Halloween Haunts: Blood and Coffee by Alp Beck

The dimness of the cave made it hard for the old man to see the thing’s details.  The small gelatinous mass was of indeterminate color and shape.  He squinted and poked it lightly with his cane.  Nothing happened.  He poked it again, a bit more vigorously.  Unexpectedly, the mass sprung up the length of the cane and wrapped itself around his hand, sealing it completely within its bulk as the man fell back and screamed.

If that scene seems oddly familiar, it’s because it’s from the film, The Blob, the 1958 cult classic starring a teenage, Steve McQueen in his first leading role.

I was raised to be a writer of horror. I spent my early years in the Italian countryside, with my grandparents.  No children lived near me; in fact, there wasn’t another house for miles.  I did not make friends easily, since I was shy and always had an accent. In school, I was always the foreign girl.  In Cuba, I was the Italian; in Italy, I was the American. Here, I’m the Italian. I was odd because I never understood children, since I was not fully one myself.

I learned to read in my grandfather’s library—he was a doctor—so I’d bury myself in medical books, where distorted, diseased, misshapen people were displayed in all of their fluorescently lit, black and white, glory. I read through Oedipus Rex and the Iliad before I ever saw a children’s book.  My fairy tales were the real Grimm’s fables, not the sanitized, Disneyfied versions they have here.  By the time I was 11, I’d lived through a bomb, flying knives, homemade flintlock pistols fired in the house, physical attacks and a variety of small frights.  There were joys too: the smell of fresh espresso; the early morning dew upon my feet; the stray kittens I’d feed and the small armies I’d create out of ants and leaves.  My imagination was the best and worst friend I could have.

I loved nightmares because I’d wake up relieved to discover that the horrors I’d dreamt of were not real. They made my life seem sweet. When others were dreaming of finding themselves in class naked, about to take a test, I’d dream of being in a classroom with a giant grasshopper adhered to my back, its bulk preventing me from leaning back into the seat—antennae waving lazily in my periphery.

With this history, why bring up The Blob?  The Blob might not seem like a very scary movie.  In fact, in many circles, it’s thought of as a laughable, cheesy, overdramatic product of the paranoid 50s, much like, Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, from the same year.  But for me, a six year-old girl living in Italy, it was the most frightening thing I’d ever seen—yes, even with my history—especially since I didn’t speak a bit of English, well—except for the words, bear and horse which I sprinkled liberally in my conversation with classmates to prove I could speak English.

Every evening, I would sit on the floor of my bedroom, waiting anxiously for my grandparent’s snores. Those snores signaled the All Clear. I would carefully open the bedroom door and worm my way—literally, on my stomach—to where my grandparents slept, clueless, in their respective armchairs.  The darkened living room where “grown-up” television programming was broadcast was my Forbidden Fruit: irresistible and mysterious.  The glow from the black and white television set coated my grandparents in a grayish, flickering glow, their pallor making them seem mummified.  I would always be sure to leave before the test pattern came on. The accompanying beep would blast out of the TV like an air raid siren.  My nonni, (“grandparents,” in Italian) would awaken and none would be the wiser.

On the night that my life changed, one of the two television stations broadcast a special documentary. I still remember the title: American Horror Films (translated, of course). I could hear the announcer and vibrated with anticipation and excitement. Unfortunately, my grandparents were very awake that evening, and even with my ear pressed to the door, I could not make out any of the narrator’s words. Their intermittent conversation was murmured as I desperately tried to eke out a word here and there.

Finally, their soft snores reached me and I crawled out in my usual fashion. Once there, I sat up in time to see the next clip. No set up in Italian; no translation; only a clip without subtitles. I watched transfixed. When the Blob attached itself to the old man’s hand, I flinched and covered my mouth to squelch a startled scream. My terror grew when they cut to another scene: the one where the Blob devours the doctor and nurse, who are trying to remove it off the old man. For my six-year old brain, this was the most frightening thing it had ever seen. I broke my rule and scampered back to my room, on two legs, not caring about making noise. But when I reached the bedroom’s threshold, I wondered what lurked under my bed. I tried to levitate. Failing that, I leaped from the doorway to my bed and overshot it by a more than a foot. I landed against the wall in a raucous, noisy pile. Immediately, I heard my grandparents stirring in the other room. I dove under the covers and pretended to be asleep.

From that evening on, I lived in fear of what might wait under my bed.  Dark corners had deeper meaning. Shadows brought unseen creatures to life.

After The Blob, my love of horror was cemented and defined.

I am fortunate to be warped by history in a way that allows me to keeps others entertained and me laughing (albeit a bit shrilly and maniacally) and folks, if you haven’t guessed it yet: Halloween is my holiday.

TODAY’S GIVEAWAY: In celebration of Halloween, the Horror Writers Association is offering one free, e-book copy of Freak Show edited F. Paul Wilson. Comment below to enter or e-mail membership@horror.org with “HH Entry” in the subject line.

Alp Beck was raised in Italy and Cuba, the product of a talented Italian artist/actress, and a devastatingly charming & talented Cuban opera singer. She writes in all mediums but prefers Horror.  Her upcoming Novella, FRESH will be coming out in 2015. She is hard at work on a series of short stories, including EYEWITNESS (release date 2015). THE UNDERRIDE, a project with her co-writer Laurie Jones, is in progress.