Original subtitles

Lost in a memory?

Just thinking about the future, actually.

I can go anywhere when this is over.

Do anything.

I need to get a new Social Security number,

but otherwise...

I'm no one.

-Where do you think you'll go? -I don't know.

Australia, maybe.

I always loved those Crocodile Dundee movies.

The first one, at least.

I'll figure it out...

as soon as Margaret's dead and can't hurt anyone again.

Let's go back to the motel until it gets dark.

Then we can sneak in.

Too risky during the daylight.

But in the meantime, you better start eating.

Margaret's probably got that "crazy person" strength,

and you're gonna need that kind of strength

if you want to be the final girl.

-Final girl? -(chuckles): Oh.

That's right, you missed the '80s.

Every horror movie has a final girl--

the one who survives it all and lives to tell the tale.

As I see it, that's either you or Margaret.

-Why can't it be you? -A black final girl?

Sweetheart, they kill folks off with my complexion first.

I'm Stacey Phillips.

Has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like

Brooke Thompson?

Yeah, all the time.

It's, like, why can't I look like Michelle Pfeiffer?

You guys up here for the festival?

Totally.

STACEY: I knew it. I heard there were

Brooke and Jingles groupies, but I've never met one.

Your costume is incredible, though I'm sure

-it didn't take much effort. -(Donna chuckles)

I'm with the press. National Enquirer.

I know, most people think we're a rag-- and we are--

but it pays the bills.

I write books mostly, about serial killers.

I did one on Bundy, another on Ed Gein.

It's funny, 'cause back in the '70s, all anyone cared about

was Bigfoot and aliens, the Loch Ness Monster,

all that Leonard Nimoy In Search of... shit.

But the '80s have been all about serial killers, human monsters.

My new book is about Brooke and Jingles

and the massacres up at Camp Redwood.

So morbid.

Oh, morbid's where the money is.

To me, that camp represents

everything that's wrong with the 1980s.

A veneer of wholesomeness covering a violent darkness.

Have you been to a high school lately?

It's not John Hughes. Kids are doing coke,

bringing guns to school.

All these clearly gay British musicians

pretending to be straight. History's gonna look back

at the '80s as the era of bullshit.

Honestly, between Iran-Contra, AIDS,

that TV show Small Wonder and crack, I'm pretty sure

the '80s are gonna be the end of the world as we know it.

Nice meeting you.

Hopefully, see you up at the camp.

-Are you gonna finish that? -All yours, sweetheart.

She recognized me. I know it.

She can't recognize you. You're dead.

(music slows, distorts)

(film projector clicking, then shuts off)

(intro to "Fading Fast" by the Go-Go's playing)

* You thought that I was on your side *

* That I'd do anything for you *

(tires screech)

* But you found out yesterday *

* That you were wrong *

* I opened up the... *

You okay, man?

You don't look so good.

Redwood.

I need to get to Camp Redwood.

Good news, bro.

You're almost there. And lucky for you,

I got a soft spot for hitchhikers.

Get in.

Let's party.

* I've never seen you *

-(tires squeal) -* You're someone I don't know *

* Are you just *

-* Another boy * -Go-Go's fan?

* That I met long ago? *

-(turns off music) -Yeah, me, neither.

I don't go in for that New Wave shit.

The Eagles, man, that's where I come out.

CCR.

Bob Seger.

It's all about the storytelling, you know?

-Mm. -(turns on radio)

Wonder if we get reception out here.

Shit.

What happened to your hands?

(chuckles) Yeah.

Guess my hitchhiking and arcade days are over.

Chicks, man.

What can I say?

I like the feisty ones.

(laughs)

Meeting a couple at the festival.

They're a real good fucking time.

-("Fortunate Son" by Creedence Clearwater Revival playing) -Oh, there we go.

(thumping, muffled shouts)

Um, do you hear that?

-(thumping continues) -Hear what?

WOMAN: Let me out of here!

Motherfucker!

* Ooh, they're red, white and blue... *

We need to get you to the hospital.

WOMAN: I got you.

-I got you. -Thank you.

Okay. Here.

