Jason Chandler: Horror movies are something I can geek out over the way some people can geek out over anime or superhero movies, so I'm going to try really hard not to write a huge wall of text. First, I consider the remakes completely separate from the original franchise, so I don't rank them together. The remake and its sequel were okay as standalone movies, but lacked a lot of the things that really make a TCM movie for me. My favorite is, of course, the original, followed by part three, part two, and part four. I didn't like 3D very much and I haven't seen the new one. As for the remake series, I like The Beginning more than the 2003 movie.

Crickets chirped a nocturnal symphony and blessedly cool air swept the night, bringing with it the perfume scent of honeysuckle and wildflowers. Abby, leaning impatiently against the car's rear bumper with her arms crossed, stared into the darkness, willing Flagg to emerge, with or without help. Vale, his phone long since dead, paced tensely back and forth, his hands shoved into the pockets of his cargo shorts. An owl hooted somewhere close by, and he started with a tiny eek.

Abby sighed and tapped her foot on the ground. The urge to take out her phone and check the time again came over her, but she stayed herself. It was past seven and Flagg had been gone for over two hours. That wasn't very long...maybe not even long enough to reach the gas station...but to her, it might as well be forever. Anything could have happened to him, and even now, he could be lying in a ditch, hurt or dead.

That thought turned Abby's stomach, and she breathed a frustrated sigh. If he wasn't back in ten minutes, she decided, she was going to go looking for him, screw the car.

Behind her, the back door slammed, making her jump, and Vale appeared beside her, a bottle of Pepsi in his hand. He leaned heavily against the bumper, twisted the lid, and drained it. With a sigh of contentment befitting a advertising campaign, he tossed it aside, crossed his arms, and shifted into a more comfortable position. "Anything out there?" he asked by way of conversation. The humid darkness pressed insistently against them like a sodden blanket, lit only by the ghoulish face of the haze shrouded moon, its faint glow barely penetrating the muggy night.

"No," she said, her voice sounding small and overwrought to her own ears. She hugged herself tightly and rocked on her heels. "I'm about to go after him."

Vale stiffened. "I don't know if that's such a good idea," he fretted, "we don't even know where we are. If we go off in the dark, we'll get lost and God only knows what'll happen to us."

Though she loved him like a brother, Abby had to admit: Vale was a little bitch. He was what she considered kind of a cuck: Weak, limp-wristed, and a sniveling, coward, the kind of guy who runs screaming for safety at the first sign of trouble. When they were driving and entered a bad neighborhood, he hurriedly locked the doors and worried himself sick until they were out again, and if there was a fight, he'd vanish faster than a pound of coke at Tony Montana's house. Flagg told her to protect him, and he was only half joking; Vale couldn't defend himself from a wet paper bag with the sniffles. As much as she loved him, however, her first priority was Flagg...first, that is, after the baby.

"All I have to do is follow the road," the said with a confidence she didn't fully feel, "it's a straight shot back to the highway." She glanced over her shoulder. The road continued in the direction they'd been following, how far to the blacktop, she didn't know. "You go that way and see if you can find a phone or a ride."

The color bled from Vale's face and his eyes grew to twice their normal size. "Y-You want me to go out there? Alone?"

"I don't know about you," Abby said with strained patience, "but I don't want to spend all night out here...and if Flagg's hurt, we need to help him." A vision of Flagg crumpled in a roadside culvert, broken from a hit and run and crying weakly out for help, danced mockingly through her mind, and a cold draft blew through her soul. Goosebumps ran up and down her arms, and though it hadn't been ten minutes yet, she pushed away from the bumper and took a steeling breath. "I'm going. If it makes you feel better, take the gun."

She turned to him, and he whipped his head shamefully away, perhaps to hide the fear tattooed on his features. She sighed, went to him, and put her hands firmly on his shoulders as though to communicate the gravity of her emotions. Vale tentatively met her gaze and sucked his lips in, a nervous tick he displayed when he was distressed. "Look, I'm just a little on edge, okay? I-I don't like Flagg being out there by himself. It's been over two hours, he should have been back by now."

That wasn't true - he might still be walking - but she couldn't take staying here and sitting on her hands anymore. The possibility existed that he needed her, and she wasn't going to play tiddlywinks with Vale while the man she loved was in dire straits.

