Hey Hey!
Now you're talking my language!
I am a big fan of the old classic horror movies, and have been since I was a little boy.
The movies I grew up with are even older than than ones you mentioned, which I refer to as the classics. (you know, Frankenstein, Dracula, the Wolf Man, Mummy, Creature from the Black Lagoon, etc.)
I'll give you fair warning. Once you get me started on this subject, you may not get me to stop.
Now I would like to share a little story that I had originally written for John Allore back in 2006. I had read the story of Theresa by Patricia Pearson, and then was watching an old Frankenstein movie, when I got this inspiration.
http://friendsofdebbie.blogspot.com/200 ... llore.html
Looks like that didn't work. Note to Chris:
One of the many things to fix now that you're back.
I must resort to copy and paste.
---------------------------------------------------
"If the Surete du Quebec were in a Frankenstein Movie"
Although this story takes place in a village in Germany in the 19th century, the police speak in an accent curiously resembling French Canadian.
A grief stricken man with tears in his eyes carries the lifeless body of a little girl into the village square, followed by villagers murmering to one another. The man walks directly to the police station, where he lays down the dead child and pleads with the Constable, who just happens to be standing outside.
"My little girl, she's been murdered!" cries the father.
"Oh I don't know about that." says the Constable, "Could be suicide. Maybe she was taking drugs."
"MURDERER! MURRR-DER-ER!" screams the crazy old lady we see in every Frankenstein movie. "It's that wicked Dr. Frankenstein and his evil experiments! He's the one who brought this upon us!"
"Let's all get our torches and pitchforks and find the monster who did this!" shouts the village drunkard.
"Now hold on there!" shouts the Constable. "We can't be sure if any of this has really happened!"
"What about all them graves that were dug up in the cemetery?" demands the drunkard.
"We don't know anything about that either!" says the Constable.
"FIND THE MONSTER! KILL THE MONSTER!" everyone shouts.
"Listen good people!" the Constable shouts. "If you must go running off into the hills with your torches and farming implements with the intention of klling some monster you hope to find out there, then I'm afraid I will have no choice but to look the other way!"
The angry mob storms off into the hills.
Up in the hills a big ugly monster is seen running for his life by two hunters carrying rifles. One of them shoots him, only to get his neck broken by the monster who continues to run. The other hunter decides not to do the same thing himself, but runs likity-split to the village instead.
Outside the police station two officers see a madman with a rifle running and screaming toward the entrance. "I'm afraid it will become very hard to ignore this." says the first officer. "Then we must make extra effort to do so." says the second officer.
Inside the station, the hunter meets the Constable, huffing and puffing from the long run. "Well, what is it, Man?" says the Constable.
"Aurgh! Monster! Big! Horrible! Aurgh! Killed my friend! Aurgh! Shared the scit out of me! Aurgh!"
"Don't know what you're talking about." says the constable. "I suggest you go home and try to forget about it!"
The villagers arrive brandishing their torches at the top of the hill, with their pitchforks, axes, and other implements of destruction, just in time to see the monster duck inside the windmill, which they proceed to set on fire. They gather around to watch it burn down, making sure the monster does not escape.
In the morning the police are there among the smoking remains of the windmill, where they find the body of the Frankenstein Monster.
"Looks like they killed him, Sir." an officer reports.
"Oh I don't know about that." the Constable says. "Could be suicide. Maybe he was taking drugs."
