Hi guys, Prometheus here! Welcome back to FRIGHT FIGHT FRIDAY, where every week two of our favorite horror movie baddies square off against each other for your entertainment! I’ve devised eight-man brackets, each with its own theme! The winners of each bracket will then face off in a final bracket for the prestigious title of FRIGHT FIGHT FRIDAY’S “King of the Monsters!” When that’s done, we will have a bonus HERO bracket! The winning hero will earn the right to try and slay our “King of the Monsters” in a one-shot battle for it all!
So far, we have had the ICON, ALIEN and CLASSIC brackets! Today is the second round of our HUMAN bracket semi-finals, CAPTAIN SPAULDING VS PATRICK BATEMAN! As usual with our semi-finals and finals, bios will be shorter considering the fighters have already been introduced. To catch up on past fights or bios, click here! Let’s get into it!
A vicious killer with no remorse, also known as Cutter. Played by the legendary Sid Haig (rest in peace), Captain Spaulding does not fuck around. He’s as quick to shoot you as he is with a cuss word and mean as hell. The father of Baby Firefly and adoptive father of Otis B. Driftwood, this guy is so damn nuts even his kids are crazy. He isn’t in great shape physically, but he doesn’t need to be. Captain Spaulding is always well-armed.
Patrick Bateman is the pure embodiment of what it means to be a yuppie. He’s consumed by money, possessions, and women that are as shallow as he is. He’s very fond of cocaine and the party scene, but also compulsively obsessed with his health. He’s in peak physical condition so Bateman can hold his own in a fight and he usually has a knife or blade of some kind nearby. Despite the facade of being a wealthy, socialite and upright member of society, Bateman is a complete sociopath and cold-blooded killer.
“Leave a message.” Beep.
“Patrick, it’s me, June. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. I just wanted to check in with you and make sure you made it to your meeting today. I’m at a place you would absolutely hate by the way. It’s called Captain Spaulding’s Museum of Monsters and Madmen. I’ll take a picture. It’s run by a clown! Bye!”
She tosses the phone into her purse and steps out of the car, tired from a long drive. Figuring this looks as good a place as any to relieve her bladder, she makes her way to the door. It creaks as it opens, and a bell goes off.
On the walls are strange and macabre memorabilia. Posters for a freakshow, classic horror movies, and fried chicken all hang next to each other. Misshaped skulls, monkey paws and other oddities fill the display cases.
“Welcome to Captain Spaulding’s Museum of Monsters and Madmen!” The man’s face is painted like a clown, his teeth are rotten and black. “Are you here for the chicken? Or for the gasoline?”
“Neither. Actually, I was wondering if I could use your bathroom?”
“Best damn chicken in the world… are you sure you don’t wanna try it?” A skull on his bowtie lights up and chatters as he pulls the string. His smile is odd and off-putting.
“Thank you. I’m sure.”
“But how would you know if it’s any good if you don’t try it?”
“I’ll just take your word for it. Is there a bathroom?”
“Bathroom? Well, that’s for customers only little lady.” With a grin, he motions toward the back of the store. “How about a spin on my famous Murder Ride?”
“No, thanks. I’ll just go somewhere else.”
“Look, bitch…” His demeanor changes instantly as he speaks. His tone lowers as he bows his head to look at her. “I’m trying to be nice here. So, maybe you just buy some fucken chicken.”
“Asshole.” She turns around and heads back toward the door when suddenly, she’s jerked backward and spun around. His eyes are wide, his breath foul. The paint on his face is cracked and is clearly days, maybe weeks old.
“Don’t you ever turn your back on a fucking clown!” He hits her, knocking her unconscious. As she falls to the ground, her purse spills; causing her phone to slide across the floor and into a crack in the corner.
2 Days Later:
It wasn’t like her not to up show for work. In fact, thinking back he can’t remember the last time she even called out sick. He called her a dozen times and left about six messages with no return call.
As he sits at his desk with a small mound of cocaine in front of him, his concern begins to grow. It grows from a small worrying nag to something much larger. A compulsion. He consumes more of the glorious white powder and in doing so, nurtures that compulsion into an obsession. He needs to know that she is OK.
Sure, he can run around all day and pretend to like these so-called friends of his. He can pretend to like his job and his wife. He can act like he has anything less than contempt for the filth that surrounds him, but the truth is, he hates them. All of them.
With her it’s different. He doesn’t have to pretend. He doesn’t have to act like he cares because, for some strange reason, he does care. For her. Only her.
He sniffs another generously sized line as he listens to her voicemail again on speakerphone. “Captain Spaulding’s Museum of Monsters and Madmen?” He asks the question out loud as if mocking the name to somebody else in the room. Lifting his head, he wipes the excess powder from his face with the back of his hand. That settles it.
The Following Day
He pulls up to the run-down, shit hole of a gas station at about 7:00 PM CST, approximately seventy-two hours from when Jean left him the voice mail. She was right, he already hates this place and hasn’t even stepped inside. From the sloppy and lazily constructed sign reading “Captain Spaulding’s Museum of Monsters and Madmen” in mismatched letters to the fact that they also sell fried chicken in a bucket, this was clearly not his type of establishment.
“Welcome to Captain Spaulding’s Museum of Monsters and Madmen…” The man behind the counter is a clown, just as Jean said. Figures. Another thing he hates, clowns. Always pretending to be happy. What’s worse? It reminds him of himself, and he hates that more than anything.
“…home of the famous Murder Ride! We have chicken, we have gasoline…”
“Yeah, look pal. I’m just here looking for somebody. Have you seen this woman?” Patrick opens his wallet, showing the clown a picture of Jean.
Captain Spaulding leans in and squints his eyes. The dry, old makeup crumbles and cracks at his crow’s feet. “No… Can’t say that I have.”