(gasping)

-(sizzles) -(faint groaning)

(exhales)

We're trying to listen

-to Creedence! -(gasping, crying)

Please, just let me go.

I-I won't say anything.

That's the best you can do?

Seriously, I expect more

out of Mary Kay.

(sniffs) I mean, you got this fancy car.

Doesn't it make you, like, a really good salesman?

By the mid '90s, Mary Kay will probably own

half the real estate in New York

and all the fucking debt of Latin America.

Most of the cars on the road will be pink.

And the best you can do is,

"Please, just let me go"?

What would you say

i-if I told you... (breath trembling)

that you could change...

(grunts)

MARGARET: I have a question, Courtney.

How long has it been

since you first started working for me?

Four years, three months, 15 days.

Right. So then you would know, when something bad happens,

I like to be the first to hear it.

-Yes, mostly. -So, why the hell

did it take so long for you to tell me

that one of our headlining acts has been murdered?!

I was scared!

My brain was frozen.

I almost ran away.

They're dead, Courtney.

Kajagoogoo is dead!

How can I trust you if I can't count on you to keep your cool

when something very important happens?

We have to call the police.

They'll want to collect evidence.

Probably seal off the camp.

Nobody's gonna want to come out here when they find out

musicians are being slaughtered.

You're going to make this nightmare disappear.

You're gonna get yourself a roll of plastic sheeting,

a box of garbage bags, a pair of good rubber gloves

and a sharp butcher's knife,

and you are going to get rid of all of these bodies.

(crying): I c... I can't do that.

I'm a small, diminutive man.

Right. That's why you're gonna cut them

-into little tiny pieces. -Oh!

And you need to clean every surface with bleach.

This bus has to be immaculate!

Not a single drop of blood can be left.

How can you be so cold about this?

Do you not have any empathy?

(groans) Everything is going to be okay, Courtney.

Everyone is still coming.

No one is going to miss Kaja-fucking-googoo

and their one hit single.

Hop to it!

(strained grunting)

(grunts)

("Too Shy" by Kajagoogoo playing)

(music continues)

* Tied *

We've never been tighter.

* You're too shy, shy *

* Hush, hush. *

Hey, bro.

You with the Idol crew?

Yeah.

What's in there?

Billy's rings.

No touching the silver.

I got some of Steve's guitar picks, though.

Hey, man, who are you with?

Satan.

Right on.

(grunts)

* In the midnight hour *

* She cries more, more, more, mm *

* With a rebel yell... *

(grunting)

Big Ben.

I see you got my invitation.

You never should've gone after my family.

I told you there would be a price to pay

if you ever fucked me over.

Besides, I did you a favor.

You forgot who you were.

You remember now, don't you?

I'm gonna end you in this place.

(shouting, grunting)

Come on!

(grunting)

(Mr. Jingles screaming)

(grunting)

(shouting)

(grunting)

-(groaning) -(panting)

(tires screeching)

(shouts, grunts)

(panting)

-(car door opens, closes) -ALEX: Shit, man.

I didn't see you. Is your friend okay?

He got away.

Because of you.

Wait a second.

I know you.

You're Richard Ramirez.

Your picture's all over the news.

Cops looking for you.

Holy shit!

The Night Stalker?

You killed, like-like-like, 17 people.

That was gonna be number 18 until you fucked it up.

No, no, no. No, no, no. No, hold up, hold up.

I-I'm, like, a huge fan.

No, seriously, you're-you're a major inspiration.

I'm kind of trying to get into the blood game.

Aiming for a big body count.

Bigger than yours even.

Check this out.

Not too bad, right?

She's number six.

After this festival will be eight.

The two bitches who took my thumbs were on their way here.

That's metal.

Dude,

let me help you hunt down this other guy.

It's, like, the least I can do.

This isn't some chick.

I'm hunting big game.

Yeah.

You know Mr. Jingles?

(exhales) He's a legend.

That's who that was?

I don't know.

There's a lot of terrain out here.

How we gonna find him?

The Master...

will show us the way.

