Dad Part 4: The Band

I shut the door behind me and the car took off. I did not know where we were going and did not care. I only wanted to leave my memories in the gutter in which I had laid.

The driver turned her head to face me, "This is Kelly and I'm Heather".

She held her gaze, waiting for my name but I sat in silence. Her puzzled face returned to the road before her where she struggled to stay within the lane. Heather continued to talk but I did not listen. Instead I watched the street lamps blur into a single beam and in it, surrendered my mind.

Thoughts were no longer of any use to me. They had left me crippled, unable to live freely and now I would abandon them. My conscience would become an abyss, so dark that nothing could grow. I would simply drift through the city much like a jellyfish does along the waves. Strangers would see my cold lifeless body lingering among the city streets and they would cry out loud that " the dead walk". I would become an emptiness, a pit of despair, and through unknown laws of physics and the perverse actions of magic I would swallow the hope of all those living and leave them with only misery.

"You look like you're in a band, are you in a band"?

I turned my attention to the side mirror where my eyes met with Kelly's. She immediately looked away, hoping that I did not catch her stare. I rubbed my calloused finger tips against my thumb and my lips slowly parted.

"Yeah, I was in a band." The words came out of mouth like the last breath of a dying man.

Heather's eyes grew to her forehead and her heart jumped just as high. "Oh my god, that's so cool! What were you called?"

Kelly's eyes met mine once more and despite her fear, she held her gaze long enough to witness my answer.

"We were called, "DAD"

Well, that was not entirely true. We were called Grave Evil, and we played music as dark as any other band north of the cemeteries. However, I had a vision of a darker passage, a form of music totally devoid of light. I shared with the other members my new ideas and told them of the black roads that we could walk together. Their excitement could not be contained and they wanted to get start immediately.

"Lets conjure up something. Get this shit going." One of my mates suggested.

I put my hand on his chest to calm him down. He wiped his hair away from his eyes so he could see me clearly and I replied, "Hold on. Not yet. First we need to make some changes. We need a new name."

They looked at each other and nodded their heads. "What were you thinking?" They asked

I paced before them and insisted that we needed a name that would capture all the mystery and and all of the darkness that is death. The only name that could fulfill my vision was "DAD".

They were reluctant towards my proposal. They called the name weird and did not understand how "DAD" was mysterious. I looked to them as an elder looks at the new youth and laid down my final argument. My words trickled through their ears, settling in their minds. A compromise was reached and "DAD" would be used as an acronym for the darkest music ever made by human flesh. Now what would that acronym be?

"Maybe, Diseased Anal Demon" my drummer suggested.

My blood boiled and my skin grew tight. They did not understand at all. My vision was too unearthly, too primordial for them to comprehend. It was like an ancient memory, forgotten by man but somehow it had awaken inside me. I pointed to the door and asked them to leave. "DAD" would live but I would have to do it alone.

I locked myself in my bedroom for 30 days and 30 nights. I did not eat and I did not sleep. I recorded and recorded until my body shut off completely. I laid on the floor of my room for days. Drowning in my own sweat and facial hair. My mother began to worry when she no longer heard unnatural notes being played from my my room and called for help. I spent 9 days in the hospital, 6 of which I was completely unconscious. There was no official explanation for what had happened but all the doctors agreed that I had suffered from some form of exhaustion. I walked out the hospital under my own strength but my spirit was broken. The record was not finished and would never be, for I was in no condition to continue. All the work, all the agony, and all the wicked beauty that I forged on that 8 track would simply waste away until all that was left was a faint note among a sea of noise.

I returned home with my head slumped low and walked up the stairs a broken man. I called my former band mates from Grave Evil and brought up the idea of a reunion but they showed no interest. They had moved on under the moniker "Wretched Remains" and were playing house parties every weekend. All I had was lost and I fell into a deep depression. I was like a soul trapped in purgatory unable to move forward in its existence. I spent most of my waking hours in the kitchen, gorging my body with unsavory foods trying to fill the emptiness. So empty I had become that I began to envy the lives of our house plants. I would stare at them for hours and ponder their existence. If I could only spend the rest of my life in a pot, growing to my full potential and then decay an accomplished vacant being.

I came home one afternoon in my usual state of despair. Upon entering the house I looked to the family den where I noticed my father. He sat like a beast of stone, cursed for all eternity to his decrepit throne. His mind spoiled from his wicked thoughts and then from his paper he lifted his eyes. We stared at each other for an eternity and I could feel the ages of hate that lived within him.

