Saturday, October 31, 2015

Aurora Before Dawn.

The following story contains adult themes and graphic descriptions. Reader discretion is advised.

In 1996, the newly formed band Gremlin Feast began the first leg of its North American tour. Nearly twenty years later, not much had changed. They were still blasting their particularly grotesque brand of heavy metal from coast to coast. Little Rock. Topeka. San Jose. Peoria... they'd thrashed with the best in the business in practically every city in America. Hell, they even played to a sold-out rodeo arena outside El Paso once... just for free beer.

Years on the road means you never really have a home. For the members of Gremlin Feast, home was their tour bus. Nicknamed "The Mule", they'd rode her hard for far too many years. Yet, somehow it had managed to keep chugging along, mile after mile, show after show. They'd lost count the number of cocaine-fueled parties they'd thrown on The Mule, much less the keggers and endless rivers of whiskey consumed. Dwayne Hallard, the band's drummer, had technically died twice on the bus. If not for the marvels of modern medicine and adrenaline injections, that metal tube on wheels could have easily been classified as a mortuary. Bassist Archibald "Worms" Wobbleton delivered a pregnant fan's baby in the bus' bathroom back in 2001. No sooner had that fetus plopped into Worms' hands did he shove a cigar in the broad's mouth and slap that newborn on its ass. Lead guitarist Stinson McGee was technically a doctor; he held a degree in astronomy. Yet, a few too many alcohol-fueled rampages had him booted from his university lecturing position. Twenty years later and he'd all but forgotten the difference between the Pleiades and Ursa Minor.

And then there was Goblin Feast's front man... Simon Bronson. Born to the owners of a wealthy oil company, he abandoned his trust fund, ran away from home and changed his name to Simon Bravo. Years of living hard and fast somehow hadn't killed him, though. Heck, he hadn't even lost a step. It wasn't uncommon for Simon to finish a twelve-pack of beer before a show, shout and scream for two hours straight, then spend all night with a couple of chicks in the tour bus getting his kicks. Tonight's tour stop in Richmond would be no different.

The Mule was parked behind a local bar, The Sin Pit. The band had just completed their second encore around 1 AM and were ready to head back to the bus. Simon crushed a freshly-drained beer can against his face as he wrapped up singing their biggest hit, entitled Hump Day Constipation.
"I just can't seem to get it through to you. Jump off! Jump off! Only the scorched Earth will do! ...Goodnight Richmond!"
As Simon left the stage behind his fellow band members, he noticed a girl staring at him from the crowd. Her skin, like the whitest snow of the far north, reflected back the rainbow of spot lights swirling around the stage. Her hair was onyx with streaks of bright purple and red. Her lips... dark like a soldier's final moments before cold death washes over him. She wore a tattered old black and white striped tank top and a skirt that was definitely short enough to show just about everything. She was a teenage boy's fantasy in the flesh... everything a guy could want, but nothing he could take home to mom. This was Simon's kind of gal. She glanced away for a moment, then back as their gazes locked. She winked as a sly wrinkle formed in her lip. And then, she was gone. Vanished in a crowd of hellions and whores, Simon's prize returned to the void.

Approaching The Mule, a wave of exhaustion struck Simon in a way that simply hadn't happened before. He staggered a bit, then braced himself against the doorway as the other guys rushed into their diesel-sucking den of depravity. Stinson inquired as to his condition, then offered a series of tequila shots as a remedy; Simon declined. For the first time in his long and illustrious career, he only wanted one mistress for the evening... his bed. Making his way through the clutter and filth of The Mule's disgusting carpeted floor, he kicked aside empty pizza boxes and liquor bottles. Yanking his sweat-soaked clothes off, Simon pulled the curtain shut on his quarters, crawled into his bunk and passed out. The ensuing ruckus of the disastrous orgy in the bus' common area did not keep him awake.

