred.  And this is only an exhibition game, the Bobcats being a living team-”

“Well, some of them aren’t anymore!”

“Good one, Tred!  It isn’t often that the undead league hosts a living team, but when they do, it makes for one exciting game.  The Bobcats scored early in the first quarter, but the Moaners recovered quickly and prevented the Bobcats from further advancement.”

“The Moaners completely gutted the Bobcat’s offense, Dacron.  Let’s hope they’ve regrouped during half-time.”

“Looks like they have finished hauling away what’s left of the Bobcat’s marching band and the players are taking the field.”

“Wow, the Moaners are wasting no time, Dacron.  The are completely dominating the field while the Bobcats scramble.”

“The Bobcats need to learn that traditional plays are no match for the Moaners’ aggressive style, Tred.”

“Adapt or die, right, Dacron?”

“Right you are, Tred.”

“Uh, oh.  The Moaners have fumbled the ball.  But, that isn’t stopping number 13 from completing the play.  Wait, did he just cross over the sidelines and tackle the Bobcat’s kicker?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call that a tackle, Tred, but the kicker is down and it appears that his head is missing.”

“Nope.  Not missing, Dacron.  Number 13 has the head and is making a break for it.”

“Look at him go, Tred!  He’s at the ten, the five and right on through the Bobcat’s end zone.”

“Will the play be allowed, Dacron? There was a fumble and I’m not sure what the rule book says about using an opposing player’s head in place of the ball.”

“None of the officials threw a flag on the play, so I believe it will be allowed, Tred.”

“Touchdown Moaners!”

“That leaves us all tied up at the top of the third quarter.”

“Are the Moaners not going to try for the extra point, Dacron?”

“Number 13 has consumed most of the head-ball, Tred, and I don’t think he’ll be giving up the rest for an attempted field goal.”

“Then, this is a good time to take a break.  This is Tred Worthingstone with the Undead Sports Network and we’ll be back after a few words from our sponsors.”

Every last bit of knowledge I have about football was used in this post.  Ends up I knew more than I thought I did. I didn’t even have to Google that part about field goals.

When I saw that November’s zombie was a football player, I knew that I had to bring back Tred and Dacron for one more round.  I hope you don’t mind.  I just love those guys!

Only one more zombie left to go.  I’m trying not to think about it too much.  If you would like to re-live the past, please visit my Zombie-A-Month page.

trick or treat!

The trick is that I don’t have a blog post here.  That’s mean of me, I know.

However, the treat is that you can read my guest post over at The Mike/Mitch Project.  A food blogger asked me to do a guest post, can you believe it?  Well, he did want me to write about zombies, so I suppose I wasn’t completely out of my element.  After you read my post, please take a look around Mike’s tasty blog.  When he isn’t chronicling his progress in cooking all the recipes in Mitch Omer’s Damn Good Food cookbook, he writes about other tasty dishes like brainloaf.  Mmmm, brainloaf . . .

books make brains tastier

You know what I love more than zombies? Free stuff.

You know what I love more than free stuff? Awesome-cool people whom I may or may not have ever met in person.

So you can imagine the glee that rained down upon me when these two worlds collided. 

See, I am a regular visitor of the website We Zombie!  (Their exclamation point, not mine.  Although, “we zombie!” would be a fun thing to yell.)  Bill Nelson reports on all kinds of zombie goodness from movies to events to the best places to purchase your zompocalypse survival gear.  Go check it out.  It’s rad!

A couple weeks ago, Bill held a little contest.  It was a “caption this” type contest using a picture of a zombie on a toilet. (oh click on it, you know you want to see it!)  Well, we all know me and captioning stuff go way back (Exhibit A) so I dashed off a not-very-original-but-witty-nonetheless caption and submitted it for consideration. 

And I won! 

The prize was a copy of “Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Zombies” by Matt Mogk.  Matt is one of the founders of the Zombie Research Society so he obviously knows a thing or thirteen about the undead. 
As the title suggests, this book answers all your burning, festering questions about zombies:

Are there different kinds of zombies?
Do zombies eat animals?
Can zombies learn?
Where should I go after the zombie plague?

Even I, who thinks I know everything about everything (not just zombies) learned things from this book.  Plus, Matt liberally sprinkles through the book quotes from zombie-related movies and television shows.  What’s not to love?

 But, since Bill over at We Zombie! (scream it!) is an overachiever when it comes to being awesomely nice, he threw in two bonus books. 

