By Alfred Hitchcock
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In the second-to-the-last factor of Locke & Key, the damned and the stored alike will make their ultimate stand within the Drowning Cave, in a conflict of blood and fireplace. The shadows have by no means been darker and the top hasn't ever been nearer. flip the major and open the final door; it's time to assert so long.
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Andy Ryerson, a movie tuition graduate, has been employed to write down remark on dozen affordable, b-horror videos. it sort of feels innocuous sufficient, and he may possibly even take pleasure in it. however the humans within the city round him won’t take pleasure in it in any respect whilst one after the other, the flicks he watches come to existence. Andy selected the inaccurate projector to reveal his videos. This one is out for blood. whereas Andy grumbles approximately low budgets and terrible construction values, a hungry butcher, a deadly disease of rotting zombies, demonic vampires, a mallet-toting killer, flesh-eating locusts, and lots of different terrors descend at the unsuspecting blameless. by the point he realizes what he’s performed, the city is teeming with evil, and it’s as much as Andy and the few survivors left to forestall the celluloid horror he’s unleashed.
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Additional info for Alfred Hitchcock Presents: 16 Skeletons from My Closet
Believe me. That's why I was so burned when I found out that Doris whiled away her time during my absence with this Wilkins clown. I made excuses for Doris, of course. I still loved her, despite her expeditions to the other side of the hall where the grass looked greener. A girl as beautiful as Doris, I told myself, as full of life and crazy for fun, naturally becomes a target for the wolfishness of every predatory male within a six-mile radius. And she's understandably lonesome while I'm away.
Parker motioned to the policemen carrying the carbine and he ranged up. Parker raised his right hand, index finger pointed upward. "Open up! " No sound. Parker pointed the finger at the policeman and nodded. A stream of bullets ripped through the door. There was a piercing scream, a thud, and silence. Parker made a sign to two of the detectives, burly men. They knew what to do. They hurled themselves at the door, shoulder to shoulder, in unison, time and again. The door creaked, creaked, gave, and then burst from its fastenings.
She was medium tall, with high color in her face and jet black hair that had a shine to it, and a lovely soft mouth that smiled easily and often. Her eyes were electric blue, and with that black hair of hers, they really looked terrific. And her figure was for happy dreams ... other guys' dreams. I had the girl herself. My wife, Doris. So you can understand I was quite upset when I learned about her and Wilkins. If you really love your wife, as I do, and trust her, as I did, and she's just about the living end in beauty of face and figure, and you're sure she thinks the sun rises and sets on you, it's a definite kick in the teeth when you suddenly discover that while you're out of town covering your sales territory two weeks out of each month, your wife is playing house with the detective-story writer whose apartment is across the hall from yours.
Alfred Hitchcock Presents: 16 Skeletons from My Closet by Alfred Hitchcock
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