"How many weeds did you pull today?" My father asked.

His glasses sat on his nose like a tyrant looks over his city, but he was no tyrant. He was a tormentor!

"3 bags! I've done 3 bags!" I shouted, nearly bursting into flames.

I was furious at that monster. His thumb always pressed above my head cursing me forever to his shadows. He sought to torment me, to plague me with agony. Where such a poisonous creature could have been forged was unfathomable but there he sat with his troll like heart reveling in my bane.

I turned away from him for I felt like I had been staring into the sun and I clutched the stairs to keep from falling. Was this it? Was this all I would become? The thought ripped me apart, turning my innards to sludge. I gripped the rail tightly pulling my body up the stairs. My existence must be something more than a life of tortured solitude and forgotten despair.

Volts of electricity surged through my body as I fought the depression. I searched for strength to fend off the emptiness that plagued me and then, from some unknown power locked deep within me, I filled the void. I marched upstairs with a motivation that I have yet to experience again in my life. Only death could could deter me and I welcomed him to try. I shut the bedroom door, picked up my guitar and hit record. What I went through next could not be described with words nor images. I can only say that a great lunacy visited me that night and shared with me it's life.

I returned to reality with no permanent harm. I created 100 cassettes and distributed them to a select few around the world. Glen Benton, Kevin Sullivan, Whitley Strieber and others less known all received copies. After the last tape had been shipped I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "DAD" had been realized and my vision fulfilled.

"We're Here" Heather stated as we pulled into a fenced parking lot.

I exited the car and mindlessly followed them. I looked at my hands and noticed a finger nail missing and for some reason I started to laugh. I laughed until my stomach begged for mercy and I keeled over on the sidewalk. The two women stopped and looked at me. They watched with confusion as I slowly made my way back to my feet and with them entered two metal doors.

"That's Right, That's Right! This is D.J. T.H.Ceizure and I'm going roll up your mind and smoke it till dawn!"

Bodies bounced all around me as I entered the club. I continued to move forward through the sea of flesh when a pool of blue liquid flashed before me. The drink sailed through the air splashing across a young woman's face. Rage coursed through her veins and she lashed out at her attacker, grabbing her by the hair. The two women fell to the ground rolling through filth and liquor. They tore at each others clothes and ripped out bundles of hair. A group of men soon gathered around them. They jumped with excitement, cheering the women on as they pulled out their cell phones.

A fragile hand found its place upon my shoulder and lips approached my ear.

"This place is so Awesome, I always see celebs here and you can drink till 6 in the morning!"

I looked at Kelly whose smile seemed endless. She grabbed me by the hand and threw her other to the air.

"Whoo! lets' party!

She pulled me across the room yelling for her friend Heather to follow. My shoulders crashed against an ocean of stenciled shirts until we finally stopped at the center of the room. I stood there and watched the two girls as they rhythmically pressed their bodies together. Everything seemed to move slowly under the effects of the strobe light making time itself seem incoherent. Heather waved her arms and shouted towards me but I could not hear her. She shook her head and smiled as she place my hands on her hips.

"Dance with me" She shouted.

My body ceased to move and thoughts slowly crept back into my empty mind.

"I don't dance" I said, removing my hands from her hip.

Her smile vanished from her face as she watched me drift away from her like a child's toy being swallowed by the tide.

I turned around and began to make my way to the bar when an orc-ish wail ripped through the club. Coldness grew all around me and a layer of ice encased the floor. People retreated from my surroundings and I listened to what sounded like hoofs approaching. My heart raced and my hands began to shake. I whipped my head over my shoulder searching for the cause of the noise. Through the crowd I could see a shadowing figure heading in my direction. The Strobe light flashed as it came closer allowing only glimpses of its body to be seen. The crowd seemed unaffected by the invader's presence and continued to bounce and thrust their bodies against each other. I held my ground watching its cold diseased breath pollute the room. It came closer and closer, its dark body flickering through the atmosphere until finally a beam of light crossed it. I looked on as the unnatural silhouette disappeared and its face came into the light. We locked eyes and my breath was stolen. The face that stared back at me was that of a long forgotten ghost, it was Mortiis.



To be continued......

Dad Part 3: Who made you God?