"I need you," she said fiercely.

Vale gave a jerky nod. "O-Okay, yeah, I'll go."

"Thank you," she said.

Five minutes later, they took off in opposite directions, Vale heading east and Abby west. Turning around and walking backwards, she watched him go into the night like a man into the maw of a great, hungry beast. "Be careful!" she called.

He raised one hand to indicate he heard, then let it drop again. She watched until she could no longer see him, then faced forward again. Thin, silvery luminescence dappled the lane and high above, the north star glimmered like an all seeing eye. The back of her neck prickled with the feeling of being watched, and she forced an apprehensive chuckle. She laid a protective hand on her stomach and tried, as she had several times over the past week, to feel the life growing in her womb. As always, she felt only her flabbier-than-she-liked belly; there was no electric spark denoting the presence of something special, no magical sensation, nothing meaningful or pregnant with significance (pun 100 percent intended). Carrying a child was, to her, a sacred honor, and she was bowled over by the fact that there was absolutely no physical manifestation of it.

At least yet.

Soon - in two month, maybe less - her body would begin to change; her stomach would swell, her feet would ache, her back would hurt, her breasts would be tender...and she would relish every single moment of it. She read once that many women don't feel their babies kick during their first pregnancy, and was bitterly disappointed. She hoped hers and Flagg's baby kicked, wanted to feel it moving so badly it made her sick. When she imagined the future, she saw herself big as a house and glowing with happiness, sitting up in bed and pressing her hand to her massive stomach, giggling when the baby kicked. So far, she hadn't given much thought to it actually being in her arms, a tiny bundle with a pink, scrubbed face, because even thinking of thinking of it brought tears to her eyes.

She found out she was pregnant a week ago. She'd been sick in the mornings for several days in a row and felt indefinitely different. She took a test and it came back positive; sitting there alone in the bathroom of hers and Flagg's apartment, perched on the closed toilet lid and gaping at the double lines in the little window, she was so overcome with joy that she squealed, then broke down in tears.

They had been trying for so long to concieve, and no matter what they did or how many times they did it, Flagg's seed just would not take root in her. She was beginning to think there something wrong with one of them (her, she knew, it was her fault), and though he never once told her so, she knew he was disheartened too. They both wanted a large family and though they loved each other dearly, not having many children to love, guide, and nurture would leave a hollow chasm always between them.

It all worked out, though. She was going to bear Flagg's baby and make him a daddy, and that excited her so much that even now, in her harried state, a giddy smile spread across her lips. She was waiting until they got back to Richmond to tell Flagg, but she resolved to surprise him with it as soon as they were alone, maybe even tonight.

By now, she was well away from the car, the night wrapped around her like the coils of a leering snake. The moon shone overhead, but its light barely touched the land and she could barely see her own hand. Trees pushed up against either side of the road and blocked out the sky, plunging her impossibly deeper into the void. Her heartbeat, hitherto steady, picked inexplicably up, pounding like a drum, and her step faltered. The tingle in her neck returned, stronger this time, and her middle knotted in dread. Her skin began to crawl, and she was suddenly sure that the night was filled with watchers tracking her every move like wrathful phantoms.

She took a deep, shaky breath and let it out through her nose. She told herself she was being stupid, and while she knew that, she couldn't help feeling unsettled. She stopped and cast a look around, but nothing was there..or at least, nothing she could see. "Hello?" she asked, hating the tremble in her voice. It made her sound weak, and if there was one thing Abby was not, it was weak. Never had been, and never would be, especially not now. Her baby needed her to be strong.

With another breath, she started walking again.

Vale reached the blacktop less than twenty minutes after setting out. It stood empty in either direction, its surface drenched in moonlight like a frozen river winding through a blasted nightmare hellscape. He stopped at the intersection and shot an uncertain glance over his shoulder. The trees overhanging the dirt avenue rustled in the wind, and if he listened close, he was terrified he would be able to make out words. He chewed his bottom lip and considered his next move. Should he keep going, or should he go back to the car? Like he told Abby, they had no idea where they were. He studied the map enough to know that the area they were currently in was largely devoid of life, the trees, hills, and fields wide, open, and alone. He could walk twenty miles in either direction and come across nothing - no buildings, no phones, not even people.

