Zombos' Closet of Horror

Black Sunday (1960) Tap Dancing To Hell and a Pot o'Gold Part 2

ZC Rating 6 of 7: Classic

After discussing Castle of Blood, Zombos, Iloz Zoc, and Chef Machiavelli reluctantly go into the mansion's basement to find the missing plumber. Read on, if you dare.

"Well this is just swell," I said. "Now we've lost Chef Machiavelli."

"He cannot have gone too far ahead." Zombos shone his flashlight down the tunnel on the left.

We were standing in the second large chamber of the perpendicular brick Gothic basement that ran like a rabbit's warren all around the mansion and toward the beach. Expanded by the original owner of the mansion before he went insane, the basement is a mosaic of tunnels and vaulted rooms that connect to three large chambers. Before that, boot-leggers used the tunnels to run hootch, and before them, pirates used the beach tunnel to store their rum and hide their booty.

The plumber was not in the boiler room, but the good thing was that we now had heat back.

"Well then, let's head this way," Zombos said. "We really need to replace these burned-out light bulbs."

He pointed to one of the dark spots in the string of lights that ran through the basement. There were a lot of dark spots because no one liked coming down here, especially me.

A few yards into the tunnel he tripped over something sticking out of the dirt floor. He swung the light over as he picked himself up. It was an arm. In the clenched fist were daisies. We looked down at the floor and suddenly noticed the large patch of bright yellow daisies growing all around the elbow.

"Good lord! Pull man, pull!" I grabbed the arm and pulled as hard as I could. Zombos pulled on the forearm. Together we unburied the plumber.

"What the hell! I'll murderlize da bum," spit out the plumber, along with some daisies. He pulled himself out of the dirt, spitting and brushing it from his mouth and clothes.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I got tha boiler workin'," said Curly Joe. "Then I'm packin' up and I hear dis voice coming from one of the tunnels. Nice, sexy voice, you know, just like Barbara Steele should sound like. I go lookin' and the next thing I know a little guy is cursin' me and I'm cursin' him back. Last thing I remember is I'm tellin' him he's goin' ta be pushin' up daisies if he keeps yellin' at me and bam, I'm spittin' up daisies and dirt."

"This isn't good," I said. "It sounds like we have a— "

"Did you say Barbara Steele?" interrupted Zombos.

"Yeah, ya know, that sultry knockout horror dame. I know they often dubbed her voice in those eye-talian films, but that voice made me think of her. Just watched Black Sunday last night, too," said Curly Joe.

"Now's not the time to disc—"

"Oh, right, The Mask of Satan, also known as Black Sunday. I say, that is a capital Italian Gothic horror film," Zombos said. "In fact, we were just discussing Castle of Blood before we came looking for you. Good thing we did, too — look for you, that is."

Castle of Blood (1964) Tap Dancing To Hell and a Pot o'Gold Part 1

ZC Rating 4 of 7: Very Good

"More hot chocolate please," I said to Chef Machiavelli.

He put down the large and very sharp looking knife he was using to fillet the eel for his incredible eel livornese and refilled my cup. His hot chocolate is exquisite; filled with little lumps of white vanilla, a little anisette, and lots of dark, sweet chocolate, it's the perfect warmer-upper. I was sitting in the kitchen, waiting for the plumber to find the problem with our recalcitrant boiler. He was sure taking his time.

"I'll take a cup, too," Zombos said, joining us to bask in the warmth coming from the brick oven. "I wonder what's taking the plumber so long?"

"You did give him the map?" I asked.

"Yes, of course. I don't want to lose another plumber down there. They're skittish as it is. Lucky for us this fellow is new." He sipped his hot chocolate.

It was so hard trying to get plumbers to come out to the mansion; even harder keeping them once they saw our basement. The labyrinthine passages below us would give even Erik, the poor suffering phantom of the Paris Opera, a run for his money.

While we waited, I looked at the long, gleaming knife that Chef Machiavelli was using. I found it fascinating that a sharp implement can slice through atoms and molecules, severing their tenuous connections — and the whole concept of self-sharpening knives was beyond me.

"How's the time doing?" Zombos asked. We looked at our watches.

"Merda!" cursed Chef Machiavelli. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his eel-skin wallet. He handed Zombos five dollars.

"I'm still good," I said, as Zombos tucked the fiver into his shirt pocket with a grin.

"We'll see about that," he said with that awful grin.

We had placed bets on when the plumber would be done, and Chef Machiavelli's chosen time had passed. I was still on target, though. I crossed my fingers.

"This wagering reminds me of that film, Castle of Blood, where the journalist bets he can stay in a haunted castle for the night," I said.

"I remember that film," Zombos said, sipping his hot chocolate. "The beautiful Barbara Steele is in it."

"Yes; and there's that gamboling fog-bound opening, as the journalist enters the Poor Devil Inn — how apropos," I said. "When he comes upon the table where Poe and the owner of the haunted castle are discussing the reality of the supernatural, he can't help but listen and take the wager of staying overnight in that place where no one has survived the night. Soon they're off to the castle, and the journalist's misadventure with the undead will soon begin."