Donnie the deer
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To: Cast and crew of the the horror film "Bemona"
From: Your friendly neighborhood SFX make-up artist
Recently many of you have emailed and called me with concerns that maybe Iím internalizing the stress of the shoot a little too much. Itís true. Iíll admit it, even two weeks after the shoot, that maybe I have been a little irritable or irrational. I thought about that for a whileóand I wondered why I had been so wrapped up in the nightmares and the reminders of the shoot.
Then I remember. I live with Donnie.
And it all makes sense! Donnie the Dead deer has been on the floor the whole time! Perhaps this hunk of rotting fake animal flesh has something to do with it. For those of you not aware of why I have a dead deer in my NYC apartment let me remind you of scenes 1, 4, and 25 which involved this little bastard.
I have been keeping a journal of my new life with Donnie. We have been roommates for 17 days now. I thought giving you this journal might shed some insight on why I completely snapped the other day at the post-shoot meeting.
We have arrived home from Vermont at 6am. I am... Well, they don't have words for how I feel. I imagine it's something along the lines of what you feel when your newborn child is run over by a semi-truck which then backs over it. Donnie is quiet in his plastic bag, still soaked from the rain storm yesterday. This was the shoot from hell.
Today is really two days later. What happened to Monday? I feel that I have awakened from a bad dream. I am startled and let out a yelp upon finding a dead deer on the ground... Curious.
The temporary amnesia has let up. I remember it all. The ice, the rain, the blood, the accidental fire. They have returned to haunt me. I have called Larry (the man we rented the deer from) and discovered that he is gone in Alaska... I am not happy about this.
This room is so fucking small with Donnie taking up the hallway. I have to step over him to get to the shower. This is not cool. Donnie stares at me while I do my homework. This is weird.
I kicked Donnie hard in the side today and called him a bitch. I also called the producer; she says that Larry being gone is "too bad." I am considering putting Donnie in the closet.
Brought a date home tonight. She is pretty with green eyes. I forget about Donnie until I enter with her and realize that I have a dead Deer on the floor. My date, despite her intense understanding, is a little freaked out. She has to "get up early." I cover Donnie in a sheet to avoid further misunderstanding and cry myself to sleep.
I stay out all day to avoid coming home to Donnie. At midnight I stumble in and trip over him. This can not go a day longer.
Call the producer again to explain that I never understood I would be responsible for having Donnie at my place for a week after the shoot. I call Larry again. No answer. Must still be in Alaska. Donnie has begun to make noises in the night. I think he's tired of being on the floor.
I have decided to live with Donnie. I don't think he's going anywhere now. I might as well accept him as a member of the house. Today I feel better.
My friends are beginning to think I'm weird every time I bring them in and Donnie is on the ground. I try to explain but they just call me a "maniac." Things between Donnie and I are good though.
I have set up the top bunk bed for Donnie to sleep on. I rent Fight Club and we watch it together.
While walking around my bed at night my head is cut open by one of Donnieís antlers. This relationship is on the rocks.
Donnie is rotting. The smell of mildew is making me gag. I call the producer again. My situation is "too bad" again. WHY WON'T THIS SHOOT END?
Donnie can't be on the bed anymore. I think the mildew is spreading to the cushion. I stuff Donnie upright into a closet and tape the door shut.
I know he's in there. The closest is bulging out. I know heís watching me. At least no one knows he's here anymore. I HATE DEER. I rent Fight Club again.
The wound on my head is healing nicely. I am afraid the whole room is going to start rotting. The word "bemona" is now likely to send me into an epileptic seizure. I find myself exclaiming "Welcome to my lifeĒ as people enter my room. I then point to my closet. I am thinking of seeking therapy for "post-bemona stress syndrome." Maybe they have a place for people who have had traumatic experiences with deer. The smell from the closet is beginning to creep me out.
Day: 17 (Donnie takes a bath)
I have been dreading peeling off the plastic covering Donnie since day one. I had been hoping someone would take him away from me so I didn't have to clean him. Today I have decided to scrub the mildew out of his fur. I think I am having a religious revelation. If this continues I am considering forming my own religion centered around Donnie. Scrubbing Donnie is the opposite of fun, by the way. Imagine your birthday party, the best one you've ever had. With mint chocolate chip ice cream cake and pretty girls in flower dresses. Imagine the sun through the trees reflecting gently in the green leaves of an apple tree.
Now imagine the exact opposite of that and you have me scrubbing down a dead deer in my bathtub.
I have decided to send my journal to some friends as a last gasp for help. Perhaps one of them will rescue me from this nightmare. Donnie has begun to speak in German to me. Maybe I should switch my major to animal studies.