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Party on Horror Beach	By : SheliakBob Category: S through Z > Universal Horror Movies Views: 1676 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: i do not own "Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein" nor any of the characters from it. I do not own any of the Beach Monsters referenced. I make no money from writing this story.

Chapter List
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CHAPTER TWELVE
Roger gasped in horror and disbelief as the creature his mind kept trying to tell him was a “wolf” tore through his production. Charlie, inside the Party Beach Horror suit tried to keep it away from the girls with some of the finest monster-suit acting Roger had ever seen. Even the Wolf Man bought his performance, for awhile. Roger felt a pang of jealous annoyance, wishing Charlie had shown that level of commitment while the camera was rolling. Almost immediately he regretted the thought as the man-beast ripped both the suit and Charlie apart.
He winced as he saw the shreds of the suit blowing across the sand. That deposit was gone!
He continued to stand, rooted to the spot, as the Not-A-Wolf fell on Tina with ravenous ferocity. He watched Baby Blue speed past thinking, “She always seemed like such a sweet girl.” There was nothing sweet about the way she shoved Tina to the ground and to her death, to save herself.
The clouds that had been creeping in all afternoon now raced across the sky. Within moments it was nightfall dark on the beach. There was no rain, yet, but the sky was filled with boiling blackness shot through with flickers and sheets of lightning.
Damn it! There goes the light.
He turned, looking for Thompson, hoping that the cameraman would have some sort of fix in his bag of tricks. They were so close to finishing the shoot.
When Roger’s eyes found him, Thompson was at the driftwood cross frantically trying to untie Bobbi. The actress had insisted, “for authenticity”, that she be actually tied into place. Of course, Bobby had been the one to tie the knots and there had been a lot of giggling. There was probably something going on there that he didn’t want to know about.
Thompson was shouting at him, but Roger couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Just then there was a stark white flash and the terrible sound of the air being ripped apart.
A lightning bolt seared down from the clouds and struck the top of the Gizmo. The silver-painted beach-ball burst with a sound like a gunshot. The tower, mostly duct-tape and aluminum, burnt into greasy black ruins in an instant.
Despite the fact that the wires attached to it were not actually connected to the Gizmo in any way, a finger of electricity coiled away from the tower and struck the table with the Frankenstein prop.
The prop arched its back and let out a fierce bellow as sparks crawled over its greenish flesh. With quick jerks of its arms and legs the Monster snapped the belts holding it to the table as if they were tissue-paper. The beach lounge serving as a table warped and twisted like a soft pretzel and was in an unrecognizable shape when the Monster flicked it aside.
“I’ll be damned.” Roger said out loud. “It really is the Frankenstein Monster.”
“Boss, give me a hand here!” Thompson shouted again.
Roger nodded dumbly and began to fumble at the ropes around Bobbi’s right wrist. Damn, he thought, Bobby sure knows how to tie a killer knot!
Roger felt rather than saw a huge shape lumbering up behind him. Something snarled, the sound rumbling in its oversized chest.
“Finish untying her! I’ll try to slow the bloody thing down!” Thompson yelled.
Roger nodded, still fumbling. He turned his head to look over his shoulder.
Thompson ran toward the shuffling monster, waving his hands wildly about.
“Hyah! Hyah! Over here you big bastard!”
When the Monster barely glanced his way without slowing a step, Thompson leaped in and threw three or four quick, quite professional looking jabs at its ribs. There were dull smacks as fists met flesh.
Now the Frankenstein Monster stopped and turned to look down at Thompson. The man was hopping and weaving about, fists darting out, landing punch after punch on the Monster’s torso.
The Monster’s black lips parted in an angry grimace.
It swung its right arm out in a stiff arc.
The arm caught Thompson on the side of the head and didn’t stop. There was a horrible rip-cracking sound. The head was sheared off, torn from his neck in an instant.
Blood geysered out of the open throat in crimson spurts. Impossibly, the headless body still managed to land two punches before it began to twitch and stumble-walk away.
The head bounced a couple of times before splashing into the surf, where Bobby, in the She-Creature suit, was desperately trying to struggle ashore.
For Roger, it was as if somebody suddenly turned a tuning knob and the world came into crisp focus.
Roger looked into Bobbi’s terrified face.
“I’m sorry.” He said with genuine regret.
Then he ran away.

The film! A voice in Roger’s head screamed.
He raced away from the carnage on the beach as fast as his legs could carry him. He made a beeline straight for the production tent where Margie did make-up and What’s-His-Name the assistant managed all the paperwork Roger found “too tedious” to waste time on. It was also where the canisters containing the film they’d already shot were stored.
With his people dying and being torn apart all around him, Roger’s mind narrowed its focus to survival. For a Director, “survival” meant getting his film to the lab, no matter what the costs.
Roger skidded to a halt outside the production tent and ducked quickly through the open flap.
He ran into Margie who was sprawled in the folding make-up chair. A piece of swimwear was wrapped tightly around her throat. Her eyes bulged half out of their sockets and her tongue protruded through her lips. Her face was an ugly red-purple color.
The chair tipped over spilling Margie’s body on the floor. It landed next to what was left of the Production Assistant. The young man had been brutally beaten and likewise strangled.
“Keith.” Roger said aloud. “His name is Keith. Why can’t I ever remember that?”
“Oh, hello.” Said a crisp, cultured voice. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
Roger looked up and glanced around. There was no one else in the tent. Something white floated in the air in front of the lighted mirror. It took Roger a second or two to realize that the object was the face of the man he knew as Edgar Bierce, covered with powder and cold-cream.
“It’s a rather handsome face, don’t you think?”
The floating face turned toward Roger. The powdered eyelids flickered open, revealing empty space beneath. Roger could see his own face reflected in the mirror behind those empty eyeholes.
“A shame more people can’t see it.”
The face’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile.
For the first time in his adult life Roger forgot all about film and just wanted to run away as fast as he could.
As he sped off, stumbling onto the path that led through Saw Palmetto thickets to the house on the hill, Roger heard the laughter of the Invisible Man behind him.

