Trembling With Fear 6-8-25

DeathCon-1, by Charles Williams

The only thing Andy Dupont disliked about promoting horror conventions was dealing with the celebrities. Selecting the right venue, attracting vendors, recruiting volunteers, and handling publicity were a breeze compared to the storm clouds a fourth lead in the third sequel of a popular movie franchise could gather. Andy had endured everything from complaints about the air-conditioning to complete meltdowns in his four years of wrangling guests for his annual DeathCon. Unfortunately, celebrities were the lifeblood of any successful convention.

Last year he had searched frantically for the teenage lead of “Trick or Tarot” who was five minutes late for his panel appearance. Andy found him in a smoke-filled storage closet sharing a blunt with the twin stars of “Gorilla Girls” and a writer from “Rolling Bone”. It turned out to be the mellowest panel discussion anyone could remember at a DeathCon. That adventure was paling in  comparison with the lost weekend Dupont was currently sharing with Arthur Ravelli.

It started on the ride from the airport to the hotel. Andy was serving as the personal driver for this year’s biggest attraction and largest investment. Ravelli had never been a major star, but he had found a measure of fame as a supporting player in a number of big-budget gangster flicks. Late in his career he had earned genre cult status for portraying a hard-to-get-rid-of corpse in the horror-comedy “Nearly Departed” and its two sequels. Three minutes into his ride to the hotel, the elderly actor slumped over in the back of Dupont’s Pathfinder. At first he appeared to reprising his most famous role in Andy’s honor, but closer inspection revealed that he was actually dead drunk.

The next day, Andy paced anxiously in front of the celebrity tables leading into the expansive vending area. Arthur was two hours late, and the line of impatient patrons waiting to meet “Vinnie the Corpse” extended down the hall and past the restrooms. The old thespian finally called to say that he was feeling too ill to make it, and Dupont calmly reminded him that being paid an appearance fee would require an actual appearance. The actor, with a volunteer assistant positioned under each arm, shuffled slowly to his table twenty minutes later.

Arthur Ravelli was an imposing man. At six-foot four and two hundred fifty pounds, he was difficult to overlook in any of his films, regardless of the size of his role. He sat down gingerly in the metal folding chair behind his table with a young female liaison seated on his left. He stared blankly straight ahead, his heavy eyelids allowing no insight into his mood. His dyed dark-brown hair and expressionless face melded with his robotic movements as people walked up to greet him. They all wanted a selfie with “Vinnie the Corpse”, and Arthur was able revisit his most famous role with very little effort.

Andy made it a personal goal to check in with each of the featured guests every two hours. Each time he passed Ravelli’s table, the fading star was in his “Vinnie” pose with some eager fan shelling out forty dollars for a photo. If this kept up, Arthur was bound to make enough to let the promoter off the hook for his contracted payment.

During his four o’clock walk-by, Andy was summoned by the frantically waving hand of Arthur’s helper, Katie. She motioned for him to come close enough to whisper, “Mr. Ravelli hasn’t opened his eyes or changed position for almost an hour. I tried to rouse him, but he’s not responding.” Katie’s concern was obvious, even with her hushed tone. “People just keep coming up to take pictures, so I collect their money and let them.”

Andy examined the genre legend carefully. He was clearly dead, the early stages of rigor mortis helping to maintain his slumped, upright position in the chair. His head tilted slightly to the left. His mouth had a sleeping grandfather’s gape, and the slitted eyes gazed vacantly forward. It was the classic “Vinnie the Corpse” pose that everyone had come to see. 

“He’s always been a method actor, Katie,” whispered Andy. “Let’s let him work.”

The promoter turned and surveyed the long queue stretching out from the late Arthur Ravelli’s celebrity table and figured that old “Vinnie the Corpse” would easily earn his guarantee in another hour or so. A few feet above the actor’s head, a solitary blow fly began a desultory descent, waiting patiently for its turn in line.