For those of you who have not seen it, Manos, The Hands of Fate is one of the worst movies ever made. It takes every horror movie trope that was already cliche by the fifties, and then, in the sixties, makes a movie out of them. The acting is so bad as to be painful to watch, the production values are miserable, the character of Torgo is meant to be a satyr but he just has puffy knees, and the script is one of the worst things ever set to paper. I've read worse fanfics, but it's pretty close. Due to the film's abysmal run, very few copies exist. Reportedly, Quentin Tarantino owns a copy of the original film, in old-timey reel form. He has described it as the "greatest comedy ever made."

Manos (especially the character of Torgo) has something of a cult following, having been popularized by its use on Mystery Science Theater 3000. The entirety of that episode is currently visible on Youtube, and you may get a bit more out of this story (especially this first chapter, before the crossovers start) if you watch the movie first. Joel, Tom, and Crow make the film surprisingly bearable. Part 1 is right here: ca./watch?vvnGiaS9uOf8.

Of course, I don't own Torgo, or many other characters in here.

"That lousy son of a bitch," said Torgo, in bizarre, modulating tones. "I liked my hand. I must get out of here. I liked my hand."

All this he said as he ran across the desert, away from the shrine where The Master was doing whatever he was doing right now. With any luck, by now The Master would be busy hunting after the guests. Torgo was attracted to that Margaret woman, but he had just lost his left hand in some fire, and been rolfed halfway to death, and if he tried to save her now, he'd probably lose the other one, or possibly get rolfed all the way to death, which would eventually not be worth it. "Sucks to you, humans," he muttered, as he ran past the window. He could see them running out the door of the house, into the desert. What an awful idea.

Ah, here was their car. An easy escape method. Oh, wait a second. If it were that easy, they would have left in it. Nevertheless, worth a shot. He opened the door, and turned the key, which had been left in the ignition. A bad sign. The grinding sound of the car not driving away was a worse one.

"Not a disaster, not a disaster," he said. "Got to be a reason why the car doesn't work. There is no way out of here. In a few hours, the sun will rise. Not a disaster. Got to be a reason. The Master does not approve of my disobeying him, but The Master approves of very little." He looked around at the dashboard. "Oh, I see. The handbreak is on." After he had corrected that and brought his hoof down on the exhaust, the car was rolling.

How anticlimactic.

Driving down the desert road at night. You know, maybe there was a way out of here. There was a way in, after all. Therefore, it was only logical that, once he reached the highway, he could get out of El Paso forever. Go anywhere else, where The Master couldn't find him, although it was unlikely that he would look very hard. But it might be fun, just to, you know, pretend. It can be kind of fun to feel hunted. Otherwise, Hide & Seek would never have been devised.

On the seat next to him were some tickets to stay at something called Valley Lodge. Come to think of it, the humans had asked how to get to Valley Lodge. Maybe he could steal their vacation. That might be a fun way to pretend he was being pursued.

It was tricky steering with just one hand. If Torgo were human, and not a satyr, he could conceivably go to a hospital to get that thing looked at. But he was a satyr, so there was no effing use. He'd just end up in a lab getting dissected, or thrown in a zoo. Or possibly elevated to celebrity status, but it wasn't worth risking. Besides, the fire had fairly soldered the wound shut (what a horrifying word choice) so he could probably stay in this condition a bit longer. He'd need some type of prosthetic hand, maybe a hook, although he looked enough like a pirate already. But then, as long as he kept his trousers on and nobody looked too carefully at his feet, he could easily pass for an ordinary man who just happened to have enormously bloated knees.

Oh, and check this out: he had moved the luggage back into the car, but nobody had moved it out. Going on the run would be a lot more bearable if he had a bunch of clean clothes to wear.

Damn. He had forgotten his staff; the cool one with the hand on top. But then, come to think of it, he had also renounced Manos, so the hand symbolism wasn't really appropriate anyway. Nonetheless, it was a slightly cool staff. Only slightly cool, mind you. He could probably buy a better one in a souvenir shop, but still.

As he drove, he passed a cop car driving about. And there was another car, in which two young people were making out and drinking something from a flask. It looked like they had been doing that for a mad long time, rather than the obvious, and somewhat more sensible option of getting a room and then having lots of rampant sex, where there would be no policemen to deliver convoluted lectures about abstinence and disturbing the peace.

Hey, look. Highway 10. It wasn't so hard to find after all. Oh, and look. There was the sign for Valley Lodge. He'd be stealing vacations in no time. But first, a quick stop regarding that hand thing.