Was that worth it?

He could return to the car. There, he would be safe; the vast Texas countryside was a raging sea, and the car was his ship. He would be okay just so long as he stayed aboard. If he dove into the water, he would drown. Any number of things could happen to him out here from becoming irretrievably lost to falling victim to animal attacks. Coyotes, bobcats, and other large, vicious mammals were known to stalk the wastes; he didn't know if there were any around here, but he bet there were. He bet there were bears too, and vultures who wouldn't wait for him to die...they'd just swoop down and take him alive. Weren't chupacabras in Texas now? A quivering pang cut through his center and his knees started to wobble. He should really go back.

The only thing that stopped him was Abby. Earlier, when she looked at him and said she needed him, her eyes flashed with earnest intensity. Abby and Flagg were like family to him - running and hiding when they were counting on him would be the ultimate and most unforgivable betrayal he could ever commit.

For that reason, and that reason alone, he turned right and started down the shoulder of the highway. Tall tangles of grass rustled against his bare shins like hands reaching from shallow graves, and his mind went back to the hitcher. The wound on his forearm stung at the memory of the blade biting into his flesh. What if he ran into him? God, what if he was out there right now, observing from the brush, waiting to strike?

Terror gripped his chest and he stopped to survey his surroundings. To his right, a low, tree lined hill followed the asphalt, and on the other side, dense forest crowded the road's edge. If someone was out there, they could be hiding in a million different places.

He forced those thoughts aside and got back underway. He should have brought the gun. He almost did, but guns scared him. He was convinced that if he so much as touched one, it would discharge with a deafening BANG and kill either him or someone else. He wasn't the most coordinated guy in the world and would probably wind up dropping it if he tried to pull it on a foe.

For a time, he forged ahead, kicking through snarled undergrowth and stumbling on hidden rocks. At one point, he stepped into an unseen gopher hole and pitched forward, his ankle twisting and hot pain streaking up his leg. He hit the ground face first and cried out. Drawing himself to a sitting position, he checked himself for injuries, and when he touched his ankle, he hissed through his teeth. Broken, he thought, it was broken, and he was damned to sit here until the carrion creatures came for his flesh. He pushed gingerly to his feet and tested it. Not as bad as he feared, more of a dull discomfort than a sharp agony, but it was still bad enough that he walked with a limp.

After crossing a dry creek bed, the road bent to the left and started up a steep incline. The terrain became more rugged and trees seemingly taller, looming over him like monsters in a child's fairy tale. Their high boughs prevented the moon's rays from reaching him, and like Abby two miles east, he was stricken blind.

He was just about to give up and go back when the unmistakable drone of an approaching car filled the night. His heart leapt into his throat, and he turned just as a set of bright white headlamps appeared around the curve. Oh, thank God. He waved his hands over his head, and the car slowed. It pulled abreast of him and came to a rolling stop, an off brown tow truck with an angled wench and a single orange rotating light on the roof.

Thank God again.

He hobbled over and pulled open the passenger side door, triggering the dome light. A woman in gray coveralls sat behind the wheel, her dirty blonde hair tucked up under a white and red baseball cap with a mesh back. A confusion of papers, litter, and tools covered the bench seat; the upholstery was gashed in spots, yellow padding poking out.

"Am I happy to see you," Vale said as he climbed in. "My friends and I broke down a few miles back."

"That so?" she asked in a thick southern accent. She put the truck into drive and pulled off, "where at?"

Vale thought for a moment. "Uh...there's a dirt road...it connects this highway to another one."

The woman nodded. "Alright, yeah, I know where that is. Y'all said you got friends?"

"Yeah, they went in the other direction for help."

Slowing, the woman spun the wheel and pulled a quick U-turn. Vale studied her from the corner of his eye: Full lashes, pouty lips, delicate features, plain but not unattractive. In the green glow emanating from the dashboard, the name stitched above her right breast was revealed, red thread on a white background: LYAH. "We better go 'n' look for 'em then," she said, "it's dangerous 'round here at night."

"I was a little worried about coyotes," he admitted with a nervous laugh.