I stumbled across the streets, colliding with trash bins and parked cars.  My head spun out of control but not because of the alcohol I had consumed, no, that I relished in.   It was anger, hatred, and loathing for that creature that created me.  I began to run, run as fast as I could from the torment that consumed my mind.  My shoes began to tear apart at the soles as they were not designed to travel at those speeds.  It was the spell of madness I was under that fueled my legs to run faster than any man had in the city of Los Angeles.  I could not stop myself and I began to worry that if my acceleration picked up any further I might not survive the night.

A greenish fog began to creep up from the sewers and the shrieking of the C.H.U.D.s could be heard by even the most adamant deniers.  My feet, blessed by lightning took their final step when they collided with what appeared to be a log.  My body soared through the air like a bat and met the pavement with a sickening crash.  Glass shattered and bourbon flooded the streets.  My sweet, sweet  reserve that I had kept in my inner jacket pocket had met a heinous end. I pressed my face and tongue against  the cement and with my bloody hands tried to shovel the liquid into my mouth.  "Why? Why now of all times must I endure such tragedy?"

I laid motionless in the moonlight.  Rats scurried past me and worms tried to nest in my beard. "What the fuck was that?" I shouted to the tomb of a city. I pulled myself up off the ground and examined my injuries.  My jeans had been ripped about the knees and I began to fume until I realized they were already like that. "Ugh,... my legs" the log groaned. I walked under the street lamps towards the voice.  It smelled like piss and cheese, but slightly worse.  I lunged at what I now realized was a man and with both of my hands extended like the undead I grabbed at his shirt collar. 

"Do you realized what you've done?"  I yelled, shaking the vagrant violently by his jean jacket.  

He whined incoherently and let out a gaseous cough.  Yellow and green particles dissolved within my nasal passage and I stepped away with my palm pressed against my forehead.  Dizzily, I lowered one knee to the pavement and slowly rolled into the gutter. 

Time began to slip away as it had before.  I grabbed on to the curb, trying to push myself up but my hand seemed to melt into the concrete.  Repressed memories flooded my cortex, unwilling to be subdued any longer.  My eyes crept into the back of my skull and my body convulsed against the black pavement.   Flashes of White light disrupted my vision as I soared through a sea of gas. I traveled through the nauseating tunnel at unearthly speeds when suddenly, I dropped.  My body twisted, struggling for equilibrium as I fell through the abyss.  It seemed like I would fall through this dark chasm forever when my consciousness slammed into the mind of my former prepubescent body   Coughing echoed all around me and I quickly rubbed my eyes trying to clear my blurry vision.

"Shoo, Shoo, get away!"

The memory came flooding back as I heard my Dad's wretched voice yelling at the oncoming homeless men.  His legs began to quiver and the shakes ran all the way up to his glasses.  His neck veins bulged with blood, ripping his turtleneck.  All things wicked and of disgust had formed inside of him and I was the only one who knew the terror that would soon unfold. 

I tried to warn them, "No, you mustn't"  but they did not listen.  They kept coming forward like the living dead.  They extended their hands asking my father for change and with a glint  in his eye he struck them down one by one. 

 "Shoo, Shoo!  You're a Pest!  Get away!  Stop bothering everyone! "

Mothers covered their children's ears as the homeless men recoiled in fright.  They pushed and clawed at each other trying to get away.  

"Who made you God?"  one of them was brave enough to ask.  

"God? God!  DAD made God!! HaHaHa!  

He turned his head behind him like a bullwhip, staring at my friend, Chris and I.  Chris ran away in complete terror screaming over and over again "It's not True!  It's not True!" My Dad's face turned bright red, resembling a supernova.  Solar flares tried to escape his toxic core but were only pulled back into his radiating anger.  He sweated profusely, spinning his body out of control, screaming his onslaught at the vagrants.  Those still left behind were now running away in tears at the horror inflicted upon them.  

"Shoo! Shoo!  Get away! Shoo!"  My father was relentless, totally unable to calm himself down.  Foam dripped from the corner of his mouth and collected in his beard.  His sickly grin suggested  that he received some kind of demented gratification from the incident.  I searched everywhere for an escape but found no sanctuary.  He began to make his way towards me and with nowhere to go I collapsed into the gutter.  I laid there helpless, in complete submission as he came forward.  His giant frame stood above me blocking out the entire sky so that no light reached me.

