Available on Amazon: Tattered Angel (The Road to Rocktoberfest Book 2) - Kindle edition by Dorine, Layla. Literature & Fiction Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.
“Okay, I know it’s almost Halloween and all, and I’ve got to admit, the Ripley’s Believe it or not Museum was hella fun, but this…is sick…and whichever of you thought it would be a good idea to come here…”
“Holy shit, Rals come check this out!”
Zakk’s bellow left Riley pinching the bridge of his nose and
wishing for the hundredth time he would drop the stupid nickname before Dez
started calling him that too and it would never go away.
“How can you stand to look at this stuff knowing it was
literally designed to rip people apart?” Riley muttered, even as his morbid
curiosity got the best of him and he headed that way.
“Technically, this isn’t designed to do any ripping, more
like roasting, I mean damn. You wanna talk sick, that would be the mind that
came up with this thing. Could you image being led out of prison to see this big
ass iron bull standing over a firepit full of wood. I’d confess to any damn
thing they wanted me to at that point.”
“And still end up roasted to death,” Riley grumbled. “That’s
a hell of a way to go.”
“You would be correct. Confession by no means ended the
torture, in some cases, it even slowed it down some while they endeavored to
extract additional confessions,” Damien intoned, their brilliant drummer having
crept up beside them, causing Riley to jump at the sound of his voice. “In fact, it was proven that on more than one
occasion, people confessed to things that they had not done in the hopes of a
swift and decisive death. Of course, there were those rare instances where
torture extracts nothing, like with Giles Corey of Salem, who reportedly
requested more weight while they were pressing him with stones in an effort to
elicit a confession of witchcraft out of him. He died silent despite two days
beneath the rocks.”
Riley fixed Damien with a pointed glared. “It was your idea
to come here, wasn’t it? You and your morbid fascination with the macabre!”
“Actually, it was my idea,” Zakk replied, the smirk on his
face making Riley wish to draw and quarter him with his own guitar strings.
Okay, so if the creators of these devices had friends like his, then it stood
to reason such things had been dreamt into existence.
Tapping his foot, Riley glanced between his oldest friends. “And
why did you think this would be a good idea?”
“After listening to Dez talk all about the things he and
Koda had seen when they were out here, no way could I resist.” Zakk replied.
“I knew it…I knew it! Dez!”
“You bellowed?”
“I thought you said you had nothing to do with this little
detour?” Riley grumbled, hands on his hips as he glared up at the band’s new
singer.
“I didn’t. I simply shared a story with Zakk about this
place after he told me about wanting to visit Villisca House. I told him that
I’d been out there, and it was kind of creepy, but that this place with all
it’s displays was creepier. Of course, that could have been ‘cause I didn’t
have the time or cash to stay the night at Villisca, seeing as how I was on a
bit of a time crunch.”
“Which isn’t the case this time, and since we’re rolling right
past there…”
“Oh no…no no…don’t even think about it, Zakk!”
“Too late, we’re already booked.”
“I hate you so hard right now.”
“If you are truly afraid of what the experience might bring,
then you are free to stay on the bus,” Damien commented, smoothing a hand over
the buckled front of his gothic shirt. “Of course, you will be out there alone
as James has elected to join us inside the house and is currently working on
procuring an EVP meter.”
Smacking a hand to his forehead, Riley turned, and damn near
fell into a roped off chair with a bunch of spikes sticking from every
conceivable surface. Sighing heavily and hoping to put as much distance as
possible between himself and his band, he shuffled left, being careful not to
skewer himself on something called the pear of anguish. He didn’t even want to
know what the hell that was so he sidestepped carefully, working his way
towards the door, which brought him face to face with a rusty metal collar with
a fork attached to it. From the photos on the wall above it, it was latched
around an individual’s neck, the fork prongs pressed to the underside of their
chin while the prongs on the other end dug into the base of their throat. A heretic’s
fork. Joy.
“Cool huh. Don’t fall asleep. Talk about a precursor to
Freddy Kruger. Too bad we can’t shoot a video in there. Would be kinda wicked
don’t you think?” Zakk replied, practically bouncing like a kid in a candy
store the sick fuck.
“What I think is that your version of wicked and mind is extremely
far apart. I’ll be out on the bus when you guys get through.”
“Suit yourself, but if you ask me, you’re missing out on a
wonderful opportunity to learn about Medieval History.”
“Yeah, I’m good, thanks, plague, poverty and witch trials pretty
much covers all anyone needs to know about that particular period in time.”
“Don’t forget war, the crusades and the Spanish inquisition.
Oh and the Magna Carta, Divine Comedy and Consolation of Philosophy were all
written back then.”
“What the hell is the Consolation of Philosophy?”
“Seriously? It’s the shit about why band things happen to
good people. Kinda like you and that wasps nest incident.”
“Did I mention how hard I hate you right now.”
“Yeah, you did, and honestly, Rals, it’s gettin’ kinda
repetitive. I think you need another phrase.”
