Over the holidays I received many requests to write about a Christmas related event in my life. All those emails were sent straight to my trash. I'm not going write about that shit and you can say all you want about the winter solstice and the roots of paganism, I don't give a shit. I'm not into it and I don't care. But then I got to thinking and I remembered an old story in my life. It is a tale of rebirth and discovery and it just so happened to fall on that day when the Earth is farthest from the sun. This story is very dear to me and I am reminded of it every time I feel its cold silver pressed against my chest. This is the origin of the Necronomicon medallion.
Chapter 1
A black hood covered my head as I walked in the rain. My hands sat deep in my pockets seeking warmth and shelter from the cold night. Beside me walked my friend Miller, whose sleek dark hair ran longer than even mine. I no longer require friends in my life as I think they are pointless but I was young then and did not know the things that I know now. Besides, Miller had a car; a used CRX and I no longer wished to travel by the mercy of my feet. Now, we were headed to a place that was known as "the Stalls of Hell" and I will get to why it was called such a name, but first I would like to tell you a little about it.
The actual name of the venue was "Vie Future" but we could not pronounce it, so it stayed in white lettering against the black wall and never left our lips. A strange thing about “Vie Future” was that no one knew what city it dwelled. It was somewhere between Los Angeles and Carson but its location did not appear on any maps. I remember onetime someone said that we were in Pomona and everyone laughed. I didn't get why we were all laughing but I laughed anyways.
The building itself was large, blockish and black. The surrounding structures were all made of brick, but this building seemed as if it were made out of one giant hollowed stone. The sidewalks were disfigured by uprooting trees and across the street sat a vacant lot that was overgrown and teeming with tumbleweeds.
Every 4th Saturday Miller, myself and many others made the exodus to Vie Future. We arrived that night just before 6 and we waited in a line that wrapped around the building like an intoxicated centipede. We stood still for an hour, not saying much, as this is not a crowd who liked to speak. Many came alone and were not well versed in conversation. They much rather preferred to furrow their brows and fold their arms in a uninviting manner than to engage in any kind of discourse.
The line finally started moving and we slowly made our way through the trail of flattened beer cans to the ticket office. Behind the counter sat a woman nearly twice my age. She sat in her stool completely bored. My young hand offered her a ten-dollar bill, which she placed in a small safe and presented me with a red raffle ticket.
I stood for a moment and stared at her hair, which fell upon her shoulders like black ivy. Her eyebrows were arched aggressively against her milky face and her full black lips slowly parted. A tender scarlet tongue licked at her lips, moistening her soft mouth. She slowly turned her head and for a moment she stared into my eyes. I imagined all the dark desires that must dwell in such a women. Her deepest urges raging out of control like a wildfire. There was such lust behind her eyes, such yearning for a man who could take her to the darkest regions of fantasy.
"Next!" she said, making a face like she had bubble gum in her hair and the trailing line pushed me away.
I entered the club, my feet sticking with every step upon the alcohol-bathed floor. Red paint peeled from the hole-punched walls like burnt skin. I walked to the empty stage that sat like a great catacomb upon the room. Several young Hispanic men, clean-shaven with thick, flowing brown hair pushed their amps on to the stage. They plugged their Carvin and Marshall amps into a power strip and the youngest bent to his knees and poured a clear liquid into a small black box.
A dark rich fog sprouted from the black machine and flowed through the room like a river empties into the sea. Oh, that beautiful, sweet smell. I tilted my head back and allowed the fog deep within my lungs, filling myself with its intoxicating scent. I exhaled the thrilling breath and entered into a state of euphoria. All things dark seemed to travel through my body in a cool winter embrace. My fingers tingled and the sensation passed between synapse to synapse until every ounce of my being had been touched by this wondrous feeling.
Other young men soon gathered around me before the stage. I looked over my right shoulder and watched the crowd spill onto the floor. Degenerates and outcasts, loners and misanthropes made up the oncoming horde. They wore black t-shirts with sinister fonts and their dark faded jeans shapelessly settled down their legs. They stood before the stage like it was an altar of sacrifice and awaited the musical offering that would creep into their ears.
A drum roll bled through the air as green and yellow lights settled on the band. They all looked to each and nodded their heads.
"We are Evil Slime!!!" The singer screamed in a mangled, ghoulish voice. He held the microphone in both hands like a strangling victim and let his eyes roll back into his head.
"This song is called 'Open The Nuclear Gates!"
Blast beats erupted from the drums. Feet, arms and fists flew by me in every direction. My body no longer able to contain itself exploded in violence. My head rocked back and forth, my arms swung uncontrollably and I dived deep within the whirlpool. Bodies crashed against me, elbows ravaged my face. I pushed back at them. I grabbed at their shirts and pushed them away only to invite their return.
The music fueled me. Every note pouring in my ears like gasoline and I stepped on the accelerator. I crashed through the pit, smacking into every conceivable person. I was in a demolition derby of human bodies and we smashed into each other with the greatest of pleasure.
I grabbed on to the back of two shoulders and yelled at the top of my lungs, "Artillery, Destruction. Nuclear Eruption. Open The GATES!!! Open The Nuclear GATES!!! Open The GATES!!! Open The Nuclear GATES!!!
All the others erupted just as I did. They yelled the words so ghoulishly that their larynx's bled. I watched them clash into each other and I momentarily stopped my assault. I felt something in that pit that I have never felt before. It was some sort of camaraderie; a belonging, an understanding that I have never had with others. It was this building, which seemed to speak from beyond it walls and welcome us. It nurtured our cravings for evil things and filled our hearts with dark delights.
We were outsiders every else. We had nowhere to go, nothing to belong to. The towns we lived in were rotting with two car garages and evangelism. Parks were filled with families passing footballs to their young children and old women walking their dogs. Our schools were bursting with bright colors and outrageous spirit. They believed they could "fix us" with positive inclusion and morning prayers, but they were wrong.
We didn't want to belong to their brightness nor their smiles. We did not want to change to their moral ways. We had to escape. Our hearts searched for something darker than could be found in suburbia. We needed a place where we could be wicked and left alone, an environment where we could dwell and not be found. It seemed like they would never let us be and we would be forever doomed to their sheltered, respectable streets. Then, when all hope seemed to be lost we found it here in this tomb of a building that we called “The Stalls Of
Hell”.
Stayed Tuned for Chapter Two……Next Week
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