Cellar Dweller

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(exciting music)

(distant barking)

(wolves howling)

(quiet folk music playing)

(suspenseful music)

(snarling)

Okay...

Word balloon for you.

What's that?

(ominous music)

Let's see.

"He who has wisdom

wonders not of the Beast,

"for nothing in Hell lives

without man's consent."

"Woe unto you that

gives the Beast form.

"To contemplate evil

is to ask evil home."

"Contemplate."

To contemplate is to ask...

evil... home.

(low growling)

(growling intensifies)

(chuckling)

(screaming)

(frightening music)

(roaring)

(screaming continues)

Good God!

(screaming and roaring)

(glass shattering)

(screaming continues)

(loud crashes)

(grunting)

(suspenseful music)

(wind howling)

(low growl)

(heavy breathing)

(low growl)

(growling intensifies)

(electrical crackle)

(man gasps)

(roaring)

(frantic music)

(pained grunting)

(rasping and choking)

(inhuman scream)

(triumphant music)

(screaming continues)

(gagging and wheezing)

(frightening music)

(screaming)

(distorted laughter)

(ominous music)

(birds chirping)

(soft rock music)

(wind howling)

(thunderclaps)

This is it, lady.

Can I help you

with your things?

No thanks.

I've got it.

You know, there's a lot of

talk in town about this place.

Kind of creepy talk.

A lot of weirdoes, well,

they come and go.

- Know what I mean?

- Yeah.

A couple of people were

murdered here back in '55.

I was a kid then,

but I remember

like it was yesterday.

My mother,

she would just say,

"Stewart, you steer

clear from that place.

"Understand?

It's a bad place."

- The meter's-

- In fact, uh,

just a month ago I picked

a fellow up from here.

Well, he told me a hell of

a lot of bizarre stories.

Oh, hey, thanks.

Are you an artist?

Yes, yes, here you go.

I'm a cartoonist.

Ah, I see.

Well, listen, you just watch

out for yourself in there, lady.

This place attracts

all kinds of trouble.

- Thank you.

- You're welcome.

Sure you don't want

any help with that?

' NO. no, I got it.

- Okay.

Boy, those broads'll

chew your ear off.

(thunder crashing)

(eerie music)

(thunder rolling)

Hello?

Hello?

"WING! here?

Hello?

Hello?

Oh, I'm sorry.

Did I frighten you?

Yes, you scared me

half to death.

- You must be Mrs. Briggs.

- That's right.

Hi, I'm Whitney Taylor.

We met two years ago at the

Rhode Island School of Design.

You lectured on Classicism

and the decline of

pop art in America.

Oh, I remember.

You were the heckler

in the first row.

Well, actually

I was just offering you

a different point of view.

So to speak.

Well, shall we get on with it?

I'm sorry?

The interview.

Would you shut

the door, please?

I love to be frightened.

As a child I collected every

issue of Cellar Dweller

no matter how hard they

were to track down.

I'm not surprised.

Well, my parents disapproved,

so I had to hide the comic

books under my bed and...

I'd read them only late

at night by flashlight.

I'd read about towns

besieged by vampires and

men transformed

into hideous beasts

by the waxing

of the full moon.

How inspiring.

Exactly, well, that's how

I got into drawing.

So now you've taken it

upon yourself to

follow in the footsteps

of your idol, hm?

- Colin Childress.

- That's my dream.

As you can see the first

few sketches are just copies

of Childress' work.

I was just really

learning how to draw,

and the rest, of course,

are my own.

Mrs. Briggs, I want to create

a whole new comic book

in the tradition

of Cellar Dweller.

Well, what better place to

be inspired than here in the...

house that Colin Childress

lived and worked in?

And went crazy in

and killed himself in.

Let's not forget that.

Ms. Taylor, all of this

is very spine-tingling.

But what does it

have to do with art?

I'm sorry?

Let me be frank:

This facility's

admissions committee

has advised me to

find a place for you.

I suspect, however,

that in accepting you

my superiors are, well,

acting on some perverse

sense of nostalgia.

Colin Childress

was a cartoonist.

So are you.

That's the only

reason you're here.

If it were up to me,

you wouldn't be.

No need to mince words,

Mrs. Briggs.

Just tell me exactly

how you feel.

Well, please don't

misunderstand.

There's nothing

personal in all this.

It's just that my only

concern is for the colony.

(Mrs. Briggs):
See,

we have no telephones,

no television, no outside

ties to the world.

- It's a unique situation.

- What's all this?

Our most promising

resident does some

highly innovative

work with video.

This is her

Video Verit project.

It's an effort to

reflect our world...

as precisely as possible.

You could learn

something from her.

(eerie music)

Oh, by the way,

that is where your idol

concocted his last and

most notorious work.

The murder of an

innocent young woman.

A promising musician with

her entire career ahead of her.

Oh, and don't even think

about going down there.

That door is off-limits.

(mysterious music)

(heavy breathing)

(frightening music)

(screaming)

As you can see,

this is our kitchen.

We all take turns

preparing the meals.

This is Whitney Taylor,

our newest resident.

Lisa is a performance artist.

And Phillip

paints abstracts.

I would think that you would

discourage this kind

of work, Mrs. Briggs.

Not all contemporary art

is populist tripe, Ms. Taylor.

Come along.

(thunder rolling)

(Whitney):
Yep?

(Phillip:
) Hey.

Hi.

What do you think?

(Whitney):
It's...

It's very nice, that's...

That's a cow in there,

huh?

It's very nice.

It's angst.

Sorry.

- Phillip Lemley.

- Whitney Taylor.

Enchanted.

Likewise.

Aren't you a little old

for comics, Whitney?

Aren't you a little young

to be a critic, Phillip?

You're right.

I'm sorry.

So I guess we have

something in common, huh?

Really?

What's that?

A great big thorn

in our side:
Mrs. Briggs.

She doesn't think

much of me, either.

Why not?

Because I'm brilliant.

But alas, my lady,:

I am just a mere

child and a

pawn of the cruel trappings

of our Mrs. Briggs.

- Come on.

- Where?

To my opening.

- Your opening?

- Yes.

Every evening

a group of us gather

to critique each

other's work.

It's the one time we're supposed

to share what we're doing.

And I'm sure you'll find the

comments most enlightening.

(Mrs. Briggs):
The excess

of flamboyance of the

coloration of your

painting detracts

from the power

of the narrative

and the true glory

of the painting.

Could you repeat

that in English?

It's elegant.

Powerful.

And deceptively simple.

It has this

amazing otherness.

Alright, give me the paintings

or the broad gets it.

I'm flattered; you really think

they're that valuable?

(gunshot)

(screams)

What on earth

are you doing?!

Can it, lad?!

Now hand them over.

I really mean business.

Jesus, Phillip,

give him the paintings!

Nu.

No, he's bluffing.

Don't count on it, lady.

You're not going

to shoot her.

You want to take that chance?

That gun you're so proud

of is a .357 Magnum.

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