(groans)

-(panting) -(whispering voices)

(groans, exhales)

(knocking)

STACEY: I know you're in there.

(whispers): Don't open it.

Hi, Donna.

I know who you are.

Both of you.

How?

Come to my room, and I'll show you.

STACEY: I've been studying the '84 massacre

at Camp Redwood for three years.

You might say I'm the world's foremost expert on it.

Well, that is, except, of course, for you, Donna.

Ah.

Here it is.

-How you know my name? -Well, I first

heard about you when I was studying

the Jingles escape from Red Meadows Asylum.

He never got visitors, but you visited him

a week before he escaped.

I did a deep dive

into you-- read your papers on serial killers,

found out about your dad.

Yikes. (chuckles softly)

I know you pretty well.

But it wasn't until I saw you together in the diner

that I realized it was you at the execution.

(inserts cassette in VCR)

I had to pay the warden 1,500 bucks for this.

So, what did you do?

Give her something to slow her heart rate down enough

to convince everyone she was dead?

The only thing that I can't figure out is why.

A lot of effort to go through all this.

Pretty risky.

What's the connection between you two?

Revenge.

Brooke.

We're the best story she's ever had.

There's no way she's gonna let us go

unless we give her an even better story.

Okay. I'm hooked.

Let's negotiate.

We tell you everything.

You sneak us back into the camp in the trunk of your car.

And once we get there, we'll walk you around,

show you where everything happened,

tell you how everything happened.

And, in exchange...

you let us go.

You never reveal Donna's identity,

and you don't tell anyone that I'm still alive.

Not until the book comes out.

Seems fair.

But what's the new angle you're hinting at?

Give me a taste.

Jingles didn't kill all those people in the '70s,

and I didn't kill anyone five years ago.

Well, except Montana, in self-defense.

It was Margaret Booth.

DONNA: That's why we're going up there.

-Justice. -If you can prove to me

that Margaret fucking Booth is actually one of the most vicious

and prolific serial killers of all time,

I'll buy you first-class tickets to Paris.

(screams)

(panting)

-It gets better. -(grunts)

(panting)

First time always feels the worst.

I f-f...

felt everything.

(shudders)

Pain. Fear.

The... (panting)

sudden disconnection with everything.

Like you're drifting in space?

-Yes! -Alone.

Forever.

How many times have you died?

I've lost count.

Maybe I forgot.

Pieces of you goes missing.

No.

I can take the pain,

but I cannot forget why I am here.

I can't... let my son down.

(breathing heavily)

Ramirez has to die.

(grunts)

Can ghosts get high?

No. But it feels nice to pretend.

But you can have an orgasm?

Sure. I don't make the rules.

-We can feel fleeting pleasure. -Hmm.

We can feel pain, we can feel scared,

happy, in love, but...

the only feeling that really lasts is a constant longing.

For what?

To be alive.

To be dead.

To be anything but stuck here.

That's why I'm gonna kill everyone

that steps foot in this place.

Maybe the publicity will bring someone

that'll help us get out of here.

And if that doesn't work, then...

there'll just be more people for fun and sex

-and groovy conversation. -Huh.

But...

really, I just want to be distracted.

Probably easier just to get cable TV installed.

(Montana chuckles)

* Feels like the world upon my shoulders... *

What if I stay here?

I-I can check all those boxes.

Fun and sex, groovy conversation.

-Definitely a lot of distracting. -(chuckles)

At least for 50 years or so.

Dude, if you think you're gonna be able to get

that elephant's trunk hard in your 70s, you're nuts.

And not the kind I like.

Besides, what about your wife?

(exhales) I hate her.

I just want to be with you.

I-I love this place. I love you.

I... It all just feels like home to me.

You'd do that for me?

There's nothing back there for me.

The '80s are over.

People don't even do coke anymore.

Eh, fashion is boring.

-Lots of flannel. -(groans)

Oh, and good luck finding an aerobics class.

I love you, Montana.

You're '80s forever.

* I want to feel what love is *

* I know you can show me *

* Oh... *

(footsteps crunching)

Can you be any louder?

Dude, I hit him with a car.

