Pontypool Changes Everything

She now studies future images in the afternoon, before the sun abandons her to suicide, and she translates them, using another set of machines sealed between the halves of an adjacent seed. Many of the images depict scenes of murder, but Ellen knows they only shock her to get her attention.

Occasionally, however, she will open a seal and a brief piece of song or snippet of conversation will make her laugh at some discrepancy. This is the mischief of her seals and machines.

10 A Bull Market

Ellen bites the tip of her tongue to squeeze the coffee from it and she tastes blood the moment she drops her mug. The sound of the mug as it spins and stops, hitting the leg of the table, causes her to cry. She bunches up the cold wet of her shirt and pushes her fists into her mouth. She clenches her eyes shut, feeling the blankness of the event scare her, and she hears the voice of a little girl in her mouth.

Detective Peterson hears his wife’s strange sobs and he pounds up the stairs, remembering as he gets to the top: Don’t make a big deal of this, don’t make a big deal of this. When he reaches the television room Ellen is holding herself tightly, straining to keep the voice from her throat. The detective slips in beside her and gently loosens the knot of her arms. He guides her head onto his shoulder and encourages her to cry. She does, and it’s the cry of a grown woman, full of softness for the little girl who is so scared. While he rocks his wife Detective Peterson realizes, without guilt, that none of this is Ellen’s fault. He says, “Is banned, in cape.” She looks up, grateful for the words; restored, she feels his affection diminish the barrier. The detective has failed to notice that he did not, in fact, say the words It’s OK, it’s OK. Rather, he felt their effect on Ellen. At this point he feels ashamed, knowing how wrong he was to have blamed her. Detective Peterson scoops up the mug and asks Ellen if she wants another and she explains to him that she’s already had two cups and maybe better not. He kisses her cheek and leaves the room, turning back as he steps into the hallway to ask if she wants to watch television with him later. She says that she would.it has been so long. Television has been a source of great anguish to her, but maybe now, with her husband sitting beside her, it would be like it was. Detective Peterson walks into the kitchen just as the phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Detective?”

“Yes?”

“We need a report on what happened this afternoon. The sargent has called in the RCs on this one. They think we got more than one killer. We gotta find Les Reardon.”

“Purse snatch… purse snatch… fucker…”

Peterson lowers the phone and feels a wind across his face. Bits of words catch in the sunlight across the top of the stove like barbs off a wire. He swings the receiver through them and they part in eddies around his wrist. He brings the phone back up to his ear.

“What? Detective Peterson, are you there? Hello?”

“Hello?”

“Yeah, sir, what did you say?”

“What?”

“What did you say?”

“Say?”

“Yeah, what did you say?”

“Say?”

“Are you OK, sir?”

“Is barn, is messy.”

“I think I’ll come out there, sir, if that’s all right. I gotta couple of things to do first, but I think I’ll come out there. Is that all right, sir?”

Peterson thinks, Well, there isn’t anything wrong. I’m fine for fuck’s sake, I just can’t seem to say so. And he says: “Dirty dump… dirty day.”

“Uh… detective, we have a very serious situation unfolding in the region and if you don’t think you can… uh… handle it right now… I have to tell somebody.”

“Dirty, dirty, dirty.”

Peterson places the phone back in its cradle. He hears his wife call his name and he jumps. A flash of rage fills his chest. He runs into the living room and snatches the TV Guide before dashing up the stairs. By the time he reaches the top he calms again. He hears Ellen singing softly to herself. The song is very familiar. He can’t name it. As he enters the television room and lays the TV Guide in her lap he asks her what the song is. She tells him and he smiles, remembering its source. He hums a bar as he flips the macramé throw over the top of the television screen. Ellen suggests a television show and the detective pretends to consider it — he’s going to watch whatever she wants, and eventually smiles at her choice. The television pops on and the Rembrandt hues of a soap opera appear. This is the program they had decided on, and as they settle in each other’s arms to begin watching it they both feel an identical discomfort. Without discussing it Ellen switches the channel until she finds something. It happens to be exactly what the detective would have chosen.

Night Court. A rerun.

As Bull looks for a place to hide a mop, the Petersons nod to the closet that waits off camera.

11 Nadia Comaneci