By Edward Lee
What's a Header?
In the darkish backwoods, the place legislations enforcement doesn't dare tread, there exists a unique kind of revenge. whatever so lousy that it's only whispered approximately. whatever so bad that few think it truly is real.
Stewart Cummings is a central authority agent whose lifestyles goes to Hell. His spouse is unwell and to pay for her medicine he turns to bootlegging. yet issues gets a lot worse while our bodies commence displaying up in his sleepy small city. sufferers of an act recognized simply as "a Header."
Deadite Press is proud to convey again the infamous proposal for the hit cult movie - a splatterspunk vintage of twisted intercourse, booze, and revenge.
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Extra resources for Header
Lisa shrugged. “Search me. ” Suddenly a horn sounded, and Bob Carey’s Porsche pulled up beside them, its window rolled down. “Over there,” Bob called. He was pointing off to the left, where a small group of cars already stood parked in the shadow of the wall. Following Bob, Alex maneuvered the Mustang into a spot next to a Camaro, shut off the engine, then turned to Lisa. “Maybe we oughta just go on home,” he suggested, but Lisa grinned and shook her head. “I want to see it. ” She got out of the car, and after a second’s hesitation, Alex joined her.
Almost everybody in La Paloma had gone up to the top of Hacienda Drive once or twice, but the gates were always closed, and no one had succeeded in getting inside the walls. Alex, along with some of his friends, had climbed the hills a few times to peer down into the courtyard, but all they’d been able to see was the exterior work—the new plaster and the whitewashing, and the replacement of the red tiles on the roof. What everyone was truly waiting for was a glimpse of the interior, and now Carolyn was saying her friends could see it that very night.
Along one wall was a complex of electronic components that none of them could completely identify. They were, however, apparently the source of the rock music, and they could barely hear Carolyn demanding that it be turned down for fear the neighbors would call the police. Nobody, however, was paying any attention to her, and much of the party seemed to have gravitated downstairs. What had elicited Lisa Cochran’s criticism, though, was not the electronics, but the bar opposite them. Not a typical home bar, with three stools and a rack for glasses, the Evanses’ bar ran the entire length of the wall.
Header by Edward Lee