Hey horror geeks! Welcome back to FRIGHT FIGHT FRIDAY where every Friday our favorite horror movie baddies face off against each other! If you are new to the series, click here for a quick rundown of the rules! To catch up on past fights, click here and type in FRIGHT FRIDAY!
Today is round #3 of our human bracket and we have two iconic killers for you! NORMAN BATES VS PATRICK BATEMAN in the Battle of the Psychos! Who will be left standing to move on to the next round?
Let’s find out!
To say that Norman Bates is a momma’s boy would be wildly… understated. His mother was an awful woman who mentally abused Norman as a small child. She convinced him women were bad and only she could love him.
He had no friends, only her. When he would show signs of being attracted to other women, she would dress him as a woman and call him a girl so that he would forget about his penis.
His mother eventually meets a man and Norman becomes jealous and poisons both of them. He doesn’t stop there, though. He embalms his mom’s corpse and keeps her in the basement. He assumes her identity as his alter ego and does some… very bad things.
He is average in both stature and intelligence and as Norman, is shy and timid. As "Mother", he is much stronger and capable of vicious, savage murders.
The very definition of the word “yuppie,” Patrick Bateman is shallow, superficial, and selfish. He prides his possessions over most anything else and his own friends hate him. They all hate each other. His wife is just as empty and one dimensional as he is.
He likes to party and do drugs and lives a very promiscuous lifestyle frequently picking up prostitutes and then, of course, killing them.
He is a health freak, always gets up early and to the public eye, looks like any high-powered wall street jack ass. He’s a full-blown expert at living a double life.
Patrick is prone to hallucinations and fits of extreme violence. He is a true sociopath, exhibiting no signs of human emotion. He does not understand people or relationships with them. He doesn’t even understand himself.
The heavy rain beats down on the car as the headlights try their best to light up the way. He listens as the windshield wipers go back and forth, as if to a rhythm. The vibration of the tires on the road almost lulling him to sleep as he follows the curve ahead.
“Hey, let me get another bump of that coke, will ya?”
“What are you going to do for me?” She jokes as she holds out the vile, taunting him.
“Well, I could just kill you.” His smile is charming and warm. Her laughter is interrupted as he reaches out and grabs the back of her head, slamming her face into the dashboard shattering her nose. He laughs as blood splatters against the window.
“Patrick.” Her voice calm and concerned. “Patrick!” The voice is louder this time, snapping him from his daydream.
“Are you OK?”
“Yeah, of course. I’m fine. Let me get me a little more of that coke, huh?”
“I never met anyone that can doze off after sniffing this stuff.”
She opens the small vile and dumps some of the white powder onto the fleshy part of her hand, holding it out for him as he takes a deep snort. In the distance, a neon sign stands bright against the darkness.
“I wasn’t dozing off. I was just thinking about something.”
The words on the sign become clearer as they approach it. “BATES MOTEL,” and just under it, a bit smaller, “Vacancy.”
He pulls into the parking lot. “Looks like as good a place as any.”
“Sure, if you want bed bugs or scabies,” she replies sarcastically.
“Funny. I’ll get us a room. Try not to do all the coke while I’m gone.”
He slams the door and heads to the main office. The rain soaks his expensive business suit as he walks toward the door.
“Can I help you?” The man at the counter is thin and of average height. His voice is a bit soft.
“Need a room.”
“Is it just you?”
“Me and my friend.”
“Does it matter?”
“No, of course not. I can put you in cabin one.”
He reaches for the wallet in his back pocket. “Shit. I left my card in the car…”
“Payment is due upfront. Must be cash. That’s what mother always says.”
“You don’t take cards? Seriously? What kind of rinky-dink, shit hole…”
The door swings open as his female companion enters, dripping wet and holding up his wallet. “Missing something?”
The man’s eyes shift immediately to her, widening.
Patrick takes the wallet and hands the man a few wet bills in exchange for the key. “Keep the change and tell mother ‘hi’ for me.”
As they exit the office she asks, “What was that about?”
“That whole mother thing back there?”
“Oh, nothing. I was just busting his balls.”