Simon awoke to the smell of rust. He rolled over and glanced at three red numbers piercing the darkness... 4:44 it read. He could hear what sounded like an empty can being softly kicked behind the curtain. The lights in the bus were flickering beneath the bottom of the sheet that hung there. He pulled himself from his squeaky bunk and reached for the curtain. Properly exposed in only his boxer shorts, Simon Bravo slid the curtain to the side. Very quickly, he wished he hadn't.

An extended glob of entrails stretched from the battered abdomen of Stinson; they wandered from one side of the bus to the other. Along the way, the guts had found themselves wrapped around Dwayne's throat. He'd obviously been choked to death with them. Not before he'd swallowed his own tongue and had both eyes thoroughly removed, though. His head was leaking brain matter from the hollow orbitals. The remaining electrical impulses in his dead flesh were causing his leg to tap against a mound of trash, much like a headless chicken flopping in its own excrement. Many gallons of blood had soaked into the carpet. It squished beneath Simon's feet like a drenched sponge. As he stepped forward, a trickle of blood dripped down his face. Stunned, he looked up to see Worms impaled to the roof with three electric guitars. His face was missing; in its place was a mass of tattered muscles and shattered teeth. There were no words for Simon to express at this moment. No words to correctly describe the sheer terror he was experiencing. A wave of cold water washed over his frame; every strand of hair on his body stood at attention. As the fluorescent bulbs in the bus continued to flicker on and off, Simon stepped backwards.

He felt someone frigid pressed against his back.

Quickly turning around, Simon rubbed at his groggy eyes. Were they playing tricks on him? It was the vixen from the floor of the concert! Her skin... so pale. She smiled gracefully, exposing a set of teeth that would put any strand of pearls to shame. Tracing the outline of his face with her blood soaked pointer finger, her doe-eyed glance made Simon's entire body tingle. Two large green eyes circled in black; they were unforgettable. She suddenly grabbed the elastic band of Simon's boxers and ripped at them. The fabric fell off his frame, leaving him fully exposed. Licking the blood from her finger, she grabbed his manhood with her other hand and pressed firmly. Shoving him into his bunk, she tore at her own stained clothing and threw it to the floor. A supple body of pallid loveliness lay bare; her ribs flexed back and forth as she wrenched against her prey in unholy rapture.

The mysterious predator had her way with Simon. Twisting and contorting against his quivering flesh, he dared not fight back. The cover of darkness hid Simon's shameful submission as the lights in the bus finally extinguished. He could feel the sting of her bite as she tore into his neck. Sawing at the tunnels of fresh sustenance gushing just under the surface, she slurped and lapped joyfully. Yet, the temptress pulled back for a moment. She nuzzled his now freezing face as Simon reached a forceful climax. And with it... all of the natural warmth in his body was gone.

As the sensation of vibrant life left Simon's body, it was soon replaced with a calmness. The earth seemed to move much slower. He could see the obsidian treasures hidden behind her green eyes. Simon shared in what she saw in him. He could feel the gaping emptiness within her as she clenched his torso. Licking at the last of the blood streaming from his neck, she embraced her new companion. Simon, accepting this unfamiliar existence, brushed against her lips with his. Smearing the black lipstick between their cheeks, this was a kiss that rivaled the greatest in all of history. The diabolic passion exposed a whole new sense of purpose within Simon.
"Tell me your name."
She bit at his bottom lip, sucking on it. As her dagger-like teeth let go, she whispered.
Simon found a happiness in death that he'd never discovered in life. As the stench of rotting meat filled The Mule, the two lovers gathered the last remnants of Simon's former life and fled under the fading rays of yellow moonlight.

Stories still circulate about the Sin Pit Massacre at rock shows all across the country. No one knows for certain what actually happened. Three guys were eviscerated for no reason at all; a fourth disappeared. But... every once in a while, you'll hear a drunk concert-goer claim they've seen the missing Simon Bravo. Lurking in the corner of some dingy club, his face covered by a shroud... or so they say.

And in the crowd, a siren of hellish lust watches, waiting to snare their next meal.

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