He can't be that much of a threat.

Jingles in his prime is dangerous.

An injured Jingles is twice as deadly.

What is he-- a jungle cat?

-He's my worst enemy. -(scoffs)

I'm just trying to make sure that he dies here in this camp.

Bro, what'd he do to you?

(sniffs)

You ever been on a roll,

when every decision is right, every move works out,

and everyone is just one step behind?

Hell yeah.

When you know nothing can stop you.

That's how it was... right before I was caught.

Mm.

I could have kept on killing for years.

But Jingles betrayed me,

and for that, I will have my vengeance.

-(sniffing) -I know exactly how you feel.

Who the fuck are you?

Another one of Jingles' victims.

Come on. I know where he is.

(scoffs) Yeah, sure.

XAVIER: Once his body is fully uncovered,

he'll come right back.

Won't be able to help himself.

Like a criminal to a crime scene.

I don't know why we do it. Maybe it's to try to remember

those last moments when we were alive.

It never works, though.

I don't get it.

Who is it?

Son of a bitch.

This is the fucker who roasted me alive.

(guttural gasping)

You found me.

What the fuck?

How is his dead body here and he's standing here?

You stay, you die.

All right.

Who offed you?

I killed myself.

Fucker, I wanted to do that!

Why?

You afraid to face me?

I was afraid I wouldn't.

(Ramirez laughs)

Oh, I get it, Key-man.

You killed yourself to beat me.

That took a lot of balls.

I'd do anything to keep my son safe.

A lot of balls, but not a lot of brains.

See, you forgot one thing.

You can't ever leave.

So I'm getting the fuck out.

I'm going to Alaska,

and I'm going to cut your boy into little pieces.

It's what I should have done when I murdered your wife.

Killing your son will be my final revenge.

(Ramirez groaning)

-I won't let you leave. -(groans)

You're gonna die here, and then I'm gonna

spend every day hunting you

to make you pay for what you've done.

-(gunshot) -(body thuds)

Margaret?

-What the fuck?! -Who the hell is this?

-Easy, baby. -He's with me.

His résumé's a little thin, but he's willing to learn.

You two know each other?

We've had a mutual admiration and a deep sexual attraction.

Cool.

RAMIREZ: I would have slaughtered Jingles.

But I can forgive you for cock-blocking me.

He'll be back soon, but I need something from you both.

I have a plan, and I think you'll approve.

I need all the killers I can get.

Let me get this straight.

Margaret Booth wasn't the only serial killer at the camp.

Richard Ramirez, aka the Night Stalker,

was also here with Mr. Jingles.

They fought to the death

while you were caught in a net dangling from this tree.

That's right.

It's a wonder they didn't let you testify at your trial.

-You don't believe me? -Oh, honey, I do.

In my experience, truth is often stranger than fiction.

I made a good living because of that.

But in a way, it doesn't matter,

because this is your story told from your point of view,

so whatever you say is right is right.

She's giving it to you straight.

Truth is not malleable.

I work for the Enquirer. My motto is:

Never let the facts get in the way of the truth,

and never let the truth get in the way of a story that sells.

That bitch don't give a shit about nothing but a paycheck.

She's going to expose us.

She will ruin our lives.

It'll be fine. We just have to show her

the shack you tied me up in.

How is that gonna change anything?

That's where I'll kill her.

She is not leaving this camp alive.

Brooke, you're not a murderer.

The only person you killed was in self-defense.

That Brooke died in prison five years ago.

This is who I am now.

Come on, Stacey.

I want to show you something else.

Looks like big Mr. Scary Jingles lost his scary.

You got to let me go. You don't know what you're doing.

RAY: We know exactly what we're doing.

-You fucking murdered me. -Ditto.

You just turned me into a kabob.

I might be dead, but I'm still traumatized.

You had a chance to square up by asking your creepy-ass mom

how we get out of here, but you couldn't even do that.

-I'm sorry! -Sorry?

You stuffed me in an oven!

I was gonna be an actor, not just on stage, on TV.

I had two callbacks for The A-Team.

I was about to break, make a life, build a legacy.