Hands rummaged through my pockets as I laid in the gutter.  My nose was filled with the stench of urine, reviving me like a smelling salt. My eyes came into focus and I watched the homeless man limp away with my wallet, vanishing into the night like a waning moon.  I was slow to gather my senses, completely exhausted from my repressed memories.  I had no money and no way home.  My mind was drained, unable to produce any thoughts but somehow I managed to seat my body on the curb.  I sat there, staring at the blue street reflectors as cars raced by leaving trails of red light behind them.  

Time slowly passed and the night was relentless in its domination of the day.  I had not moved and had not thought.  I was completely vacant, unable to come back to sentient life.

A black SUV stopped before me.  The windows were rolled down and I could hear two female voices.

"Oh, do you see that guy lets go talk to him."  Said one of the women with excited curiosity.

Her friend looked over at me from the passenger seat.  Worry took over her face as she saw my blood and alcohol stained body.

 "I don't know if thats a good idea.  He's just sitting there in the gutter".  

The driver became irritated with friends prudish ways and pointed at me, "Who cares? look at him, he's hot!" 

Her friend glanced at me once more with hesitation.  "Yeah I know, but what's that thing around his neck it looks like some kind of evil symbol?"

Her fear fed my body and I lifted myself off the curb. 

"It's the symbol of the necronomicon" I told them as I opened the car door and got into the back.  

to be continued.....

    

      

DAD: Part II The Balrog

The intensity with which  I spoke had driven fear into the young men.  Terrified, they twisted in their stools desperately searching for an escape from the horrors which would soon be told.  Their eyes begged at the bartender to intervene but the ancient man paid them no notice.  Trembling, one of the men excused himself to the restroom.  As he reached to the bar in an attempt to propel himself out of his seat I slammed my hand down, tightly gripping his wrist.  My hand clawed at his flannel shirt like an eagle to his masters glove.  "Sit Down" I demanded.  They sunk into their seats.  Their faces flushed white as blood ran deep into their hearts.  "You need to listen to what I have to say."  Both men lowered their eyes towards the floor and a strange mist overtook the room as I spoke.  "You speak of evil things but there is a wickedness in this world that cannot not be imagined.  You have heard the stories of the lost city R'lyeh where the elder things dwell?  Well, In the house where I grew up on the street of Rikkard lived a creature so hideous, so vile that the mere pronunciation of his name will leave the taste of vinegar in your mouth."

My eyes searched to meet theirs, but they did not dare look up from the floor.  I could see that they were terrified and I did not want to inflict any more harm on their fragile sense of reality.  I released my grip and he slowly recoiled his hand from the bar.  "Leave" I grunted, my hand cut through the air, motioning their exit.  They scrambled out of their chairs, creating an awful screech as the stools  scraped across the wooden floor.  I watched the two foolish men run for the exit and I felt disgusted by them.  They liked to wear wickedness like it was a coat you could take on and off.  They did not understand what it meant to be an evil man, such as myself.

My body hunched over the bar and my mind wandered away from me.  I lifted my glass and as I brought the whiskey to my mouth my eyes became mesmerized with the wet ring left on the counter from my drink.   All thoughts seemed to melt away as I fell deeper and deeper into the rings spell.  My head snapped back violently and my eyes crawled into my skull.  A White light flashed from within my mind and I lost contact with all of my senses.  Suddenly I was staring at the ring of water from my glass however I was no longer in Chinatown nor a 30 year old man.  My skin was soft and my hair barely passed my jaw.  I was a 13 year old child living at home, having a drink at my father's bar.

I brought the glass of whisky to my lips and let it flow down my throat.  The warm embracing taste of bourbon would become so familiar but for now it was like being touched for the first time by a dark, sensuous woman. I placed the glass down on the counter to pour another drink when the house began to shake.  It sounded like the ground was about to break open the gates to the lower worlds, but I knew it was something much worse.  The terrifying sound which I heard was that of the garage door opening as my dad returned from work.

I put the bottle away, my glass in the sink, and ran for my room.  The door opened and like a Balrog, he entered.  Faster I ran.  I could hear his heavy breaths behind me.  His massive feet beat down on the carpet leaving prints so large that they would have thrilled a sasquatch admirer.  I turned the stairs and slipped on the floor.  I looked on in horror as I saw his red beard erupting from his turtleneck like a volcano.  "I wasn't doing anything" I yelled at the top of my lungs.  His cold stare burned at my eyes and his lips began to part. I waited in complete terror for the venom to leave his lips.   "Wrestling is fake!".   I could not believe what he had said.   I laid on the floor withering in pain "I hate you! I hate you!"  I clenched my fists and launched my strongest verbal attack. "I wish you were dead!" I screamed.  He looked at me so evil, so wickedly,  "Dead!? Take the 'e' out of dead and it spells 'DAD!"  His stare continued even more intensely.  His entire head began to vibrate out of control only to be be interrupted by a fit of laughter  "What!? Dead spells Dad? What does that even MEAN?  Why do you Torment me!?" I laid on the carpet in complete agony as tears rolled down my cheeks.