"Oh, they don't bother people none. Now, them bobcats do. I seen one pounce a full grown man once, ate his throat and everythin'." She gave a brisk laugh and shook her head. Vale shuddered at the mental image of a man's throat being torn out and rubbed his bare arms for warmth. "You be surprised what's out in them woods. They look empty, but trust me, they ain't."

Vale glanced uneasily out the window. He was just out there. Exposed. Vulnerable. The way he saw it, he was lucky to be alive! "I bet no one around here leaves their house at night," he remarked.

"Nah, we're used to it. Fact is, I like bein' out at night."

The road was ahead on the left. "You're a brave woman," he said.

Without warning, Lyah slammed on the brakes, and Vale jerked hard against the seatbelt, then back into the seat.

Lyah, hands clutching the wheel so tightly her knuckles were white, favored him with a bellicose glare. Her face, not so delicate now, was hard and her eyes narrowed to hateful slits. The atmosphere turned instantly suffocating, and Vale's heartbeat sped up.

"What did you say?" she asked, her voice low and dripping with menace.

Vale blinked in bewilderment. He wracked his brain, trying to find what he could have said to offend her, but came up empty. "I-I said you're b-brave."

She sneered. "You said somethin' else. You called me somethin'."

"N-No, I-I didn't. I-I just said you're a brave a woman for -"

Lyah's jaw clenched and her nostrils flared angrily. Her face rippled like the surface of a pond and her chest rapidly rose and fell as she sucked air into her lungs. "Do I look like a woman to you?" she demanded.

Vale's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Yes, she did look like a woman to him.

"Do I look like a fuckin' woman to you?" she asked again, her voice rising. She threw one hand up, and Vale flinched with a cry. "What makes you think I'm a woman? Are you fuckin' blind?"

"N-No, I'm sorry, I -"

"I'M A FUCKIN' MAN!" she bellowed. Her eyes bulged from their sockets and fat veins stood out on the side of her neck. She looked like the SJW from that "triggered" meme.

Vale's heart was blasting into his ribs now, each frenetic beat sending pangs of agony through his body. "O-Okay, I-I'm sorry…" he trailed off then added a placating, "sir." Vale was bisexual himself and thought of himself as a "femboy." At a glance, he was soft, fragile, and womanish in his features and build. Being part of the LGBT community, even on a periphery level, he was sensitive to transgendered people. He was still a normal person, however, and when someone was obviously female, he didn't think twice about applying the appropriate label.

Usually, the worst rebuke he got was a terse correction.

But not now. Lyah shook with rage and her lips peeled back from her teeth like a raid dog preparing to strike. She leaned over, and Vale shrank back against the door, one arm going defensively up and the other hand clawing for, but not finding, the door handle. "I'M A MAN! I'M A MAN! I'M A MAN!"

She lunged for him at the same moment he yanked the handle; the door popped open and he spilled out, heart in throat. He hit the ground ass first, then, blasting with animal fear, he scrambled to his feet. Behind him, Lyah jumped out of the truck, staggered, and fell to one knee with a pained hiss. "You motherfuckin' sumbitch, come back here!"

The land thrust up and sloped back from the highway. Pushing through the excruciating ache in his ankle, Vale climbed the hill and reached the top. Trees dotted the summit, moonlight filtering through their interlaced branches, and throwing caution to the wind, Vale ran as fast as he could like a field mouse from a murderous hawk. Blood pounded in his temples and the crazy thudding of his heart roared in his ears. A hot stitch burned across his side and every time his bad foot hit the ground, bolts of searing electricity rent his leg. His breath exploded from his lips in series of ragged pants, and his spine tingled.

Without warning, something crashed into him from the side, low and fast, and he hit the ground so hard the air rushed from his lungs. He issued a plaintive wail that choked off when small fists rained furiously down on the back of his head. He tried to roll onto his back, but Lyah straddled him, her knees caging him and pinning him in place. "You motherfuckin' goddamn cocksuckin' piece of nigger lookin' shit!" Vale screamed and stars burst across his vision. Warm liquid trickled from his nose and one of his teeth was knocked from his head. Darkness stole over him, and for a long time he lay dazed a drift of dead leaves.

