Women and pampering are nowhere more inseparable than at the day spa. Once a lady has checked in to the beneficent environs of the workout emporium for bodily enhancement, she is loath to leave. Not even killing her can chase her out, at least not if she is the deceased wife who haunts Death Spa (1988), exerting her infernal influence on a long line of the establishment’s comely, shapely, fully fit customers. Heads explode, exercise machines go berserk with fatal consequences, and exposed skin melts away in showers that suddenly spray acid. The Death Spa’s widower owner can’t help thinking that a divorce would have been easier after all.