So, the Slashy, Slashy NOW! vanishes forward into the black, replaced for the briefest of moments by the sight of a dimly lit nighttime farmhouse façade in the far background of the shot. That façade itself is replaced by a cross-fade to an apparent oil rendition of the same farmhouse hanging on one of the interior walls -- geddit? The house within the house? -- before the camera pans down past several framed photographs of the home's apparent inhabitants, which rest on a sideboard or mantel in the home's living room. The camera continues past a TV tray just as the soon-to-be-dead inbred old coot in question tosses his fork onto the remains of his dinner and reaches for his beer. All the while, some old newsreel on Turner Classic Movies blares away in the background, but that's not important, because no sooner has the coot raised the business end of the beer bottle to his lips than all the electric appliances in the house start buzzing and blinking and flickering on and off. Ooops. "Come on," the coot grumbles, tugging at the cord on the nearby floor lamp a couple of times before muttering, "Crap!" and hoisting himself to his feet to investigate. He stumbles around in the near-blackness for a bit until he hits the living room's door, which the coot is most displeased to find locked. He yanks and jiggles and twists and swears at the handle for a very lengthy period of time until another door -- closet? Additional exit? It's far too dark to tell, but we'll assume it's a closet -- creaks open slowly behind him. The aggravated coot spins around to find...a shuffling, ashen-faced, zombielike apparition emerging from the darkness! DUN! "You?" spits the coot in utter disbelief the instant he catches sight of the heavily disheveled woman's dully gleaming eyes. "It's impossible!" he insists before refocusing his attention on the locked doorknob in his hand. "You stay away from me!" he shouts, now wrestling somewhat frantically with the handle. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!" he screams when the door refuses to budge, and all the while, the zombielike thing from the closet continues to drag itself across the carpeting, a small, insane smile spreading across her jagged, gnarled teeth, until before you know it..."GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" For yes, gentle reader, The Thing has attacked, and a heavy gout of the good stuff splatters in most delicious and ironic a fashion across the "Home Sweet Home" sampler the coot'd tacked up on the wall. And as the old coot's already gargled screams get choked off by more of his own blood and bile, another heavy blast of arterial spray shoots across the wall, straight into the METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Episode Report CardDemian: C- | 1895 USERS: C+
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