Now, thanks to you, I'm just stuck up here

being slowly forgotten.

You have to pay for everything you've taken from me.

From all of us!

-Who wants next? -MR. JINGLES: Oh, you're right.

You want to kill me, torture me, I've got it coming.

Do whatever you want to me,

but first, please just let me kill Ramirez.

CHET (laughing): No way.

That dude's a dick.

You kill him here, he stays here.

And no one wants Satan's ball washer

around for all of time.

If I don't trap his soul,

if he leaves this camp, innocent people will die.

We were innocent once, too.

Yeah, all of us were.

Well, except for Ray.

My son's gonna die.

Boo-hoo.

He isn't like me.

He's a good little boy.

Why take everything that was taken from you from him?

How does that make you any better than me?

Bobby.

His name is Bobby.

And if Ramirez makes it out of this camp,

he's gonna die in 24 hours.

Ramirez doesn't kill kids.

Maybe not when you knew him.

Look, he told me about you.

How you brought him up here that night.

Wait. What's he talking about?

How you seduced him, used him to kill for you.

You helped make him.

I didn't make him.

You did it with the Night Stalker?

He wasn't the Night Stalker back then.

It wasn't like it was some big thing.

Maybe not to you, but to him, it was.

You were like his inspiration, the match that lit the fire.

But you have no idea how the fire spread after he left here.

How it spread out of control.

Kids, old people-- it didn't matter.

As long as they were flesh, blood and innocent,

they were ripe for his horrors.

If I could

give you all back what I took from you, I would.

But the only life I have a chance to save now

is my son's.

Please...

give me this last chance.

This is where I woke up,

totally disoriented and afraid.

I thought the night was over.

Little did I know, it had just begun.

Oh, hey, that's good. Can I quote you?

-Sure. -So Margaret rendered you unconscious

using some type of drug?

Horse tranquilizers.

-(chuckling): Great detail. -Here's another one.

It wasn't Margaret.

It was Donna.

She was working with Jingles.

You're saying Donna played an active role

that night at the camp?

Shh. Save it for the book.

-She'd be pissed if she knew that I told you. -Of course.

Close your eyes.

Y-You want to know what I went through that night?

Put yourself in my shoes?

Then let's go there.

That's what real writing's all about, right?

It's what makes a best seller.

That night, everything changed.

I realized I was capable of...

(grunting, groaning)

I can't let you do this!

I agreed to help you kill one person and one person only.

Bitch, run.

No! No!

(both grunting)

This isn't who you are.

There's evil inside you, yes.

It's in us all, dormant and waiting.

I learned that from my father.

It grows in us like a cancer,

but only if you feed it what it wants.

Our hate and anger.

That's how Margaret became who she is.

Same thing with Mr. Jingles.

-All I have is anger. -You're wrong.

You have me.

And together, we have a purpose.

One righteous motherfucking act of revenge.

And if we can do that

without hurting another soul in the process,

it'll wash away every shitty thing we ever did.

And we can both be final girls?

Yeah.

Just not yet.

* Just a man and his will to survive *

* It's the eye of the tiger *

* It's the thrill of the fight *

* Rising up to the challenge of our rival *

* And the last known survivor *

* Stalks his prey in the night... *

Oh, my God. You're...

the Night Stalker.

* The eye of the tiger... *

(Ramirez chuckles)

You're Margaret Booth.

You two are together.

So what she said is true.

Well, I don't know what she told you,

but anything is too much.

* With the skill to survive *

* It's the eye of the tiger... *

You should be careful about the friends you make.

They're not my friends. They're my subjects.

I'm a writer. Use me.

I can make serial killers look sexy and fun.

Or I can just shut the fuck up and not write about it at all.

-I'll do anything you want. -Writers make me sick. (grunts)

* The eye of the tiger. *

So, that's the plan?

We kill everyone we meet?

I love it. I can really get my numbers up.

No, that's not a plan, because it has no purpose.

I want to do something that will change the world.

I'm so in.

Lay it on me.

Jim Morrison's grave,

the archway at the Dakota where John Lennon was shot,

Graceland.

