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Welcome to Tales to Terrify. Well, hello again, fellow children of the night.

Look at you.

Survivors of another week.

You survived this week's rain, mud, and mug of Chicago's spring.

You slogged all the way over here for another evening of tales to terrify.

And you knew to ring the bell that has Lawrence Santoro written below it.

Oh, not questions.

You obviously have survived the horrors of spring to date, and you've obviously been coached about whose bell to ring.

You must know what to do next.

Yes, yes, you settle in, you get comfortable, grab something cool or warm, as is your wont.

Snuggle up with a loved one, and, oh, this is not going to be a regular thing, movie reviews.

I'm lousy at them.

I'm a cinematic gourmand, not a gourmet, except for movies I hate, I love everything and consume movies to the bursting of belly and the flaking of eye.

On the flip side of that overly modest assessment of my critical faculties, I do have some taste. I hope, for example, you all ran out and rented or found a friend

who already owned the Whisper in Darkness from Sean Branny and the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society.

That's the film I talked about last week. But, but this week, this week, all unexpected.

I came upon a film I never heard of.

It came and went theatrically, I guess,

...