“That’s Not Your Mommy Anymore” also by Matt Mogk.  This book is the “Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret” for the zombie generation. It helps kids by letting them know that they are not alone.  Other kids’ moms chew on the check-out girl at the grocery store, too, and that’s okay.  The book also teaches them how to deal with the new, sometimes unsavory, changes that their recently infected parent is going through.  Matt has done some important work here, people.  Buy this book for every child you know.  The child you save could be your own.  

“Dead City” by Joe McKinney.  I haven’t read this one yet (I just got these books on Monday, gimme a break) but I can’t wait to rip into it.  Here’s part of the synopsis from the back cover:

“Battered by five cataclysmic hurricanes in three weeks, the Texas Gulf Coast and half of the Lone Star State is reeling from the worst devastation in history.  Thousands are dead or dying – but the worst is only beginning.  Amid the wreckage, something unimaginable is happening: a deadly virus has broken out, returning the dead to life – with an insatiable hunger for human flesh . . . “

Sounds like a winner to me!

Thank you, Bill!  These books will definitely help sate my hunger for all things rotten and shuffling. 

Have you guys read any good zombie books lately? I’m always looking for new words to chew on.

they’re coming to get you, Barbara!

I am often asked, “What is your favorite horror movie?”

That is not an easy question for me to answer. I don’t have just one, all-time favorite. I have several very different movies that I love for several very different reasons.  Here they are in no particular order.

THE EVIL DEAD
This movie is not for everyone.
I feel the need for this disclaimer because the last time I professed my love for this movie my mom watched it.  Afterwards, she called and asked what in the hell was wrong with me.  For the first time since high school, I think she wondered if I was on drugs.
The Evil Dead is like an oozing, puss-filled, festering wound being picked at by a dirty ragged fingernail.  It’s beyond gross, but it is also genuinely scary and at the same time over-the-top campy and just a ton of fun.  Sam Raimi (who would later go on to direct Spiderman) made this movie on a shoestring budget with a bunch of friends.  In it, five friends travel to a remote cabin in the woods where they unwittingly release unspeakable evil lurking in the woods after playing a taped translation of an anchient text, The Necronomicon.  One by one, the campers are possessed by the evil and it is up to Ash, played by Bruce Campbell and his chin, to dispatch them and return the evil where it belongs.  That is a very sensible synopsis of a movie that gleefully makes little sense.  I can’t help but love it.

THE EXORCIST
Where The Evil Dead is a bludgeon, The Exorcist is a scalpel.  Yes there is some blood and buckets of regurgitated pea soup (not to mention the very unorthodox use of a crucifix), but the movie also relies heavily on pacing and tension.
We all know the basic story, right?  The 12 year old daughter of an actress is possessed by a demon (Pazuzu was his name-o) and two priests (the younger one struggling with a crisis of faith) are called in to perform an exorcism.  Curse-laden, head-spinning hi-jinks ensue.
I love The Exorcist because it was the first movie that actually frightened me.  I’ve seen it at least a dozen times and the scene where possessed Regan does that upside down spider-crawl thing down the stairs never fails to run a shiver down my spine (this scene was cut from the original version and can only be seen on the re-release).  There is a reason why The Exorcist has been called the most terrifying movie ever made.  I don’t recommend this movie for everyone, either, but for very different reasons than The Evil Dead.  If you don’t like being scared, do not watch this movie.

NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD
The grandfather of the modern zombie movie.
Before 1968, zombies were corpses brought to life by a sorcerer to do his/her bidding.  The zombie myth has roots in West African religions and Haitian voodoo culture.  George Romero created a new type of zombie in Night of the Living Dead.  They are still reanimated corpses, but they are not under anyone’s control.  They are feral, roaming creatures with a hunger for human flesh.
The story is simple:  A group of people barricade themselves inside a farmhouse while hordes of zombies, possibly created by radiation from a falling satellite, stumble about outside.  The hero of the movie is a black man named Ben.  He is the only one who seems to have his shit together while everyone else is either catatonic or freaking out.  The only thing more chilling than the zombies is the social commentary that weaves it’s way through the movie and gets you like a shotgun blast to the gut at the end.  Seriously, if the ending doesn’t knock the wind out of you then you are probably one of the undead and got bigger things to worry about than analyzing horror movies.
Unlike The Evil Dead and The Exorcist, I would recommend this movie to anyone.

So, those are my big three.  What’s your favorite horror movie?