Eerie Indiana Creature Feature Challenge

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It's the 7th of the month, and that means... CREATURE FEATURE!

Give us fic, give us fanart, give us whatever springs to your mind when you think of our monster of the month:

DRACULA

its_halloween_365 lists their fave shows from the 90s

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What are some of your fav shows from the #90s? #90snostalgia #90stv #beetlejuicecartoon #areyouafraidofthedark #eerieindiana #peteandpete #goosebumps #heydude #saluteyourshorts #SNICKATNIGHT #SNICKORTREAT #NickOrTreat #JoeyTheWerewolf

eagleboytx on Eerie Indiana

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I loved Eerie, Indiana

jmw3883 on Eerie Indiana

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Eerie Indiana is on @PrimeVideo. If you need me, just turn off the wifi. #ThrowbackSaturday pic.twitter.com/7HL2nJidQK

— Jackie Weisman (@jmw3883) March 7, 2020

a very Eerie Indiana approach to linear time...

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Tomorrow the The Salt Lake Tribune wrote that Eerie, Indiana was nominated for an Emmy

— Media Throwaway (@media_throwaway) March 7, 2020

Mark Twain Boarding House...

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we’re staying at a haunted hotel tomorrow night and if i don’t see a ghost im gonna ask to speak to the ghost manager

— eerie indiana 🛸💖💜💙 (@indybree) March 7, 2020

Kat Hughes on the Mortuary Collection

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Last summer André Øvredal released Scary Stories to Tell in Dark, now comes The Mortuary Collection, an anthology film that taps into that same dark energy. Told in more of a portmanteau style than a simple anthology, The Mortuary Collection begins in a funeral home as a young woman, Sam (Caitlin Custer), responds to a Help Wanted ad. Believing her to be incapable for the position, the funeral director Montgomery Dark (Clancy Brown) begins to recount the stories of how several people (bodies) came to his establishment.

Choosing to have all our stories linked by our storyteller helps to create a cohesive narrative, one that flows easily from one tale to another. All too often with anthology films everything can feel a bitty and compartmentalised, but not here. The tales themselves play out like a slightly more adult Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. Those that were disappointed with the lack of gore in the former will be delighted by what Spindell has to offer in The Mortuary Collection. In terms of content, each story is very much its own beast; Spindell takes the viewer on a whistle stop tour around the varied sub-genres of horror, with no two stories the same. Given the vast variety in tone and subject matter, there should be at least one story to please everyone. A personal highlight is the second entry, which follows a frat boy whom gets more than he bargained for after a one night stand. The others illuminate the dangers of bathroom cabinets, the burden of being a carer to a loved one, and a spin on the classic babysitter alone urban legend.

As different as each individual component is, they all share a similar aesthetic. Spindell bathes each one with that almost timeless fifties-esque Gothic chic. The timeline of the film, and the stories housed within, is never explicitly stated, but from what we see onscreen they could pretty much be placed anywhere. It’s a smart move to approach the visuals in this way as it means that The Mortuary Collection stands a good shot at longevity. Everything, right down to the costumes and music, is kept fairly classic, with Spindell opting to stay away from fads that’ll soon be forgotten. As clean as everything is kept though, there is at least an element in progression from story-to-story, be that in the look or thinking of the characters, they clearly push forwards from what appears to be the fifties to the eighties and beyond.

Having worked in the short film arena for several years, The Mortuary Collection is the perfect way to ease Spindell into feature length. When you boil the movie down to its bones, it’s a handful of stories stitched together. His background in short format shows, and he demonstrates that he knows just when to pull back and when to show more. Again, it’s another advantage with him being in total control, rather than just manning one component. Were it to be a traditional anthology directed by several different filmmakers, each segment would be around the same length – giving them all equal opportunity to get their voice out there. Having just one voice at the reins means that the audience’s expectations can be played around with. Some stories play simply as footnotes from Montgomery Dark jumping straight into the action, whereas others are given the time they need to properly breathe. There’s an odd complimentary structure to them as well, with each story fitting into the usual beats of a linear narrative. So rather than possessing a feeling of start, stop, and repeat, you usually get within an anthology, they all build towards the films finale. The final babysitting segment works beautifully as the film’s overall climax.

A film that feels at home when surrounded by the likes of The Twilight Zone, Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, Tales From the Darkside, Creepshow, and Eerie, Indiana, The Mortuary Collection and its fictional location of Raven’s End is similarly begging for further exploration. Highly recommended to watch by candlelight with friends, accompanied by optional ghost stories, The Mortuary Collection taps into a strand of horror that has been absent from our screens for far too long.

Anomaly Flats audiobooks

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Here and here.

7/3/2019: Krebstar Cinema airs Eerie Indiana Episode 4: the Losers as part of Dick Miller Week

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‪It’s no secret that 1990’s Gremlins 2: The New Batch is one of our favorite flicks, so you had to know it would be a part of Dick Miller Was A Hell Of A Guy Week!‬
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‪We gotta be careful though as this is becoming a Corman/Dante Fest!‬
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‪***Doors at 8 - Eerie Indiana: The Losers (Airdate 10/6/91) to precede feature***‬

Eerie Indiana Fanfiction: Ashore

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The cruise ship gave three long blasts of it's horn, the noise rolling across the mirror-calm waters of Lake Eerie. The rowboats, which had been floating at ease around the boardwalk at the back of the Eerie Baitshop and Sushi Bar, turned as one, slime-slick prows pointing towards the towering vessel.

