“A nightly buffet, laid for creatures who feast on human fear? Yes. I know.” “You make us sound so uncultured.” She gestures to the curtains. “Playing in that room is the movie Alien. 1979. Ridley Scott. A symphony of tension, rising to shock, disgust, horror. Mellowing to a tremulous kind of anxiety. For those zmory with far more delicate palates than most—for the rest, we offer a slasher movie every Wednesday. Quick, hot scares, like a plate of french fries.” She touches her hand to her belly. “Delicious. But not particularly refined.”