The next he knew, Lyah was tying heavy rope around his hands, pulling tight. He moaned, and grabbing a handful of his hair, she yanked his head back. "You done messed with the wrong man." She drew the word slowly out as if to make her point, then dragged him to his feet. His watery knees buckled and he sank to the ground. "You gonna see," she said through her teeth, "you think I'm a woman but you gonna see I ain't. You act like first impressions are the only thing that matters, but just you wait. I'm gonna put my dick so far in your ass you gonna puke it back up."

Vale started to cry.

Abby paused, slapped her hand against the rough bark of a gnarled tree, and hanged her head. She inhaled, then let it out, inhaled, then let it out. "You're making mommy tired, aren't you?" she asked the child in her belly.

It did not respond.

She didn't know how far along she was, but she was pretty sure it wasn't enough that the baby was sapping her energy. Being pregnant, forming a whole new life inside of you, is, she read, physically exhausting work; you're not aware of doing anything, but your body is constantly in motion, and the baby is always drawing nourishment from you. That, she imagined, came later, but perhaps it didn't. She'd never been pregnant before and though she'd read a lot on the subject, it's one of those areas you'll never really know until you explore it for yourself.

Either way, she'd only been walking for roughly half an hour and already she was spent. Her feet were sore, her legs quivered, and a band of tightness squeezed her stomach and lower back. The night was cool, but lukewarm sweat still bathed her face and arms, and when she took a deep breath, her chest stung. As much as she wanted to find Flagg and make sure he was okay, she was starting to think of going back. She loved Flagg, but the baby came before him...and even before her. Were these pains normal, she would simply ignore them and press on as she always had, but now, with their little boy or girl nestled in her stomach (even if it was only a zygote at this point), things were different. It was too early for her to hurt the baby by simply walking down the road, but knowing that didn't alleviate the dread weighing down her chest.

She looked up at the moonlight avenue and carefully considered her next move. The car was only two miles back, if that. She could be there in under an hour. If she kept going in the direction she was now...she couldn't say. She thought back to that afternoon and struggled to remember if there were any houses or buildings between the gas station and here, but couldn't. She was a little too keyed up from the encounter with Bobby Jr. to pay attention to things like that. She didn't recall seeing anything, and in that case, she'd be stranded in the middle of nowhere hoping a car came by...and that it stopped for her, which wasn't assured. She bit her lower lip and looked left, then right, left, then right, a woman at a metaphorical crossroads. Back to the car, an anchor of safety, or into the great Unknown? She laid her hand on her stomach as if to consult the child within, but it offered no suggestions.

Finally, with a sigh of surrender, she turned back and started for the car. She was five steps into her new course when something caught her attention. A light shining through the foliage to her right. She stopped, squined, and rocked forward on her heels.

A house.

Halle-frickin-lujah.

Changing course, she left the road and picked her way down a slight embankment. At the bottom, a wide, lumpy field stretched to a stand of dark trees wavering in the wind. Beyond, the light twinkled invitingly, like a low, ambient fire in a hearth. Stepping carefully to avoid holes, jutting rocks, and other concealed pratfalls, she made her way across the meadow, the light drawing closer like a ship in the night. She was almost to the treeline when she kicked something hard and small. Her feet started to tangle, and her heart leapt. She pinwheeled her arms to keep from going down, got her balance, and rolled her neck like a punch drunk pugilist coming back for round two. She spotted her adversary ahead, resting against the base of a tree, round and glowing ethereal white in the moon.

There you are, you little bastard. Can't you see there's a baby on board? She dug in her pocket for her phone, pulled it out, and went to the flashlight app. She walked over and trained the beam on it.

When she saw what it was, her stomach dropped.

A human skull, its gaping eye sockets seething with shadows and its lipless mouth arranged in a ghastly frozen smile. The phone trembled in her hand and horror washed through her like cold sludge. A twig snapped, and she jerked the light up. A terrible, towering thing stood before her, its tongue lolling from its mouth. In an instant, a motor kicked in to life, and it held a chainsaw high over its head. Abby screamed so hard the edges of her vision grayed and the phone dropped from her hand, landing in the grass and casting its corpse glow on the the thing's craggy, pimple scarred face.

