A reporter and a psychic race to close the Gates of Hell after the suicide of a clergyman caused them to open, allowing the dead to rise from the grave.

Theresa: You don't deserve help! You're a comic book version of a detective, Sergeant!
Sgt. Clay: Well, you look better in your mug shot, you know. The great Theresa. The master medium. Yeah, for you it's all in the book of... of... what's it called?
Theresa: Enoch.
Sgt. Clay: Yeah, Enoch. According to you, this poor girl is dead because of a book that was written 4,000 years ago. Correct?
Theresa: That's right. I would find a such an unusual paradox of tremendous appeal terribly stimulating, if I were a sleuth. Enoch provides the explanation in every detail of a crime, before it has been committed.
Sgt. Clay: Lady, you're either on grass, or you're pulling my leg.
Theresa: No. The problem is in your mind. It cannot accept the truth.
Theresa: Mary, tell us what you saw in your last vision.
Mary Woodhouse: The city of the dead. The living dead. A cursed city where the gates of hell have been opened.
Peter Bell: Where exactly is this city?
Mary Woodhouse: I don't know where it is. All that I know is that it's called Dunwich.
Peter Bell: Well, I've never heard of it. How do you know? How can you be so sure?
Mary Woodhouse: I read the name... on a tombstone.
Theresa: Mr. Bell, if those gates are left open, it could mean the end of humanity. We've got to get them shut again. At midnight on Monday, we go into All Saint's Day. The night of the dead begins. If the portholes of hell aren't shut before, no dead body will ever rest in peace. The dead will rise up all over the world and take over the Earth! You must get to Dunwich, Mr. Bell. You must reclose those gates!
Mary Woodhouse: It's her... Mrs. Holden. This morning she was inside a coffin at the funeral home, and now she's here in my kitchen!
[reading a porno magazine]
Blonde gravedigger: Will you check her out? Talk about a "box lunch".
Gravedigger: I'm telling you, you'll end up a dirty old man reading that stuff. A pervert. A peeping tom. I saw this porno flick once. This guy in the audience got so carried away with it, he humped himself to death.
Blonde gravedigger: Yeah, but what a way to go.
[examining the dead body of Emily Robbins]
Dr. Joe Thompson: Well, she certainly wasn't strangled. There doesn't seem to be any kind of physical abuse.
Sheriff Russell: Well, what was the cause of her death then?
Dr. Joe Thompson: Some kind of cardiac arrest. Only that expression on her face is like pure fear, like something scared her to death.
Sheriff Russell: Scared her?
Dr. Joe Thompson: [to Emily's father] Excuse me, Mr. Robbins, do you know if your daughter had a heart condition?
Mr. Robbins: No... no...
Sheriff Russell: Well, what's our procedure?
Dr. Joe Thompson: Sit tight. Everything depends on the autopsy.
Sheriff Russell: All right, I'll sit tight. But what am I supposed to do in the meantime?
Dr. Joe Thompson: You'll get your orders after that from the D.A.
[exits]
Sheriff Russell: All right, but let me hear from you first, Joe.
Peter Bell: Hi, officer. I'm looking for Sergeant Clay. Is he in there?
Policeman outside apartment building: And who are you?
Peter Bell: Oh, my name's Peter Bell. I'm with...
Policeman outside apartment building: Don't tell me. You're a newspaper reporter. I can smell you guys a mile away.
Peter Bell: You're right. I'm actually a journalist. Listen, there's a rumor going around your station house that some young woman died mysteriously in an apartment up on the third floor and I was wondering if I can talk to Sergeant Clay about it to investigate more about this mystery.
Policeman outside apartment building: There's no mystery around here. I'm the next guy who dies if I let any unauthorized people into this building.
Peter Bell: [getting a little frustrated] Uh... say listen. Is there any way you and I can come to uh... say a "gentlemen's agreement"? Huh?
Policeman outside apartment building: You're talkin' into my deaf ear, pal. Now take my advice and beat it before the sergeant comes out.
Peter Bell: [walks away] Okay... I'll take your advice.

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