Janet slid the last twitching paper bag across the counter and, not bothering to hide a sign of relief, crossed the final to-go order off the list in front of her.

The passengers trickled out, some in groups, most alone, trailing ghost fog and ectoplasm in their wake. The holed, half-rotten pleasure boats that had carried them ashore once again dipped low beneath spectral weight as they glided out towards the waiting liner.

Janet reached around the huge old-fashioned cash register and retrieved the tip jar, upending it on the small strip of unoccupied space between the cutlery and the condiments. Out tumbled mermaid scales and fishwife nails, along with a delicate silver slipper that must have belonged to a seahorse.

Not bad," she mused, sweeping it into her apron pocket and reaching for the mop that stood sentry beside the kitchen door.

She opened the water-side windows as far as they could go, and began to wash the blood and brine from the warped wooden floors.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Eerie Indiana Double Drabble: Success

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Tod set the tall glass mug down on his parent's kitchen table, his lips pressed tight in a thin line of anxious concentration.

The liquid inside was the same deep, rich brown as the fresh-tilled earth on the farm his family no longer owned, and masses of tiny bubbles had formed round the edges of the cup. Steam wafted from it, thick with the bitter-sweet scent of dark chocolate.

He picked up the ramekin of freshly-chopped hazelnuts and took a generous pinch, reconsidered, and replaced it with a second, much smaller, pinch.

Deep breath. Don't rush this.

He wrapped his free hand around his wrist to still the tremor that had developed there, and let fall a single fragment of hazelnut.

It landed neatly in the very centre of the mug's wide circular mouth. Dipped a little. Rose slowly back to the surface. Bobbed there.

Remained.

He let a couple more pieces drop, then, giddy with excitement, released the rest.

The hot chocolate sat before him, thick as one of Mister Radford's milkshakes, hazelnut sprinkles floating atop it like body parts in the Eerie Municipal Pool. A triumph.

"Yes!" he cried, his voice shockingly loud in the silent house. "Yes!"

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Eerie Indiana Quadruple Drabble: Time Trial

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(takes place immediately before Timepiece)

"Construction on Main," warned the sign. "Expect delays."

Marshall examined the row of watches that stretched from his wrist to his elbow and, after a moment of deliberation, selected his least-favourite one.

"Digital," said Simon, making a face. "I hate digital."

"It's got a timer on it," explained Marshall, unstrapping it and taping it to a long branch scavenged from Deadwood Park for exactly this purpose.

The "construction" took the form of a great hole that stretched from sidewalk to sidewalk in the very centre of Main Street. It was deep enough that the bottom of the pit could not be seen, though the dim outlines of rusting JCBs could be spotted here and there in the gloom-shrouded depths.

High chain-link fences surrounded it and across the broadest part stretched a series of wooden planks surrounded by orange safety cones. A notice board above the nearest plank promised pedestrian access, though tellingly, it made no mention of an exit.

Marshall pulled a heavy-duty stopwatch out from under his Giants sweatshirt, held it up alongside the stick-mounted wristwatch, and set them both running.

He looked at Simon, who nodded.

Careful not to let any part of his body cross into the cordoned-off construction zone, Marshall eased the time-bearing end of the branch past the signs warning of falling debris and the need for hard hats, counting down a slow one hundred as he did so.

The stick seemed to become suddenly heavy in his hands, his palms growing slick with sweat and his arms trembling with the strain of holding it level. When he finally reached a hundred, he yanked it back, almost falling as an ornate carriage clock secured to it with strips of weathered, decaying duct tape shot towards him.

Simon jumped clear as Marshall stumbled backwards, tattered wisps of displaced time clinging to a once-dead tree branch now verdant green with newly-budded leaves.

"What the corn?" he exclaimed, pulling a paradox-proof blanket bordered in time-twine from his backpack and throwing it over the transmuted watch, which had begun to tick ominously.

Marshall got slowly to his feet, one hand fumbling for the stopwatch as he pressed the pause button with a trembling finger.

"Simon," he said. "I think we need to go talk to the old guys at the Museum of Horology."

Simon turned to stare at the gaping hole in the blacktop.

"Yeah," he said. "Me too."

Ongoing Verse: Milkman

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Eerie Indiana Double Drabble: Cooking Times

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Tulips, white and purple and yellow, clustered atop the hot cabinet at the back of Grandma's Kitchen. Bunches of dried lavender hung from the ceiling, twisting this way and that in the hot breeze that came from the open oven.

The Easter Egg was roughly the size of a small child, banded in pastel rings of blue and pink and yellow. It pulsed faintly, a slow, somnambulant heartbeat that caused the softening shell to flex and bend as though something inside it was breathing.

The six identical old ladies who ran the Kitchen sat in a semi-circle around it, folding plastic chairs pulled up close to the blasting heat. Their aprons were crisp and white, their silver hair coiffed beneath Government-regulation hairnets, and in their laps each of them had a bundle of knitting that didn't quite conceal the huge cleavers that shone in the red light of the oven's interior.

On the wall beside the oven, the readout of an electronic thermometer rose steadily. On the shelf above it, a row of egg timers had long since run dry, their bulbs split and spilling coloured sand across the floor.

The bell above the shop door tinkled. They ignored it.

Ongoing Verse: Easter Weekend

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Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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