After removing the key from his pocket, he opens the door to the cabin. It’s small, old, and there’s a slight leak in the ceiling. A rusted silver bucket sits on the floor catching the erratic drips. The sound echoes through the cabin with each drop.
“That’s going to drive me crazy,” he says as he removes his wet sport coat.
“Here, give it to me, the things soaked.” She takes the coat from him and hangs it in the bathroom to dry. “And you’ll be way to occupied soon to be bothered by that noise.” Then, walking over to him she pushes him on to the full-sized bed. Not even a queen, he thinks to himself as his body hits the hard, lumpy mattress.
She unbuttons her wet blouse slowly, a teasing smile on her face as it drops it to the floor along with her bra. Playfully biting her lip, she unfastens the button on her jeans, then slides them off, wiggling this way than that. She turns her body, showing him her backside and raising her hands above her head as she spins, then suddenly, she screams as a face peers back at her from outside the window.
“What the fuck?” She grabs the sheet off the bed wrapping herself in it.
“Somebody was watching through the window!”
“Karen, it’s dark and you...”
“I know what I fucking saw, OK? Somebody was there!”
Patrick opens the door and is surprised to see the owner of the motel standing in the rain, holding a pile of towels wrapped in a garbage bag in his arms.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle anybody. I just wanted to bring you guys some dry towels. You both looked soaked to the bone. There's usually only two in the rooms.”
From behind Patrick, Karen yells “You were peering right in at me. I saw you.”
“No, I was only… mother would always…”
Patrick pushes the man back away from the doorway. “Why don’t you get lost pal, huh?”
The man is timid and backs down immediately. “I’m sorry to bother.”
Patrick slams the door, deciding not to waste his time picking a fight with this weak and feeble man. Besides, if he had looked in the window it was probably the most action the poor bastard got in a long time. Possibly ever.
“Can you fucking believe that creep?” Karen’s voice is agitated, her tone is sharp.
Patrick looks at her, his charming smile lights up the room. His eyes seem to glimmer as he speaks. “I don’t think he’ll be back. Hell, after that, we can probably stay as long as we want for free.”
“Yeah, well I want to get out of here. He gives me the creeps. Something is off about that guy.”
“Karen, it’s past one in the morning, and it’s pouring rain. Plus, we already paid for the room.”
“You paid for the room.”
“And dinner, and drinks, but who’s counting?”
She hadn’t known this man long, they met only hours ago but for some reason that she couldn’t put her finger on; she was comfortable around him. There was something, a certain je ne sais quois about him. She pushes him back on to the bed, relinquishing the bedsheet that was wrapped around her. She climbs on top of him as the rain pounds the roof of the cabin.
The man shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have put his filthy hands on him that way. Mother is going to be pissed when he tells her.
“Norman? What have I told you about women? They can’t be trusted. See, she lied and almost got my baby into a fight. You don’t need no hussy like that. All you need is your mother. Your mother loves you. Don’t worry baby, mother’s gonna teach her a lesson.”
“No, mother, don’t. Just leave it alone.”
“Don’t you talk back to me Norman! I’m gonna teach that she-devil not to mess with my little boy!”
“No!” Yells Norman, punching the mirror in front of him, breaking the glass. Blood drips from his fist and onto the cold bathroom floor as he catches a glimpse of his shattered reflection, his mother’s face stares back at him. Her dress hangs from his shoulders loosely. Lipstick traces the lines of his mouth in an erratic pattern. Outside, the wind whips against the walls of the house as thunder rumbles loudly in the distance. Yes, mother would teach her a lesson.
She fell asleep fast and hard after riding him the way that she did. He sits up in the bed, admiring her naked body. The soft hue of her skin and its silky-smooth feel makes him want to cut her open. He envisions her warm blood flowing onto his steady hand as he slices her abdomen, his urge growing stronger and stronger with every imagined slice of her perfect flesh. No longer is he willing to fight it.
He dresses and runs outside, retrieving a black duffle bag from his trunk. Once back in the cabin, he places the bag on the table, then checks on Karen to be sure she is still asleep. Not that it matters at this point. There was no turning back now. He unzips the bag and removes a rusty hacksaw, ready to quench his thirst.
