Horror Highlights: DONNIE DARKO, Exclusive Clip of Danny Trejo in STARS SELLING CARS, LOVE IS DEAD, BLOODRUNNERS, THE RAINS Excerpt, MALICIOUS, ED

I'm uncertain of what is real and what is a figment of Donnie's imagination, but the world of Donnie Darko is certainly a mad one. Arrow Films will release a 4K restoration of Donnie Darko (2001) in UK cinemas to celebrate the 15th anniversary of the mind-bending film. Today's Horror Highlights also features an exclusive clip of Danny Trejo in Stars Selling Cars, Jerry Smith's new short film Love is Dead, a trailer for Bloodrunners, followed by an excerpt from The Rains, casting details for Malicious and Chris Sun (Charlie's Farm) first novel, Ed, to round out today's Highlights.

UK Cinema Release of Donnie Darko: Press Release: "Monday 31st October 2016 – Arrow Films is thrilled to announce that it will release the all-time indie cult classic DONNIE DARKO (2001) into UK cinemas to celebrate its 15th Anniversary with a 4K Restoration. The original theatrical version will have an exclusive run at the BFI from the 16th December followed by a nationwide release from the 23rd December 2016. The Director’s Cut, which has been newly remastered, will also be available for screenings. The release also coincides with the 25th Anniversary of film distributor Arrow Films.

Fifteen years before Stranger Things combined science-fiction, Spielberg-ian touches and '80s nostalgia to much acclaim, Writer/Director Richard Kelly set the template and the high-water mark with his debut feature, Donnie Darko. Initially beset with distribution problems, it would slowly find its audience and emerge as arguably the first cult classic of the new millennium.

Donnie is a troubled high school student: in therapy, prone to sleepwalking and in possession of an imaginary friend, a six-foot rabbit named Frank, who tells him the world is going to end in 28 days 06 hours 42 minutes and 12 seconds. During that time he will navigate teenage life, narrowly avoid death in the form of a falling jet engine, follow Frank s maladjusted instructions and try to maintain the space-time continuum.

Described by its director as The Catcher in the Rye as told by Philip K. Dick, Donnie Darko combines an eye-catching, eclectic cast pre-stardom Jake and Maggie Gyllenhaal, heartthrob Patrick Swayze, former child star Drew Barrymore, Oscar nominees Mary McDonnell and Katharine Ross, and television favourite Noah Wyle and an evocative soundtrack of 80s classics by Echo and the Bunnymen, Tears for Fears and Duran Duran. This brand-new 4K restoration carried out exclusively for this release by Arrow Films, allows a modern classic to finally receive the treatment it deserves."

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Exclusive Clip from New Episode of Stars Selling Cars, Featuring Danny Trejo: "STARS SELLING CARS [is] a hilarious comedy series that asks the age old question: What if celebrities went undercover and surprised unsuspecting members of the public by trying to sell them a car? Some stars will know all the specs, and be able to talk horsepower, torque and fuel economy. Others will not know MPG from MPH, but they’ll do whatever they can to close the deal."

Premiering today on Autoblog is a new episode of Stars Selling Cars, featuring Danny Trejo, and we have an exclusive clip from the episode for Daily Dead readers to enjoy. To learn more about the series, visit:

• http://www.autoblog.com/stars-selling-cars/

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Watch the Short Film Love is Dead (NSFW): "Sickening Pictures and Dexahlia Productions have released Love Is Dead for free online viewing. The emotional horror short stars adult film actors Aaron "Small Hands" Thompson and Joanna Angel, alongside genre favorite Ruben Pla (Insidious, Big Ass Spider).

Watch Love Is Dead now: https://vimeo.com/sickeningpictures/loveisdead

In Love Is Dead, a man recounts the final moment of his marriage and tries to determine if he could have saved his wife, and himself.

Love Is Dead is written and directed by Jerry Smith, a horror film journalist best known for his contributions to Fangoria, Blumhouse, and Icons of Fright. While his day job finds him exploring fictional horror, Smith's dark drama deals with the real horror we can force each other to endure. The filmmaker drew inspiration from his own life to tap into the raw emotion.

"I strove to make an emotional horror short about the destructive and abusive power of what we say," explains Smith. "While writing the script, I was in the middle of a painful divorce, one that had many ups and even more downs throughout the eight years we were married. It was a toxic relationship and one which became very emotionally violent, leading both of us down very upsetting and destructive paths. My real life motivated the writing Love Is Dead, the story of my ex-wife and I and how sometimes something very beautiful and full of love can eventually turn into something painful and full of hate.""