“She was here a couple of days ago. You don’t remember her?” He looks at the strange clown suspiciously.
“You know, the thought just occurred to me that the last person to come in waving a picture around, demanding answers for shit he knew nothing about, well, it didn’t end too well for him. No buy some chicken or get out.”
“No, thank you. Don’t eat fried foods.” He rubs his stomach, subconsciously reminding himself that he isn’t overweight. “Look, if you had just said ‘she came in and bought some chicken, never saw her again’ I might have believed you. Or even if you said ‘yeah, I think I remember her’ I could buy it, but to say you don’t remember her at all? She’s a beautiful girl, dressed incredibly well. I can’t imagine you get many of those around here.”
“Are you calling me a liar, boy? Because my hearing isn’t what it used to be, but from where I’m standing it sure as shit sounded like it.”
“No., of course not.” Patrick waves his hand dismissively. “It’s just that she isn’t the type of girl you just forget. She’s special, you see. She’s my secretary, but she’s in love with me. It’s adorable, really. Anyways, point is, if something were to happen to her, I would be… terribly upset. To say the least.”
“Yeah, well I don’t know where your little friend is. Now fuck off. We’re closed.”
“Right.” His reply is short and dry as he pulls his cellphone from his pocket. “Siri, call Jean.” The phone rings and he turns his head to the side of the room. A low, vibrating sound is coming from the corner. It’s barely there, but it's there all the same.
Patrick walks to the far wall and bends down, reaching his hand into a small crevice between the floor and the wall. He removes her phone from the hole and inspects it. A small drop of blood is smeared on the screen. He turns to look at the clown, but Captain Spaulding is already upon him.
“You couldn’t just mind your business, could you?” He pistol whips Patrick on the side of the head, dropping him to the floor. “No, you had to bring your yuppie ass in here, acting all high sadity and shit!” He kicks Patrick in the gut hard as he continues to rant. “Now look at you. You stupid motherfucker!”
Captain Spaulding kicks again, but Patrick rolls to the side, grabbing his leg and flipping the clown on to his back. He quickly gets to his feet as Captain Spaulding takes aim with his revolver.
Patrick jumps over the counter as a shot goes off like thunder. Then two more. Smoke rises from the barrel of the .357 magnum as the sound reverberates through the room.
“Come on out of there, now. Don’t make me come and get you, yuppie”
He sits behind the counter, catching his breath. Blood drips down his face in a heavy stream. “Fuck you, clown!” He slides a knife from his jacket pocket as he speaks. “Tell me where she is or I’m going to kill you.”
“Kill me?” Captain Spaulding laughs at the thought. “Boy, in a minute your going to look like a piece of fucking swiss cheese.” He shoots the gun in the direction of the counter in anger.
Bateman looks around for something he can use. There’s an empty milk crate on the floor, covered in dust and cobwebs. As much as he didn’t want to touch the filthy thing, he knew it was his only chance. He picks it up and tosses it in the air.
The gun goes off, once again deafening him. That’s 5 shots. One left. He takes a deep breath and quickly scrambles around the side of the counter, staying low to the ground. As he rushes the hideous clown, another shot goes off. It grazes his skull and he falls to the ground clutching the knife. Blood pools on the floor under his head.
“Didn’t your momma ever teach you not to bring a knife to a gunfight?” He walks toward Bateman with a twisted smile on his face. “You must the dumbest son of a bitch, I have ever met!”
As he gets close Patrick rolls over, exposing the shiny blade. “Guns empty asshole.” He lunges forward stabbing the blade into Spaulding’s thigh and removing it quickly.
“Son of a monkey fucking uncle, that hurts,” yells Spaulding as he collapses to the floor.
Bateman walks toward him methodically. “I’m going to kill you slowly; you do know that don’t you?” The light shines off the sharp metal of the blade.
“There’s something you didn’t consider, shithead,” says the clown as blood spills from the wound in his leg.
“Yeah?” He stands above Spaulding now, ready to end it. “What’s that, clown?”
“This holds seven shots. Not six.”
The flash of light is blinding as the gun goes off for the last time. Patrick’s body falls limp, landing on top of Spaulding.
“Shit.” He rolls Bateman’s lifeless body to the side and slowly gets to his feet, looking down at his clothes. “Damn it, my best clown suit!” He kicks Bateman's body in contempt and makes his way to the landline on the wall.
“Get your brother and get your asses over here. Bring Tiny’s truck. I got a job for you…”
This one was a little tough to call simply because I love both characters. In the end, it came down to Spaulding being armed, and Bateman’s arrogance. First of all, Captain Spaulding is going to be armed, wherever he goes. Bateman doesn’t carry a gun. Now you might say, “Well Bateman is smart. He would see that it wasn’t a 6 shooter.” Would he? Would you? While in the midst of somebody shooting bullets the size of golf balls at your face? That easy to say, tougher to do.
I also feel that Spaulding is more violent and further, more prone to senseless violence. He’d kill you for any or no reason and he wouldn’t fight you first. He’d just shoot you. Immediately. No questions asked. Of course, there are ways this could have played out where Bateman wins. I just think Spaulding is the more dangerous one here. I know some of you wanted to see Bateman vs Lecter in the finals next week but I promise, Captain Spaulding VS the Good Doctor Lecter will be just as fucked up and twisted! I’m happy with this result and I think next week's finalists are the two strongest in the bracket!
That’s it for now folks! Let me know what you think! Was your money on Spaulding or Bateman? Am I way off? Yell at me in the comments below! See you next Friday for our Human bracket final, CAPTAIN SPAULDING VS HANNIBAL LECTER! All bets are final! Until next time, keep on geekin’ on my friends!
Joshua ‘Prometheus” Scafidi