Category: Horror Trax
Real fake blood
Fried, Boiled, Roast or Grilled
Riz Ortolani - Savage Rite (from Cannibal Holocaust OST)
Table from Ingredients in Processed Meat Products (PDF)
| Characteristic | Typical Lean Meat | Range in Meat Products |
| Water | 70% | 22-80% |
| Protein | 20% | 9-34% |
| Fat | 3% | 1.5-65% |
| Ash | 1% | 1-12% |
Don't lose it, Steve
Rubber Mallet - Black 2.1/4in
William Loose - Helen's Death - Dawn - Posse in the Fields - Ben Awakes
Perfect Partner
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Meet Your Doom
Brian Whitman - Berries sleeping
Blood dripping from the distended limbs, wounds pouring seeping mass of sinews gaping flesh exposed bone, all screaming in eyes burning from visions scorching permanent retinal impact to the force of nine lives lived all at once. Tied back, restraints tearing, chafing, unable to turn away, unable to run away, barely only capable of wincing, squeezing out the nausea and dizzying inertia of chattering voices whispering strange incantations, possible configurations of near-lethal concoctions, positions, twisted nerves and flayed fingernails. Inedible substances forced into mouths, indelible marks on the everlasting impression of forebrain activity. From the recesses of wilful acts, drawn forth from deliberate tendencies, calculated risks and tolerances stretched to a point within the threshold, all bearing down in combined pressure, converging in convoluted schemes to fresh tears and dirty splits. Filth works its way down the cracks, beetles and insects crawl amoung scrabbling desperate fingers, grasping at air to grab at hopeful relief finding nothing there.
A Moment On The Lips
I Monster - The Blue Wrath
"Squawk!" cried the enormous bird, flapping it's scruffy wings and eyeing Kenneth from it's high perch. Kenneth retracted the cue, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the noisy animal that had disturbed play so abruptly. "I don't want it shitting on my baize" said Clive, "let me deal with this." With a few winter vegetables, and the correct seasoning, it made an excellent supper for the three of them; Geoff bringing his home-fermented ale to the table, Kenneth his sparkling conversational white wine and Clive his robust, lusty port. Later that evening, all full of vigour and jollity, it seemed such a good idea to have a funeral for the passing of the bird - especially as they could use the black candles and other accessories that Clive had recently discovered while searching for fairy lights in the attic. None of them would have suspected it might be anything but top larks to read passages from a particular leather-bound grimoire that Geoff had recently retrieved from the charred ruins of an old cottage. And it crossed not one of their tipsy, befogged minds that the innocent bird might have brought about such a bitter and obscene series of events as were about to be unleashed that night and into the rest of their lives.
Dying to get home
Jerry Goldsmith - The Demise of Mrs. Baylock
That Tim Burton was directing another version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with Johnny Depp as Willy Wonka and Helena Bonham Carter as Mrs. Bucket was the last intelligible thing to pass through Geoff's mind, having read it in the paper that the person sat next to him was reading, when he was woken by the sudden jerk and flickering lights of the night bus signalling the last stop on the route. Apparently he had somehow fallen asleep on this cold, uncomfortable bus at an unmentionable hour of the night as it wound its way through ever more remote towns, villages, hamlets and localities. The passenger with the newspaper was now gone - in fact Geoff was quite alone on the bus, as the penultimate traveller briskly ducked out and disappeared into the night. In a daze, Geoff followed all the reflexes his years of bus training had conditioned in him and quickly exited the bus, the driver pulling away into the blackness with equal haste. As the roar of its engine faded into the night Geoff was left to survey his surroundings, silently cursing his rush to get off the bus at this unknown location, and beginning to wonder what his next step might be. Around him was little to see, especially in the thick darkness that lay unbroken in every direction, and in Geoff this added to the growing fear that he was suddenly and by his own violation utterly lost and without hope this night. The other passenger had disappeared more quickly than even the bus, as if Geoff had seen no more than a shadow flit into the night. Now even the bus was only a memory in the darkness that extended in every direction before him. Geoff looked about, and looked about some more, perhaps for some clue to his whereabouts; some sign of a direction he could take, some indication of hope - yet he could find none. He wasn't even sure where the road lay that the bus had taken, as he had turned so many times and taken so many steps unknowingly in his desperation to find his bearings. Now underfoot there seemed to be soil, maybe some sort of crop or scrub. His only way out was to choose a direction and start walking - but who knew what strange obstacles he might encounter? What treacherous route he might unwittingly take? And what beasts, or worse, people might prey on him this night?
Dawn of the Melon
J Trombey - Barrage
"It must have been the wind whistling through the gap in the window frame" said Kenneth, aloud to himself, as if the announcement might make it more certain, or at least to fill the silence with some noise he could be certain of. "But what sort of wind makes a noise like that?" he thought. It was then that he realised he had left the curtains open to a churning night sky, the cold, hard air blowing all the life from the room and the darkness creeping stealthily around him. Outside, the writhing fingers of bare branches clawed at the sky while wind whipped them to and fro. Kenneth looked across at the light switch, and pondered his defence tactics should he leave the safety of the chair. He began to edge round the room, his back to the wall, one eye on the switch, when the tiniest of sounds made him freeze. With his back against the wall, and the screaming wind blowing through the window straight onto his neck, every muscle in Kenneth's body was poised to hear again that mysterious noise. He reached out in the darkness, his hand feeling along the wall for the switch, while his eyes darted about the shadowy room onto mysterious shapes and hideous possibilities. His breath was gone, and his brow was icy as his fingers edged ever closer, each passing second letting the darkness close in a little more. Suddenly there was the noise again - right in front of him. In a panic Kenneth darted for the switch, flooding the room with a blinding flash of incandescent light, revealing in all it's horror a terrifying, bloated, red and seething mass of evil on the chair where he had been sitting moments before. Kenneth let out an oath, and cried "it has returned!"
Christmas Eve at the Orphanage

Alice Coltrane - Morning Worship
Pipedream - The Violence Sequence