I stared at my glass as a drop of water rolled down its side.  The ancient hand of the bartender took my drink  and with its other wiped down the ring of water before me.  The old man turned the television off and left me alone with my painful memories.  I reached into my pockets and left a couple of dollars on the counter.  It was getting late, even for me.  I stumbled towards the door swearing under my breath.  That demon I grew up with still had power over me and I hated him for it.  Would I ever be free from his torment?  I left the bar and wandered aimlessly down the city streets, crushing roaches with every step.  It was late but still dark and the night had more to offer me.  My journey continued into some dark corners  but those stories will be told at a later time.    

Dad Part I: The most Wicked man That ever lived!

My hands found warmth in my jacket pockets as I searched for shelter from the cold streets of China town.  I heard the whispers of the many stray cats as I passed and began to quicken my stride when I noticed they were following me.  Their numbers were growing and their whispers turned to shouts.   My walk became a furious jog and I quickly cut the corner under the towering red arches.  I watched with relief as they passed the junction failing to notice my change in direction.    I continued my walk and soon placed my hand on a cold brass door handle and entered my favorite drinking hole. 

The bartenders did not speak English there and I liked it that way.  There was no one there to bother me with idle banter, allowing my mind to sink into a dark, repellant chasm, void of good deeds and pleasant thoughts.  I approached the bar and sat my body down on a familiar red stool.  Its seat reminded of ripped flesh as my weight caused its foam cushion to spill out like oozing guts from its red covering.  I exchanged a quick glance with the bartender and I soon began to pour alcohol down my throat in an effort to drown the desire for female company.   As I sat there wasted, pondering the depths of time, two young men entered the bar and sat across from me.  Their hair was long and the beards patchy in a feeble attempt at masculinity.  They were dressed in black with plaid flannel shirts and wore jewelry around their necks and fingers.  They looked like me but were nothing like me.  A strange sense of anxiety began to plague me and I lowered my head and starred at the counter. 

The young men ordered a couple of PBR’s and handed their credit card over to the ancient palm of their bartender.  They laughed all night and excitement gripped them as they spoke of the history Varg Vikrenes and Mayhem.  I did not feel well, my body trembled and my head began to spin.  I got up from the stool and held on to the counter to keep my balance.  Something was wrong.  There were things there that should not be, and the paradox had smashed my thought.  I walked to the bathroom, unzipped my pants and took a leak that ceased to end.  I felt as if I was on another world.  Still the Earth but a variable Earth like you read in fiction.   A world where Dave Mustaine was never kicked out of Metallica and Blue Grape made shirts that fit human beings and not apes.

I gathered my senses and returned to my seat.  Streams of beer poured down my chin like the once flowing canals of Mars and I gestured to the bar tender to keep them coming.  I listened to more of their conversation as I waited for my drink.  My beer was placed in front of me and I lifted my head in gratitude to the barkeep.  “Aleister Crowley is the most wicked man that ever lived!” one of the men proclaimed and he raised his glass in honor.  My hand squeezed at my beer, crushing the can.  Beer and blood ran down my wrist and dripped to the floor.  My body slowly turned like a crypt keeper until my eyes were upon them.  “You’re wrong” I said.  Both men looked at me.  Their eyes opened so wide that the sides of their lids began to tear.  “Crowley is not the most wicked man that ever lived.  My dad is!”    

To be continued.....

Brothers

At a very young age I became drawn to darkness.  Every Friday night I would wait until I heard the unearthly sounds of my Dad’s body desperately seeking air and like a cursed Egyptian deity I would emerge from my tomb and creep into the living room.  As my parents slept I would spend my nights with a blond hair woman named Rhonda Sheer.  My young body was hungry for dark, devilish things and this woman by feeding me what I craved gave me my first glimpse into the realms of monstrosity.