Rod knew what he had to do the instant a snarling, hairy monster that he knew damn well wasn’t a wolf came jumping out of the tall grass. In the years before he went to the Actor’s Studio, before he was a Western matinee star, Rod really had worked on ranches and for rodeos throughout the Southwest. He’d seen his share of tough customers and been in enough tight spots to know what to do when trouble showed up unannounced.
He immediately threw down the worthless prop spear-gun he held and ran away as fast as he could.
He dove into the seagrass and scurried on all fours with no plan beyond putting distance between himself and the Whatever-It-Was that was rampaging on the beach behind him. With the snarls and the first shrieks Rod knew he’d done the right thing. He blundered through the grass and launched himself into the dense palmetto thickets beyond.
Saw-Palmetto leaves are stiff and covered with thorns. Rod’s hands were torn to pieces in no time. His bare chest was crisscrossed with bloody scratches. When the sky overhead went black, Rod knew he was in trouble. He could barely see his hand in front of his face. He had no idea if there were even trails to be found in this thorny tangle.
Exhausted and bloody, Rod dropped to his knees and panted in the dark. He tried to calm himself and listened for any signs of pursuit. He could still hear screams coming from the beach, meaning that the Whatever-It-Was was too busy to come after him just yet.
He wiped the back of his hand, sticky with blood and sap, across his lips and tried to think.
Soon he heard footsteps pounding along somewhere to his right.
“This way!” Shouted a man’s voice. It was Frank, the singer turned bit actor. “The house is up this way.”
A woman’s voice cried out from a ways behind him.
“Oh, thank God!”
That was Baby Blue, the dancer! Rod liked Baby Blue. She had good lungs. And very, very blue eyes. But mostly good lungs.
The slap of bare feet went past Rod then began to recede into the distance.
The trail! The house! Shelter!
Rod lost many precious minutes picking his way through the thicket toward the direction of the voices. He wandered off slightly and missed the winding path, blundering instead into more tangles. He might never have found the trail if it weren’t for the lightning. Hot white flashes lit up the sky, throwing blinks of light down through the palmetto fronds. Slashes of white and black, stripes across the palmetto fronds, it was like wandering through a zebra-patterned nightmare. In one flash Rod spotted the trail, just a couple of steps to his side.
Gasping with relief, Rod pushed through the thorny fronds and stumbled out onto fitted stones covered with a thin grit of loose sand. He could see a little better out from under the roof of leaves, well enough to follow the path as it wound back and forth up the rocky promontory.
Soon he could see the mansion up ahead, the stone walls and crenellations of the Castillo de la Viuda, Mornay House. Lights blazed in all the windows, shutters thrown open despite the approaching storm.
As he tiredly plodded up the hill, Rod heard something up ahead. Low groaning and a wet smacking noise. Chittering like rat or some other excited rodent.
Cautiously he continued.
On a wooded terrace with stone benches and a railed fence facing the ocean, Rod found Frankie and Blue.
Frankie sat slumped on the ground by a bench. A pale white-faced woman dressed in black sat behind him on the bench, curled down over him. Her mouth was buried in the side of Frankie’s neck. Her hands were shoved down the front of his swim trunks and wrapped fist over fist around an erection, the size and intensity of which was at odds with the twisted grimace of terrified pain on his face.
Frankie sat rigid, as if petrified, with only his eyes rolling helplessly in their sockets, his chest rising and falling with short, shallow gasps. The woman crooned softly and sucked hard at Frankie’s neck.
Baby Blue was sprawled on the ground nearby.
Her eyes were glassy, wide, pupils dilated as if high on some potent drug. She was making a wheezy, nasal keening sound. Her lips, which were turning blue, trembled. Tracks of tears marked each cheek.
Crouched atop her breast, wings folded down the curved sides, was an enormous black bat. The fingertip claws of its wings were hooked into bare skin. Its mouth was clamped onto the side of her neck, biting down so hard the skin was puckered around its snout. The bat made loud slurping noises, gulping down mouthful after mouthful of blood. Its body rocked in rhythm with Baby’s fading heartbeat.
Rod gasped in horror, then immediately slapped hands over his mouth to stifle the sound.
The bat paid him no head, obsessed with gorging itself.
The woman looked up at Rod with dark, luminous, sultry eyes. She pulled one hand out of Frankie’s trunks and reached toward him. Slow, sinuously undulating fingers beckoned him to come nearer.
To his horror, Rod actually took a step toward the ghoulish woman before regaining his senses.
He let out a choked yelp, then turned and ran as fast as he could up the stone steps to the castle. The doors stood invitingly open, brightly lit with the promise of safety.
The woman laughed behind him, voice muffled by the thick flesh of Frankie’s neck.
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Party on Horror Beach