Fear
Posted: Thu Dec 14, 2006 10:35 am
There are few moments in life when time seems to completely stand still. Where every second could have easily been an hour in my perception. I had an experience one night that I chose to never forget because it was so extreme and unusual. Fear. Utter and complete.
I had been working on two feature films at the same time. One was on set, putting in about ten hours a day and the other was preparing a series of corpses for a scene in a horror flick. I had been given eleven cold foam skeletons that had to built up into various states of decay. This was done by sculpting with cotton and latex on top of the foam. I took some of the body parts to the film set with me and, most nights, would go into the studio after my day on set and work as late as possible in the shop. I was getting an average of four hours sleep a night before stumbling out of bed and going back to the set of the first film. The horror film bumped up the corpse scene on their schedule and I lost a few extra days to complete the corpses so I ended up working well into the morning one night. I had been given the key to lock up when I left.
There were two painters working there this particular night, completing another set on the other side of the studio. The wandered over from time to time to borrow my lighter and, otherwise, they were separated from my work space by some swinging doors. It was a very old warehouse that has since burned down. On my side of the warehouse, I had four wooden tables set up with corpses sitting on the edge of the tables and a few in chairs off the the side. I was in the late stages of assembling all the body parts into whatever positions they would assume in the scene.
At about three o'clock in the morning the power cut out. The whole studio went so dark that, when I flicked my lighter, all I could see was the flame. The rest of the light was immediately absorbed into the blackness of the air. The only thing that I could make out was a sliver of light coming from under the massive garage doors that led into the alley outside. I listened for the painters. Nothing. Knowing that the painters didn't have a lighter I figured they might need some assistance so I stuck my hand out in front of me and did my best to find my way over to their side. We managed to locate a flashlight and looked for the fuse box. All we could find was a series of giant, archaic switches. We looked at each other and shook our heads.
“I'm not touching that. One of the painters assured me. “Looks like something straight out of a horror flick. Agreeing that messing with the switches was likely to result in sudden death, we decided that they should seal all their paint cans, pack up and leave. I had few things to put away but would wait for them as I had to keep possession of the studio key. They helped me find my way back to the corpses and I watched the flashlight bob away into the blackness again.
With my bag packed and not much to do but wait, I started looking for a cigarette. A light flashed in the corner of my eye and I heard a secondary door bang open and shut from the alleyway. I listened again. Nothing.
“Hello? I asked, meekly. Nothing. Thinking it might be a security guard alerted to the power outage, I asked again. A little louder. The only thing I could hear was the buzz of silence. The air grew darker and heavier around me. Someone had entered the building, concealed by the pitch blackness and they were not there to help. I dove under the table. Straining my eyes, all I could see was the legs of the corpses dangling in front of me backlit by the slit of light from under the garage doors.
My mind whirled, my imagination ran wild. Panic set in. I became convince that I was in a real, live horror film. That some psychopath with a machete was stalking me. Creeping up silently ready to massacre the first victim. My disbelief that such things could really happen vanished. I was there. I could imagine a hockey mask suddenly appearing out of the darkness and how quickly my life would end. I held my breathe. Frozen in terror. Sure that it was all over.
The moment lasted forever. Time stood still.
Faintly, then getting louder, came the sounds of the painters. Laughter. The bobbing flashlight returned. The moment was over. Jumping up, I dusted my pants, grabbed my bag and asked them what took them so long.
When I told the manager, the next day, at the studio that the power had gone out he looked at me like I was crazy. Apparently it's impossible. There is a massive back up for the power. Even with the painters' testimony that it had, in fact, occurred, it was never determined exactly how.
I had been working on two feature films at the same time. One was on set, putting in about ten hours a day and the other was preparing a series of corpses for a scene in a horror flick. I had been given eleven cold foam skeletons that had to built up into various states of decay. This was done by sculpting with cotton and latex on top of the foam. I took some of the body parts to the film set with me and, most nights, would go into the studio after my day on set and work as late as possible in the shop. I was getting an average of four hours sleep a night before stumbling out of bed and going back to the set of the first film. The horror film bumped up the corpse scene on their schedule and I lost a few extra days to complete the corpses so I ended up working well into the morning one night. I had been given the key to lock up when I left.
There were two painters working there this particular night, completing another set on the other side of the studio. The wandered over from time to time to borrow my lighter and, otherwise, they were separated from my work space by some swinging doors. It was a very old warehouse that has since burned down. On my side of the warehouse, I had four wooden tables set up with corpses sitting on the edge of the tables and a few in chairs off the the side. I was in the late stages of assembling all the body parts into whatever positions they would assume in the scene.
At about three o'clock in the morning the power cut out. The whole studio went so dark that, when I flicked my lighter, all I could see was the flame. The rest of the light was immediately absorbed into the blackness of the air. The only thing that I could make out was a sliver of light coming from under the massive garage doors that led into the alley outside. I listened for the painters. Nothing. Knowing that the painters didn't have a lighter I figured they might need some assistance so I stuck my hand out in front of me and did my best to find my way over to their side. We managed to locate a flashlight and looked for the fuse box. All we could find was a series of giant, archaic switches. We looked at each other and shook our heads.
“I'm not touching that. One of the painters assured me. “Looks like something straight out of a horror flick. Agreeing that messing with the switches was likely to result in sudden death, we decided that they should seal all their paint cans, pack up and leave. I had few things to put away but would wait for them as I had to keep possession of the studio key. They helped me find my way back to the corpses and I watched the flashlight bob away into the blackness again.
With my bag packed and not much to do but wait, I started looking for a cigarette. A light flashed in the corner of my eye and I heard a secondary door bang open and shut from the alleyway. I listened again. Nothing.
“Hello? I asked, meekly. Nothing. Thinking it might be a security guard alerted to the power outage, I asked again. A little louder. The only thing I could hear was the buzz of silence. The air grew darker and heavier around me. Someone had entered the building, concealed by the pitch blackness and they were not there to help. I dove under the table. Straining my eyes, all I could see was the legs of the corpses dangling in front of me backlit by the slit of light from under the garage doors.
My mind whirled, my imagination ran wild. Panic set in. I became convince that I was in a real, live horror film. That some psychopath with a machete was stalking me. Creeping up silently ready to massacre the first victim. My disbelief that such things could really happen vanished. I was there. I could imagine a hockey mask suddenly appearing out of the darkness and how quickly my life would end. I held my breathe. Frozen in terror. Sure that it was all over.
The moment lasted forever. Time stood still.
Faintly, then getting louder, came the sounds of the painters. Laughter. The bobbing flashlight returned. The moment was over. Jumping up, I dusted my pants, grabbed my bag and asked them what took them so long.
When I told the manager, the next day, at the studio that the power had gone out he looked at me like I was crazy. Apparently it's impossible. There is a massive back up for the power. Even with the painters' testimony that it had, in fact, occurred, it was never determined exactly how.