One Friday night Ms. Sheer shared with me a film that would cause irrevocable harm to my sense of family dynamics.  For the next two hours I was in complete commensalism with the television. Although I sat and did not move, the excitement caused my body to feel as if I had been hurling massive boulders into a body of water.  I had watched for the first time of what would become many, my favorite childhood film, Basket Case.

I was careful to record each episode of Up All Night and I had my VHS copy of Basket Case.  I watched the video so many times that I considered it a miracle every time the tape would still play.  However, what was originally a great source of evil joy, the film slowly started to eat away at me.  Jealously had taken over me and allowed madness in.  I wanted what Duane had, and no matter how many times I asked my parents for a brother my demands went unanswered.

I stayed up late at night prodding my body for any signs of a possible evil growth, a growth that would ultimately become my own ghoulish brother.  I squeezed my flesh and yelled at my body to give me what I desired.  I was so young back then that I even prayed to God!  I tried everything I could think of that might produce the desired effect.  One night my father caught me smearing meatloaf on body in an attempt to feed the flesh, and when he asked me “what the hell are you doing?”  I told him that I was doing what him and my mother had failed to do and ran to my room screaming.

I was infatuated with the idea of having a ghoul for a brother.  What would he be like?  What would he grow up to become?  Probably a C.H.U.D, I reasoned.  I sat down and drew pictures of us together and created a list of people for him to kill, that’s right, KILL! I have always been evil!  Even at that young age I had it in me to do devilish deeds.  Why else have a brother if he cannot be some form of minion to you!    

The years went by and at some point in time I no longer thought of the sibling my body never bore.  These were childish thoughts that I grew out of and would become locked inside the vault of mind.  Although I no longer believe in such a thing I have kept a tender spot for my brother that never was.   Every year on my birthday I climb up to the attic and on a small plate I leave a slice of birthday cake just in case there is a Belial after all.

 

You Dick

One day this guy rode up and stole my girlfriend.  I HATE him.

Part Two: Cigarettes and burgers, caffeine and alcohol

I was in disbelief. I have always despised my neighbors. In fact, I always made an effort to make it from my car to my front door without engaging in any visual or verbal communication. I never imagined, however, that standing there with his knees escaping his ripped jeans like a drowning man's head breaks through the water to gasp for air was my my new neighbor, Dave Mustaine.

I stood there motionless. My brain was regaining itself after a period of complete atrophy and then, just like a vampire he asked me to invite him in. I quickly motioned my hand towards the inside of my home and he lifted his long legs and entered. "I heard some interesting sounds coming from your house last night, evil sounds." I did not respond. How could I? I wasn't even aware of what happened the night before. He slowly sat down on my couch and inquisitively looked around my house. "Hey man, what do you say? Some' cigarettes and burgers, caffeine and alcohol?" I explained to him that I was much to weak to leave the house and walked towards the kitchen.

I returned to the living room with a bottle of mountain dew and a family size bag of Cheetos. He quickly sat up. His eyes widened and he licked his lips. I knew I had chosen well. He reached for the bag like a gollum and when I retracted the bag out of sheer surprise he hissed at me. Naturally, I hissed back and upon seeing the Necronomicon that I wore around my neck he sat back and withdrew his threatening behavior. We sat together in silence, our fingers stained orange and our minds full of thoughts.

Dave suddenly turned his head towards me, biting his lower lip as if trying to keep his words prisoner. His pupils became dilated and his nostrils flared. "What do you mean I don't I dont pay my taxes? Why do you think I'm broke?" I sat there in confusion not knowing what to make of his questions. "What do you mean I can't get to work on time? Got nothing better to do." He then turned his head away from me and we sat in silence once more. It was then that I realized that Dave Mustaine was insane.

He was trapped inside his own lyrics. I should have recognized this sooner when he referenced his song '502' as way to get a bite to eat. We sat there for a while longer before he got up. He nodded his head as he looked around. "I like you, man. You're into some wicked shit!" I looked at him in agreement. "I'll catch you later. Got some magazine interview bullshit." I watched him as he walked down my steps and past my lawn. He was my neighbor and I knew that I would be seeing more of him.

Part 1: Knocking at my Door

For a week my mind had been clouded with anticipation. The thing that I so desperately waited for had transformed me into a ghoulish creature. I became extremely irritable, lashing out at those closest to me. My fingernails suffered permanent disfigurement from the chronic biting I inflicted in my nervous state. I did not know how much longer I could last. If it did not arrive soon I feared my altered state would be too much too endure. Luckily, that Friday afternoon, my shipment arrived.