NSFW:

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A Look at the New Trailer for Bloodrunners and Premiere Details: Press Release: "Los Angeles, CA - Speakeasy Pictures and IMPULSE-FX have released the first trailer for the period action thriller Bloodrunners. The latest feature from writer-director Dan Lantz (Blind Love, Felix Melman), Bloodrunners centers on a turf war between a crooked cop and a power-hungry vampire (Ice-T, "Law and Order: SVU") over a small town soaked in illegal hooch during the height of Prohibition.

Bloodrunners combines the action of crime dramas with the otherworldly gore of vampire legends. Michael McFadden (The Networker) headlines as a cop living large on looking the other way as booze flows through his protectorate. When he discovers that Chesterfield, the owner of the latest speakeasy has a thirst for warm blood as well as cold hard cash, he must find a way to save his town before it dries up.

By 1933, Prohibition has proven a booming enterprise, where average citizens break the law, hide in the shadows and operate at night. The new world order has even lined the pockets of corrupt cops like Jack Malone (McFadden). He collects a 'luxury tax' from every bootlegger and scofflaw in the small town he has sworn to protect. While shaking down the newest speakeasy in the local underground, Jack and his men uncover a clan of vampires hell-bent on taking over the town. Now Chesterfield (Ice-T), an ancient vampire, and his horde must hide their secret at any cost. The bloody result leaves several bodies and innocent townsfolk taken as lambs to await the slaughter. With nowhere else to turn, Jack joins forces with a busboy and a crazy preacher to save the town and make a final stand against Chesterfield and his vampires.

Bloodrunners is expected to premiere in 2017."

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Read an Excerpt from Gregg Hurwitz's The Rains: Synopsis: "The first young adult page-turner from New York Times bestselling author Gregg Hurwitz. In one terrifying night, the peaceful community of Creek's Cause turns into a war zone. No one under the age of eighteen is safe. Chance Rain and his older brother, Patrick, have already fended off multiple attacks from infected adults by the time they arrive at the school where other young survivors are hiding.

Most of the kids they know have been dragged away by once-trusted adults who are now ferocious, inhuman beings. The parasite that transformed them takes hold after people turn eighteen--and Patrick's birthday is only a few days away.

Determined to save Patrick's life and the lives of the remaining kids, the brothers embark on a mission to uncover the truth about the parasites--and what they find is horrifying. Battling an enemy not of this earth, Chance and Patrick become humanity's only hope for salvation."

Excerpt from The Rains by Gregg Hurwitz, now available from Tor Teen

Entry 4

It was later that same night when Patrick came to get me in the barn.

Gripping the baling hooks at my sides, I stepped through the rolled-back door into the night. My brother’s face was turned to the east. That bitter breeze kept blowing in across the fields.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Patrick raised a hand for silence.

A shift of the wind brought distant noises. Hammering sounds. And then, barely audible, the squeals of children.

“McCafferty’s place?” I asked.

“Sounds like it.”

“Do we wake Uncle Jim?”

Patrick turned his gaze at me. “And if it’s just the kids messing around, playing a game? You wanna be the one to tell Jim sorry for dragging him outta bed, knowing the workday he’s got tomorrow?”

I spit to try to clear the bitter taste from my mouth. “Then why do we need the shotgun?”

Patrick headed along the side of our ranch house toward the McCafferty place. “’Cuz what if we see a buck along the way?”

I didn’t smile.

As we passed the rows of cozy crates lining the outside wall, our seven remaining ridgies stirred, a few of the boys sniffing the air and starting to growl. All at once they went crazy, snapping at the scent on the wind and howling. When they were riled up, you could hear the hound in them.

“Quiet,” Patrick hissed. “Quiet!” Then to me, “Make them shut up before they wake Jim and Sue-Anne.”

I said, “Hush,” and the dogs fell silent, though Cassius whimpered with impatience.

Weeds grew tough and fast out here, so Uncle Jim let a few hungry goats roam the acre beyond our doorstep to keep the view. A few bleated as we passed them by and cut through the pasture. Some of the cows stirred as we drifted by. As we neared the McCafferty place, the cries got louder and my mouth dryer. The air tasted so vile I choked on it.

“You think something’s burning?”

Patrick shook his head. “No. That’s something else.”

A dot of yellow illuminated the McCafferty porch, the light glowing next to the front screen. The door was laid open, the house’s interior black as pitch.

We heard the kids clearly now through that screen door. This was no game. They weren’t squealing.

They were screaming.

A slow, steady banging echoed out at us.

Maybe Hank was drunk again, trying to kick down the kids’ door. Maybe there was an escapee from the state pen one county over. Maybe a homicidal psychopath had hitchhiked to our quiet little town and decided to have some fun.