People flock to these places

just to feel a connection to the artist they love.

Well, we're going to give that to them.

We're going to kill every musician

that's coming for the festival.

Flock of Seagulls?

The Go-Go's.

Except Billy Idol.

-Yeah. -We-we can't touch him.

No. Don't touch him.

Fine. People are going to pay to come here.

We're going to make Camp Redwood

the mecca for '80s music memoriam,

and I am going to make a fortune.

I've been looking everywhere for you.

I didn't really want to be found. (sniffles)

Is everything okay?

Montana.

(sighs)

I was thinking--

which generally gets me into trouble--

but, uh,

I had this... real idea.

A radical one.

Because of what you said before, you know,

what if...

what if I stay here and don't grow old?

I mean, physically,

I peaked at 25, so I'm in plateau.

Mentally, I can't imagine myself getting...

much smarter. Uh...

With each passing year, it's just going downhill.

Why not stop the decline?

You want to die here?

Yeah.

I'm gonna kill myself.

I want us to be together,

exactly like this, for eternity.

I am so in love with you, Montana.

That's stupid. You don't even know me.

I'm not someone you can love, much less die for.

I'm a monster.

How can you say that?

My ex-boyfriend is Richard Ramirez.

Wh-What?

Wow. I can't believe you.

I see how you look at me now,

like I'm disgusting.

Men do heinous shit all the time--

carve up tits, fuck dead corpses.

And, you know what, they're treated like rock stars.

Fan mail, movies and books up the wazoo.

And, somehow, it's always Mommy's fault

for not loving them

or the wife who couldn't satisfy him

or the pretty girl who rejected him.

Why are we always the scapegoat

for sick men to blame their bullshit on?

I didn't make Ricky evil.

He was already messed up when I met him.

I didn't know he was gonna go apeshit.

But fuck it.

Fuck you all.

You want to make me out to be the villain?

Fine.

Now I deserve it.

Since I died,

I've killed just as many people as him.

And I fucking like it. (chuckles softly)

It's the only thing in this inescapable hell

that makes me feel alive.

So you're right.

I'm irredeemable.

Montana,

nothing you've done in your past

means you need to keep doing it in your future.

We can all change.

I don't deserve to be happy.

No, I do not accept that.

'Cause you are the only person

that's made me realize what happiness is.

Fuck off, Trevor!

How can I make this more clear?

I don't want you. I need someone fucked-up like me.

I never want to see you again. Go!

Go, Trevor!

(groaning) Please don't do this.

Y-You're not killing me.

You're killing an innocent baby.

Aw. Is it your baby?

Then I'm fine with it.

(groaning)

You're never gonna know peace.

Not while you're here.

(groaning)

You're gonna die over and over.

Not yet.

Let him bleed out slowly,

think about what's to come.

-(grunts) -(groans)

(whimpers)

LARRY: No one can help you now, Mr. Jingles!

(grunts)

(groans) I'm...

(exhales)

I'm sorry, Bobby.

(whimpers)

(footsteps in distance)

(pained grunting)

BOBBY: What did the mayonnaise say to the refrigerator?

What did the mayonnaise say to the refrigerator?

I don't know.

What?

Close the door. I'm dressing.

LAVINIA: I made sandwiches.

No crusts.

Uh, where am I?

We're having a picnic.

All of us, together.

Isn't it nice?

It is.

I love picnics, but...

I...

I don't deserve this.

I f-failed my son.

Oh, Benji.

I am so sorry.

But you did the best you could.

You made the ultimate sacrifice.

There's so much violence and evil in that camp.

Nothing can rise above it.

I...

I lost my Bo... (shudders)

Bobby. (crying)

But we found ours.

He's with us again.

You... brought him back to me.

And I am eternally grateful.

What can I do now?

Um, how can I ever rest?

The past...

it will haunt you forever if you let it.

We're a family here.

This is where you can...

find peace.

BOBBY: Stay with us, Benji,

and nothing can hurt you anymore.

I promise.

(chuckles softly)

Come play with me.

(quietly): Go.

(birds chirping)

Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH