Benny Jay: The Scaredy Cat Watches Candyman

June 23rd, 2009

Here’s the deal….

I’m on the rocking chair in my living room in the dark late at night, watching Candyman — that scary flick from the 1990s….

You know the one — about the monster named Candyman who comes out of the walls to kill people by ripping them up with the rusty hook he has instead of a hand….

Candyman‘s a big dude who speaks really slow. Says scary shit like: “I am writing on the wall, the whisper in the classroom! Without these things, I am nothing.”

Or….

“They will say I have shed innocent blood. What’s blood for, if not for shedding?”

Scares the shit out of me.

Plus, the eerie soundtrack really freaking me out.

I don’t usually watch scary movies on account of the fact that I’m a scaredy cat.

But….

I’ve heard so much about Candyman. And it takes place in Chicago. Plus, I’ve got this great strategy for watching it.

Got the sound off and the subtitles on. So I know what’s going on, but I don’t hear the eerie soundtrack.

Now that’s how you watch a scary movie!

But….

My wife shows up. Sits on the couch and says: “What you doing?”

“Can’t talk — too scared….”

“How can you watch a movie without sound?”

“Don’t touch….”

Too late! She’s turned the sound on.

I hear a scream — ahhhhh!!!

Then Candyman says: “I am a rumor. It is a blessed condition, believe me. To be whispered about at street corners. To live in other people’s dreams, but not have to be. Do you understand?”

My wife’s like: “Oh, this is good….”

Easy for her to say. Scary movie’s don’t scare her. When we saw Silence of the Lambs, she ate a big tub of buttered popcorn.

The serial killer had this girl trapped at the bottom of this deep dark well.

The girls was going — “Help, get me out of the well….”

And this sinister fuck saying twisted shit like: “I can smell your cunt.”

Then they cut back to Anthony Hopkins who’s telling Jodie Foster more weird shit like: “We begin by coveting what we see every day. Don’t you feel eyes moving over your body, Clarice? And don’t your eyes seek out the things you want?”

And that’s when I get up and go into the next theater. Wind up watching the final minutes of this really bad Steve Seagal flick.

Meanwhile, my wife stays to the end of the Lambs.

She was seven months pregnant at the time. Speaking of which: What up, Ray Jay 3000!

Back to Candyman….

He’s got this blonde chick cornered in the bathroom. And he’s going: “So now I must shed innocent blood. Come with me!”

That’s it — I’ve had enough. I bolt from the rocking chair and flop on the couch — practically in my wife’s lap.

I invent this new way of watching Candyman. I close my eyes, cover my hears and hum. Like this — hmmmmm.

I stop humming long enough to hear him tell the blonde: “Our names will be written on a thousand walls. Our crimes told and reold by our faithful believers. We shall die together in front of their very eyes and give them something to be haunted by. Come with me and be immortal.”

She ends up killing a bunch of people. If they make a sequel, they can call it Candychick.

When it’s over, I’m too scared to move.

Except I have to walk the dog. What the hell — she’s got to crap. It’s not her fault I watched Candyman.

My wife comes with me. Usually, she doesn’t. But, get this — Candyman scared the shit out of her. Guess all those years with me has turned her into a scaredy cat….

The streets are filled with wackos and psych jobs. There’s a guy on his porch smoking cigarettes. Never says nothing. All you can see is his cigarette glowing in the dark — the glow moves in our direction, as he watches you pass.

There’s a guy with a gimpy leg and an Hungarian accent. Sounds like Bela Lugosi. “Nice dog,” he says.

Then he cackles.

The dog does her thing. I scoop it up in a plastic bag.

“Hold the leash,” I tell my wife.

“Where you going?”

“I gotta throw this out….”

“Don’t leave….”

“What? I’m supposed to stick the shit in my pocket?”

I walk up a dark side street and cut down an alley. I know — never, ever go into a dark alley. It’s like teenagers going to the cabin by the lake.

I open a dumpster and toss in the plastic bag. It lands with a thump. I let go of the dumpster top — it shuts with a crash. I turn around.

A man’s standing behind me, a bloody knife raised in the air.

“I hear you were looking for Candyman, bitch. Well, you found him!”