The terrible banging continued from inside the house.

I whispered, “Should we go back and get Uncle Jim?”

“And leave JoJo and Rocky to whatever’s happening?” Patrick said.

The question required no answer. I shrank back behind Patrick. Despite the cold, I could see sweat sparkling on the nape of his neck. He quickened his pace. When we were about twenty yards away, he stopped and called out, “Whoever’s causing trouble in there, I got a shotgun!”

The banging ceased at once.

The McCafferty kids inside—JoJo and Rocky—stopped screaming, but we could still hear them sobbing. Patrick and I stood side by side, his shotgun raised, my grip growing tighter on the baling hooks.

JoJo’s wails tailed off into silence.

From inside the house came a creak. Then another. Someone descending the stairs?

The footsteps continued, maddeningly slow, growing nearer.

Then we sensed a dark form behind the mesh of the screen. Just standing there. Staring ahead. We couldn’t make out anything more than a silhouette of shoulders and a head, shadow against darkness.

Breaths clouded through the screen, quick puffs of mist in the cold night air. A sound carried out to us—shallow pants, as if from someone who had just learned to breathe.

Patrick jacked the pump of the Winchester, the shuck-shuck loud enough to make my scalp crawl.

The breaths continued. The wind blew cold and steady.

It went down so fast we could barely register it.

The screen banged open. A woman in a nightgown flew out, a clawed hand jerking up to shatter the porch light, the front of the house falling into darkness. Bare feet hammered across the boards, and then the form leapt over the railing, moonlit, limbs spread like a cat’s. She landed on all fours, bounded up onto two, and scampered toward the grain silo.

A hatch opened on rusty hinges, then banged shut.

Patrick and I stood there in the night for a moment, breathing. My undershirt clung to me, and I realized I’d sweated right through it. Slowly, Patrick lowered his shoulders.

“What . . . was that thing?” I said.

“A woman, I expect. We better check it out.”

My heart did something weird in my chest. “Shouldn’t we check on JoJo and Rocky instead?”

“And let her escape?” Patrick said. “We got her cornered in the silo. What if she gets out and circles behind us? Or heads back for Jim and Sue-Anne?”

He started walking through the gloom toward the grain silo. He was my brother. I had to follow.

Plus, being alone with that thing out here didn’t sound much better.

The side hatch was loose, swaying in the wind. The latches clicked against the metal wall.

Patrick readied the shotgun with one hand as he reached for the handle. His fingers might have been steady, but my whole body was shaking.

The hatch creaked open, and Patrick stepped back, pointing the shotgun barrel at the black square. We waited for something to fly out at us.

But nothing came.

We blinked, let our eyes acclimate to the darkness.

Uneven mounds of barley rose head-high.

The woman stood at the far side of the silo behind one of the mounds, facing away so we could make out only a shoulder and the back of a head.

She half turned, and we caught a silhouette. Her skin looked pale, and her nightgown was torn and ragged at the shoulder, as if chewed.

Patrick lowered the shotgun. “Mrs. McCafferty?” he said. “Are you all right?”

She twitched a few times, her head jerking to the side. Moonlight from the open hatch cast her in an otherworldly glow.

“Did someone hurt you?” Patrick asked. “Is something in there with you?”

He lifted one leg and started to duck into the hatch, ducking down to get the Stetson through. I grabbed his shoulder. “Patrick,” I said. “No.”

“I have to make sure she’s okay,” he said, shaking me off.

He entered, stepping over the arm of the sweep auger. It was like a giant clock hand that rotated around the floor, sweeping the barley toward a center vertical auger that carried the grain up through the roof and into a chute for loading trucks. It wasn’t moving now, shut down for the day.

I armed sweat from my forehead and watched my brother approach Mrs. McCafferty. I could see directly over his shoulder. She remained partly turned toward us, twitching and slightly hunched. Her rhythmic breathing continued, bellows without the wheeze.

“Mrs. McCafferty?” Patrick said. “Whatever happened to you, it’s over now. You’re okay.”

She turned and looked at us.

For a moment I didn’t believe what I was seeing.

In place of eyes, two tunnels ran straight through her skull. The beam of illumination from the flashlight cast twin glowing dots on the silo wall behind her. There was no blood at all on her face.

Those cored-out holes seemed to look right at us.

And then she lunged.

Patrick stumbled back, his ankle catching on the thick metal auger arm, and he went down, his hat tumbling off. She scrambled over the mound of grain, her bare feet fighting for traction, rivulets spilling beneath her heels. Her face was blank, devoid of any emotion, even as she reached the top of the mound and leapt for Patrick, limbs spread as they’d been when she’d sprung over the porch railing.