As he makes his way to Karen, whistling “Hip to be Square” by Huey Lewis and the News, suddenly the lights cut out. God damn backwoods, shit hole of a motel, he thinks to himself as he puts the hacksaw down. Lightning illuminates the room just enough for him to see his way to the door.
The rain starts to come down harder as he makes his way to the main office. The thunder sounds as if it’s getting closer with every crash. The wind is punishing and unrelenting as it sprays cold mist against his face. He stops for a moment, shielding his eyes. Someone was standing up ahead, watching him. They had no coat, and no shoes on, just a dress that was sopping wet.
“Are you, OK?”
He approaches slowly, and as he gets closer the stranger lunges at him, tackling him to the ground. Another flash of lightning reveals Norman’s face as it shines off the blade of the butcher knife raised high in the air.
“What the fuck?”
“You don’t mess with my boy!” Norman brings the knife down, stabbing it into Patrick’s shoulder. He raises the knife again but Patrick rolls to the side and is able to evade the attack this time. He counters, punching Norman and knocking him back to the drenched pavement.
They both manage to get their feet at about the same time. For a moment they just stare, sizing each other up. “This is a $200 dollar shirt, you inbred son of a bitch.”
“You hurt my baby, my Norman. You’ll pay for that.” Rain drips from his face in heavy beads. His voice is not his own in his mind, but the voice of his mother. Blood runs down the blade of the knife, staining his right hand.
Norman attacks, swinging the knife wildly, cutting Bateman’s cheek open. He slashes at him again, this time slicing his stomach. Bateman watches as the knife raises again. The adrenaline coursing through his veins causes everything to slow down and as the blade comes at him, he grabs Norman’s arm, twisting it around until it faces inward. He overpowers Norman as they struggle, bringing him to his knees, the blade inching closer and closer to his face. Norman pushes back but Bateman is stronger and full of cocaine.
As thunder crashes and lightning brightens the sky once again, Bateman lets out a primal cry of rage. He pushes with all his might as Norman tries to hold the knife in his own hands at bay. His strength gives out as he feels the cold, steel tip of the blade make contact with his eye. Puss runs from the wound as the blade digs in slowly, deeper and deeper. Bateman pushes harder, driving it into his skull and out the back of his neck.
Bateman stands, panting in the rain as Norman’s lifeless body falls face forward into a puddle.
He staggers back into the cabin, navigating by moonlight. He retrieves the hacksaw and sits in the bed next to Karen. His shoulder aches from where he was stabbed. As she lies on her back asleep, he clamps one hand over her mouth and in the same motion, cuts into her side, deep and hard with the hacksaw.
She lets out a scream, but nobody is there to hear her. He holds her down as he moves the saw back and forth, ripping through flesh and bone alike until she passes out from shock. He continues to cut through her unconscious body until her torso is completely severed. Blood pools on the floor in large enough puddles to float a paper boat.
“Patrick.” She says softly. “Patrick!”
The second time was loud enough to jolt him from his daydream.
“What are you doing up, what were you thinking about?” She reaches out for his arm, touching his shirt. “You're soaked, where did you go?”
He stares at her, not really sure what to say.
“Patrick?” Her voice sounds less curious and more concerned. “What’s in your hand...?”
OK, so this one came down to two factors for me. Plain and simple, Bateman is stronger and in much better physical condition. The dude’s a health freak. Also, Norman Bates is an iconic character and while I don’t take killing him lightly, he was always kind of a wimp. He had some strength as the Mother persona, but still nothing matching Bateman’s.
Keep in mind, this is a fight between characters, not films. I love “Psycho,” but there is absolutely no way Norman Bates takes down Patrick Bateman without the element of surprise. (I’m sorry ZartyB! I swear I’m not purposely killing your favorites!)
What do you guys think? Am I on point here or does Norman pull the upset? Yell at me in the comments below! That’s it, for now, folks, but be sure to check out next week's fight, CAPTAIN SPAULDING VS CAPTAIN HOWDY! (Shit might get weird…) Until next time, keep on geekin’ on, my friends!
Joshua “Prometheus” Scafidi