I had never seen myself so eager before. I tore open the package so violently that it would have been impossible to identify the remains as belonging to anything more than particles of dust. I could not believe that I had finally had it in my possession. The anticipation quickly turned into delirium as I poured its fuel into the body and inserted its 3 prong tail into the wall. The wait was over. My fogger had finally arrived.

The rest of the evening was a blur. My new possession had completely intoxicated me overtaking me in a fury and had reduced me to a primordial state. I had devolved into some sort of ancestral humanoid who upon discovering a monolith abandoned all natural tendencies for the madness of enlightenment.

I awoke the next afternoon completely disoriented. I moaned in agony as my head throbbed violently. I laid upon my wooden floor completely clothed with no recollection of the night before and then I heard the knocking. It was the strangest knock I had ever heard, so rhythmical and so familiar. I could not place where I heard this knock before but I knew it well. I peeled my body off the floor, clutching my head and entered a realm of vertigo. I could not see a thing except for the dense atmosphere my fogger had created the night before. The knocking sounded again. I wanted to answer it and find out who was behind that mysterious sound but I was in a labyrinth of fog. I reached out for the walls of my home but no matter far I walked I could not find them. The fog had taken over my home and forsaken me in its world. Then I heard the knocking once more.

I abandoned all of my senses and relied solely on my ears. I listened to that strange rhythmic beat and followed its origin. It became louder and louder as I came closer to the door. The source of the knock must have sensed that I was close because it began to knock in double time. I reached out my hand, feeling for anything of solid mass, and felt the cold bronze of a door handle. I swung open the door and the fog violently spilled from my home much like the water of cracked aquarium.

At first I could not see a thing and my mind was full of confusion but soon my eyes began to refocus in this new environment. My vision became filled with the image of luscious red hair. My mouth opened wide and saliva dripped from my lips. I tried to gather myself and make sense of the outside world. My visitor's tiny lips began to take unknown shapes as they uttered the words "Hello Neighbor", in a voice that I had heard before. I was regaining control of myself and my eyes zoomed out taking in the entire body of my visitor. That is when I saw my him, my new neighbor, Dave Mustaine.



To Be Continued.......

The Ritual

When the internet was still in it's infancy I belonged to a mailing list that catered to people with my apt for wickedness. We told stories of the invocations in which we had meddled and traded tapes as well. There were few us and we were spread across the continents. Prior to my joining I thought that I was alone in my devilish deeds but I soon found out that there were others.

I used to rush to the mailbox every afternoon to see If I had received any new correspondence. I would stay up late writing my stories and creating hand drawn avatars of myself. One day I opened the mail box and received a letter from a man that I had never heard of. He told me that he had discovered a new path within himself and that I could reach new diabolical heights If I would only let him show me. I did not know what to think. I had never heard of this man and when I asked the other members if they had received any form of contact from him, they all told me the same thing. They had never heard of or received any messages from the person I spoke of. I received more letters from him and shared it with the mailing list. Some were intrigued by what I shared but many called me a fraud and accused of me faking the whole correspondence. I soon received less and less contact from my sinister friends until my mail box was bare.

I had been banished, completely isolated from the group. With no where to turn I wrote to this man who shall not be named. He understood what I was going through and shared with me a similar story from his youth. However, the things he learned that caused his exile were the things in which he claimed had opened his mind. He promised me that if I let him show me his invocations that I would become more powerful than all my former friends and they would worship me. I did not know what I was getting myself into. I told him that I wanted to know, that I wanted to learn. One week later I received a package in the mail. I opened it and found the VHS that I had expected.

That tape sat on my bed for hours as I paced around my room. My mom called me for dinner but I had no appetite. I stayed locked in my room wondering what was on that tape and if I was ready for the things he described. I waited and waited, and finally at half past 2:00 I was unable to withstand the questions any longer and injected the tape. What I saw then was the most horrible ritual that eyes had ever seen. The path that this sorcery lead was so dark that I could not follow. I ejected the tape immediately and set it on fire. It burned a wretched smell, a smell that was so evil that my walls were stained green . However, no matter how many times I set it a flame their was a portion that would not catch. I have kept that short interval of video for all these years safely hidden and had not shared it with anyone. I believe that it alone, without the rest of the ritual, will pose you no threat, but I must warn you that by watching this you may bring yourself to madness!