The sound of the shotgun inside the silo was deafening. The blast hit her in the stomach, knocking her back onto the mound of grain and embedding her in the side like a snow angel, arms thrown wide. The echo kept on, cycling in the metal walls and in my own head, crashing like cymbals.

Patrick pulled himself up, his face bloodless. He staggered over to the open hatch.

My mouth was working but could find no words. Although I couldn’t hear anything yet, I saw his mouth moving.

And then the percussive crash lessened and his words came clear. “Chance. Chance. We gotta get help. We gotta get the sheriff.”

I tried to nod.

But then, behind him, I sensed movement.

Mrs. McCafferty, pulling herself stiffly up out of the mound of barley. Her torso and head rose as one. A few strands of hair swept across the back of her head, making the light through her eyeholes flicker. And then she tilted forward onto her feet, grain showering off her like sand.

She was right there, visible over Patrick’s shoulder.

I didn’t have time to yell, so I grabbed him to yank him through the hatch. I caught both his arms, the shotgun flying to land on the ground beyond me. I tugged his head through when she grabbed him from behind and ripped him into the silo with enough force to throw me off my feet. My forehead banged the hatch, and I fell into the soft mud outside the silo.

Somewhere Patrick was yelling, his shouts amplified inside the giant metal drum.

I willed myself not to black out. Grabbing the sill of the hatch, I pulled myself to my feet and forced myself to look.

Bleeding freely from her gut, Mrs. McCafferty had pinned Patrick to the floor on his stomach. He looked stunned and semiconscious; he must have struck the floor hard, or he would have overpowered her. She was crouched on his back like some feral animal, one knee between his shoulder blades. She ripped out a hank of her own long hair, and it came free with a plug of skin riding the end. Using her hair as rope, she started to bind Patrick’s wrists at the small of his back.

Drooling blood, my brother blinked at me languidly.

I started to climb in after him, but he was yelling for me to stay out.

“No!” I yelled. “I’m not leaving you!”

Terrified, I swung one leg through the hatch, straddling the metal lip.

That’s when his words finally registered: “Turn on the sweep auger!”

Mrs. McCafferty’s clawlike hands secured the hair in a knot, Patrick’s wrists cinched tight.

Then her head snapped up, those eyeless eyes pinning me to my spot.

I jerked back out of the hatch, stumbling to keep my feet beneath me. Mrs. McCafferty popped upright so quickly it seemed like she’d been jerked by a string. Then she flew toward me.

Panicked, I reached for the mounted box next to me, flipped open the guard lid, and hammered the big red button that turned it on.

The sweep auger roared to life inside the silo.

Mrs. McCafferty stopped midway between Patrick and me, her head cocked at the sudden commotion.

The auger began its rotation around the floor, the drive hooks raking through the mounds of barley, then skittering across the bare spots that provided no friction. Husk particles whirled up, filling the space inside.

Patrick rolled onto his knees, then stood, fighting his hands free. Dust clouded the air, bits of barley beating against him, blinding him. I raised an arm against the onslaught to block my eyes.

The metal arm rotated around the floor, a giant clock arm sweeping toward Patrick.

I yelled as loud as I could into the roar. “Jump, Patrick!”

Blindly, he leapt up, bringing his knees high as the drive hooks whipped beneath him. He caught a heel on the edge and fell, safe for now on the silo’s floor as the arm swung away into its next rotation.

Mrs. McCafferty started for me again. Sheets of barley rippled underfoot, slowing her progress. But still she came on.

I fought my instinct to slam the hatch door; I couldn’t lock Patrick in there with her. Particles flecked my face, my eyes. My boots felt rooted to the ground.

Through the holes bored in her head, I could see my brother find his feet again, shaking his hands free of the restraint Mrs. McCafferty had fashioned from her ripped-out hair. Shielding his eyes from the flurry of hulls and spikelets, he took his bearings.

He’d never get to me in time.

Mrs. McCafferty reached for me, both hands tensed to yank me through the hatch.

But just as her fingers brushed my chest, she was ripped backward, her arms flying up over her head, her legs snared on the thick drive hooks of the sweep auger. The sturdy arm whipped her around the circumference of the silo, sucking her in toward the vertical auger in the middle.

Her lower half met the junction first. The drive belt squealed as the powerful teeth ground flesh and bone. She was still alive, clawing haplessly at the floor, her fingernails snapping.

Finally able to see, Patrick whisked his cowboy hat off the floor and jumped over the arm again as it flew at him. He sprinted for me and dove through the hatch.