Rational thought gave instantly away to survival instinct, and suddenly, she was running back toward the road, her arms and legs pumping in time with the spasming tempo of her heart. The thing lumbered after, swinging the saw back and forth. High, stupid giggles trailed behind it, and another ear-piercing scream ripped from Abby's throat. Her foot hit something, and for an awful second she was airborne, then she sprawled face first in the dirt, her jaw clacking and her brain jostling inside her skull like ball bearings in a drum. The revving motor swelled as the creature came closer; howling, Abby pushed shakily to her feet and started running again, her feet sailing over the ground.

She reached the road and pounded up the embankment, sparing a quick glance over her shoulder. The thing was less than fifteen feet behind her and closing fast with shocking speed. Delirious, verging on hysteria, she ran across the road and into a stand of trees on the other side, barely aware that branches and briers were slapping her face, tearing at her skin, drawing blood. A fallen tree appeared ahead, and without even thinking, she leapt over it, stumbled, then darted away. She looked back again; the thing was cutting tangles of undergrowth to clear itself a passage, white smoke rising from the chainsaw exhaust. Abby turned back around and pushed herself harder, putting the psychopath far behind. She smashed through a screen of foliage, and the earth gave out beneath her. Screaming, she sprawled forward, hit the ground, and rolled head over heels down a hill. She caterwauled like a dying animal and landed in a ditch with a breathless oof.

For a moment, she laid there on her stomach, dazed and gasping for breath. The chainsaw was a distant whine and warm weariness overcame her. She was safe now...she could sleep.

Then she thought of her baby and her heart lurched. If she passed out, she would die...but most importantly, her baby would die.

Summoning all the strength she could, Abby staggered to her feet. The highway ran before her, and she blinked in surprise. The chainsaw cut out, and the silence worried her more than the deafening roar.

She took a step forward and winced at the pain in her knee. Ignoring that, she limped into the road and shambled right. Hot, whimpering exhalations puffed from her heaving chest and her ankle throbbed like an abscessed tooth. The chainsaw echoed through the forest, louder and closer, and a scream jerked from her throat. "HELP ME! PLEASE, GOD, HELP ME!"

Her voice rang like thunder in the night. The chainsaw cut out again and she issued a high, wordless shriek.

Just then, headlights appeared in front of her, filling the world and stinging her eyes. She froze, then, realizing she was saved, she ran at them, waving her arms over her head. The car slowed, and red and blue lights flashed on its roof.

A cop.

"HELP ME!" Abby screamed.

The door opened and a man in a brown uniform and a white Stetson got out, his body tense. Abby limped over, and he watched her come with furrowed brows. She reached him and started to speak, but before the words were out, he twisted her arm behind her back and slammed her against the hood. Red pain erupted in the center of her skull. "You, my friend," he said in a thick Texas accent, "are under arrest."

Under arrest? "Wait, no -"

The cop slapped a pair of cold metal handcuffs on her wrists and closed them so tight that agony enveloped her arm. He pulled her roughly to her feet and spun her toward the back door. "I could hear you hootin' and hollerin' two miles away," he said and shoved her. Abby's head spun. "That's called disturbin' the peace 'round here."

He opened the door and started to push her in, but she came alive and thrashed in his grasp. Growling, he wrapped his arms around her from behind in a bear hug and dragged her off the ground. She screamed and kicked, her head whipping from side to side. "Stop resistin'," he spat. He squeezed and her eyes bugged out of her head. She threw herself left and right and the cop crossed one bare, burly forearm over her throat. "I said stop, you little bitch, or I'm gon' pop your head off."

The fight ran out of Abby, and the cop shoved her into the car. He knelt, reached down, and picked up a burlap sack from the floor. Abby's eyes widened and she tried to back away, but he dragged her forward, slipped it over her head, and pulled the string tight around her neck. Darkness came over her, and the hopelessness of her situation hit her like a fist to the face. Tears sluicded down her cheeks and she began to cry in earnest.

"Shut the hell up," the cop hissed. His hand struck her face and her head whipped to one side, slobber flying from her lips. "You're lucky I didn't shoot you."

Abby sank to the seat, curled up, and wept bitterly.