In my Darkest hours

Every day I peeled out of the school parking lot with decade of aggression bleeding from my speakers. My windows were always rolled down because I wanted everyone to realize how fucking evil I was, and they did. Being evil was awesome. The only thing that sucked about it was that you spent most of the time being evil by yourself. I needed someone to hang out with while my fog machine filled up my bedroom, and hopefully someone whose hair was longer than mine.

With no one to relate to I used dig into my VHS collection and put on Florida Championship Wrestling. I loved watching Kevin Sullivan and his minions smash their opponents into disfigurment. I was convinced that he was the most evil man on the Earth and I looked up to him like a step dad. The most amazing thing about him was that while painting his face and conjuring up some wicked shit he managed to find a sick as fuck, sadistic, skinny chick. I idolized Sullivan and wanted what he had. I learned everything I know about relationships by watching those tapes. However, I was still alone, in my room, reading the Goetia.


I watched their relationship grow and become something stronger than even Kevin himself. Their darkness fed each other and together they embarked on horrific journeys to parts unknown. That was all I wanted. I wanted a girl that was into the darkest of shit. A girl that I could write Deicide lyrics to and later we could do evil stuff to each other.

It was no use. What Kevin had was rare and did not extend to me. I realized that I would never be able to use my Ouija board without another pair of hands, so I set it on fire. The darkness crept into my mind and sent me into a tirade of madness. I had given up speaking with others entirely and would only acknowledge them by hissing. Things were not working out for me, so I decided that If I was going to be alone than I was going to do it the right way and move to the forrest.

There was nothing you could have told me that would have changed my mind. I bagged up my knife collection and put on my best pair of camouflage pants. I was on my way when I decided that I would attend school one last time. I wanted everyone to witness what true misery was, to see just how dark my beliefs had become. That is when I saw her.

It was the first day of the foreign exchange program and she would spend the next two months away from Norway and in my town. She was so evil that she wouldn't speak to anybody not even myself, she was awesome. Everyday I followed her in my car as she walked home from school and at the same spot on Willard St. she would always turn around, flip me off, and yell some sort of Norwegian swear word. I began stuffing Glen Benton inspired love notes in her locker and one time she threw dog shit at me. Things were not working out as planned so I turned to my Kevin Sullivan tapes. I watched and watched for hours and realized that if wanted this girl I had to something completely evil and then she would realize that we were meant for each other.

That was the day I had my Dad drop me off at school because of a self inflicted flat on my Toyota Camry. As soon as I saw her I got out of the car and made a huge coughing sound. When I saw that she was looking in my direction I motioned to my dad to roll down the window. As he rolled down the window he looked up at me with a half smile. It was at that moment that I clenched my knuckles as tightly as I could and punched him square in the face. I turned around immediately to look for her but before I saw her I felt a hand reach around my collar and drag me to the concrete. My dad preceded to kick my ass in front of the entire school. It was horrible, but then I looked up and I saw her smiling at me.

We spent the next 4 weeks together. It was the most amazing time in my life. We would go to the mall after school everyday and I would walk her with a dog collar tied around her neck. We were so evil together. I had become my own Kevin Sullivan and she was my Fallen Angel. Unfortunately, her trip got cut short after she tried to burn down her exchange parent's house. I never saw her again after that but I would write to her everyday. Below is the only picture I have of the two of us together. It is the first thing I look at every morning.

peepster

Life has not always been easy. When I think of all its disappointments and clever acts of humiliation there are a few moments that come to mind. I am reminded of an ill conceived late night facebook post in which I shared with the world that "I wish I was never born". When I woke the next morning and peeled my face off the key board I found that 13 people had responded by clicking they "like this". After checking failbook to make sure my humiliation wasn't immortalized I quickly removed the comment and spent the morning running up and down my hall way until I felt sick.

I am also reminded of a botched trip to Magic Mountain as a teenager. I seated myself on a roller-coaster and pulled the shoulder guards down to their locked position. I had no idea how vulnerable I had just made myself until I saw a figure rushing towards me. As he came closer I realized this person to be biggest asshole at my school. I tried to squirm out of my seat but with my arms trapped I was totally defenseless. The next thing I remember were the quick flashes of knuckles as they repeatedly made contact with my face. It was only when the ride finally started moving that I was able to escape.

It is difficult to to relive these memories as they make me twitch and squirm whenever they come to mind. The reason I am bringing all this up is because as bad as those memories were they cannot compare to the night I slept in my bed while my camera recorded outside my bedroom window.