We heard Mrs. McCafferty shriek as she was siphoned up into the vertical auger, too narrow for a human form. A crimson spray painted the swarming barley hulls and metal walls, and then Patrick’s muscular arm reached past me and slammed the hatch door shut.

He banged the big red button with the heel of his hand, and all of a sudden there was quiet in the world again. We both leaned against the closed hatch door, breathing hard.

We stayed like that for a long time.

Then Patrick bent over, picked up his shotgun, and headed for the house. “The kids,” he said.

GREGG HURWITZ is a New York Times bestselling thriller author. His novels, including They’re Watching, Trust No One, The Crime Writer, Troubleshooting, and Orphan X, have been shortlisted for numerous literary awards, graced top ten lists, and have been translated into over two dozen languages. He is also a New York Times bestselling comic book writer, having penned stories for Marvel and DC. Additionally, he's written screenplays for many major studios and written, developed, and produced television for various networks. Hurwitz resides in Los Angeles.

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Malicious Casting Details: Press Release: "London: 27th Oct 2016 – London-based sales and financing entity The Salt Company is commencing sales on Malicious, a US set horror film from writer/director Michael Winnick (Guns, Girls and Gambling) about a young college professor and his pregnant wife who unwittingly release a malevolent entity with murderous intentions when they find and open an antique box in their new home.

Starring Josh Stewart (Insidious 4, The Neighbor, The Collector), Delroy Lindo (Point Break, Gone In Sixty Seconds, A Life Less Ordinary), Bojana Novakovic (Edge Of Darkness, Devil, Drag Me To Hell), Melissa Bolona (Dog Eat Dog, Category 5) and Yvette Yates (Inherent Vice, El Gringo), the film is in its final week of principal photography.

Producers are Patrick Rizzotti and Brett Forbes (The Neighbor, The Collection, The Collector) of Fortress Features. Executive producers are Shaun Redick and Ray Mansfield of Movie Package Company (Get Out, Dog Eat Dog). Lost Hills Film Fund, a venture launched this year by Forbes, Rizzotti, Redick and Mansfield to finance and produce director driven elevated genre films, is financing. Lost Hills is set to produce and finance 10 movies over the next three years that include comedies, thrillers, sci-fi, and horror.

"We are very excited that Lost Hills is wrapping production on Malicious, our first in a slate of ten films. We are actively acquiring IP and developing, producing and financing for a global theatrical marketplace,” said Shaun Redick.

"This fund gives us the means to allow creative talent room to flourish. Collectively we have many years of experience making quality films at a certain budget level and look forward to finding the right material that can be made within our financial model," said Patrick Rizzotti.

The Salt Company is handling all international sales on Malicious. The North American rights are represented by Lost Hills Films."

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Chris Sun's Novel ED Release Details: Press Release: "Award-winning screenplay writer and director Chris Sun (Charlie's Farm, Daddy’s Little Girl) has written his first horror novel... And you’re not ready for this! Source Point Press has announced the release date of the serial killer novel “Ed” will be October 31st , Halloween.

Ed tells the story of a Larry, an Ed-Gein obsessed serial killer. Ed Gein’s crimes were so depraved and macabre that he became a classic horror icon for such fictional characters as Norman Bates, Leatherface, and Buffalo Bill. But regardless of all this notoriety, no one would ever really understand Gein the way Larry does. Ed was an artist, and Larry understood his inspiration. He saw the same thing when he looked at human skin, the seductive promise of screaming and pain, the raw unadulterated feeling of power. All skin was potential art. But unlike Ed Gein, who robbed graves for his prize, Larry took pleasure in a warm, living body....

“We’re excited to be working with this world-renown filmmaker. Chris’ novel fits wonderfully in our horror lineup,” says Source Point Press Editor-In-Chief Travis McIntire. Having previously been released only in Australia, this newly edited edition will be available to order October 31st and will be available internationally through the book distributor Ingram.

“In celebration of this release, Chris Sun’s film company Slaughter FX built some amazing Ed Gein style skin furniture props,” says Source Point’s Art Director Joshua Werner. “They’re a great example of the passion and excitement we all have for this book release.”

Source Point Press is a Detroit-based publisher of horror, supernatural, the occult, and pulp comics, novels, and art books. Founded in 2012 by Joshua Werner and Trico J. Lutkins, Source Point Press slowly paid their dues on the convention circuit, churning out titles. That hard work has begun to pay off as they find themselves as one of the fastest growing small press publishers in the industry!

More information can be found at www.SourcePointPress.com, twitter.com/SourcePtPress and facebook.com/SourcePointPress"