About Horror Garage Buy Movie Posters, T-Shirts, Music and More! Horror Garage Grrl Picture Gallery Dark Fiction, Interviews, Mark McLaughlin Horror Garage News and Updates Contact Horror Garage

Horror Garage On Facebook Horror Garage On Twitter Horror Garage On MySpace

Writer/filmmaker Brockton McKinney is scary and evil and enjoys long walks in the park. He resides with his wife and daughter in an undisclosed bunker beneath Monkey Island and is known to be in possession of at least one canister of 245 Trioxin. If you see him at one of the many Cons he is a guest, remember to ask him to show you the drawing of Animal Anus Hands. Find him on the web at www.supertoughfilms.com

brockton mckinney


"Now this is a vacation!" Gordon screamed and brought down the wooden bat into what was left of his friend's destroyed face. Tim had been dead for nearly three minutes, but the impact of the bat was enough to fire off the damaged brain's nerve receptors. His arms and legs spasmed briefly on the concrete floor as the one eye that had not yet burst finally fell from its gaping socket into the pile of wet. Gordon paused, hunched over the corpse, breathing hard and cursing. The rain rolled down his forehead and hung on the permanent grin plastered on his blood spattered face. He lifted his head slowly towards the clouds' unleashed downpour and howled to the otherworldly thing that had brought him to this act.

The sound sent a shiver through Susan's entire body, as she crouched in her hiding place just one flight below.

The stone staircase beside Gordon gleaned under the high halogen lights, pelted by the cold and relentless deluge as he turned on his heels toward the rooftop's only exit. Susan had made her way down these stairs earlier, but the blood trail she'd left had all but washed away in the storm. The exterior of the castle lit up silently, as another strike of lightning illuminated the turrets. Gordon staggered forward and made his way down the staircase, loudly dragging the bat behind him.

"Susan!" He grinned. "I'm ready to finish choking the shit out of you now!"

It was meant to be a trip they'd remember forever. Three high schools friends traveling across Europe for one last culturally-enriched party before their formative college years pulled them to different corners of the country. Tim had come up with the idea and Gordon was quick to sign on. It was Susan that brought forth the cautionary tale.

"Why overseas?" she asked. "Aren't you afraid of bringing back... I don't know... SARS or something?"

The boys had laughed so hard and infectiously that Susan finally succumbed to the peer pressure of the hilarity and joined in. It had been her parents, though, that finally pushed her over the line.

See the world, they'd said. Youth, wasted, young and all that.

So for two weeks they had laughed non-stop, traveling by plane and train, by land and sea. Awe-struck and in love, seeing everything this once-in-a-lifetime trip had to offer.

And then there was Denmark.

Susan crouched in a corner of the second room on the master-suites floor. She readied the letter opener in her hand and stunted her breathing. Gordon approached from the castle's exterior hallway, crying out and smashing the bat against any structure he came in contact with. The remnants of Tim's insides left a reddish-brown smear on each impact point.

Funny, Susan thought, it was Tim that had convinced them to explore the Dragsholm Slot corridors late that night. It was Tim that had found the book, spoken the words.

"I JUST WANT TO KILL YOU AND FUCK YOUR MOUTH, SUSAN!" Gordon shouted at the top of his possessed lungs.

And in doing so, perfectly gave away his position.

Susan struck without warning or one-liner. She jabbed the makeshift knife deep into his jugular and carefully avoided his final swing. The bat dropped to the floor amidst a fountain of blood, and Gordon made several macabre dance-like twists with his body before succumbing to the fatal blow. His knees struck the floor as he managed to get a grasp on the object that was lodged firmly in his throat. Before Gordon toppled over onto his side, Susan's best-friend clumsily managed to pull the blade out, a final burst of crimson splashing the wall beside him.

As he lay sputtering his last breaths, Susan walked slowly and cautiously to his side. He turned to see her, his eyes stained red, his mouth still bubbling.

"I told you this trip was a bad idea," Susan said quietly, her frown turning to a grin. "Now what the fuck am I going to tell your mother...?"