“Actually, I think I need a drink, a big one. I’ll be at the bar across the street, drowning
a hurricane.”
“Okay, but, uh, you know what the theme is over there,
right?”
“No…what?”
“Serial Killers. All the drinks are named after them and
their crimes, so A Jack the Ripper Ripple, and…”
“Never mind, just, no, nope, I quit, I’m done. Fuck it, I’m
goin’ to the bus to drink some Sprite and plot your demise.”
As he plunged through the doors into the rainy Wisconsin
afternoon, all Riley could hear from behind him was the laughter of his
bandmates and the creepy ass curator who’d gleefully accepted their nine-ninety-nine
at the door.
______
“Come on man! Freddy is a joke! Ohh Nightmares, don’t go to
sleep if he kills you in your sleep you’re dead for real, well how the hell would
you know? You’d be dead and probably reincarnated by the time you figure out
what happened so what difference does it make?”
“I believe the point to be that everyone dreams so no one is
safe,” Damien remarked, bringing Riley’s tirade to a blustering end.
“I’ve gotta agree with Riley on this one,” Zakk added,
in-between crunches of the chips he was munching on. “The only scary thing
about A Nightmare on Elm Street was listening to the sound scoring in the dark
with the surround sound on, otherwise, it was kinda amusing if you really think
about it.”
“Says the man who refuses to retire for the evening without
first activating some device to provide sound throughout the night,” Damien
remarked.
Huffing, Zakk froze, chip halfway to his mouth. “I like
sound, okay?”
“And the nightlight?” Riley hastened to add before Damien’s
attention could turn back towards him.
“Et, tu Brutal?”
Snickering, Riley shook his head. “That would be Brute, ya
dork.”
“Hey, don’t go calling me a dork when you’re the one who
actually knows the proper phrase,” Zakk shot back, orange chip dust clinging to
the front of his black shirt.
“You’re a hot mess,” Riley muttered.
“No shit I’m hot,” Zakk replied, preening and wiping at the
dust, leaving a smear behind.
“I take that back, you’re just a mess.”
“Who’s a mess,” Dez remarked, poking his head through the
curtain separating the front seats from the band’s living space and shyly
glancing around at all of them. As far as Riley was concerned, the sooner he
stopped hiding up front with James and joined them fully, the easier it would
be to convince him that they truly did want him to be a permanent part of their
band.
“At the moment, that would be Zakk, though I am certain that
all of us will qualify for that particular moniker at some point in this trip,”
Damien replied.
A scream from the television drew all their attention, as a
girl predictably turned to see if the movie monster was behind her and promptly
tripped on a branch and landed right at the killer’s feet.
“What is this, Friday the 13th part twelve
thousand and two, Jason goes to the laundromat and slays everyone who dares
wash the colors with the whites?” Dez snarked, a pothole bouncing the RV and
sending him crashing onto the seat beside Riley.
“Hope you’re more graceful than that on stage,” Riley
remarked, chuckling for about half a second then instantly wishing he could
take it back when Dez blushed and stared down at the table.
“I think it’s part five,” Zakk muttered, shooting Riley a
glare.
“I never got why people didn’t just stop going to Camp Crystal
Lake,” Dez remarked hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure his input would be welcome
in the conversation. “Stay away, problem solved, but no, they gotta go out and
reopen the camp or fuck with the corpse. Personally, I consider their deaths to
be Darwinism at it’s finest. Besides, it’s Leatherface and his crew you truly
have ta worry about. Now that shit’s real. There are places down in Texas and
Louisiana you don’t wanna get lost in unless you fancy your bones being used as
some psycho’s easy chair.”
“Couldn’t the same be said for the remote corners of
anywhere?” Damien inquired.
“Maybe, but down there are swamps and spooky ass places
where the mist and the living oaks come alive to swallow secrets and the gators
finish the rest.”
“How morbidly poetic, I love it, come alive to swallow
secrets, we must work that line into lyrics sooner rather than later,” Damien
remarked.
“I’m game if you are.”
“Then, let us adjourn to the back and leave Riley and Zakk
to squabble over which horror villain is the scariest. Besides, Chainsaws are hefty
and difficult to run with. I’d rather take my chances at avoiding dismemberment
than wind up at the mercy of Pinhead’s hooks and chains.”
Snickering, Dez stood, following Damien towards the back,
the tail end of their conversation still audible as they walked away. “Hard to
be scared of a dude who looks like he lost a fight with a porcupine,” Dez
commented as he snagged a bottle of juice along the way. “I’ve seen hook and
chain suspension and some of it is seriously bad ass.”
As the curtain closed behind them, Riley’s mouth fell open
as he tried to picture Dez doing suspension and wondered if the curved scar
he’d noticed on their new signer’s back come from a session gone horribly wrong.
“Shhhh” Zakk hissed.
Raising an eyebrow at his bandmate, Riley shot him a look. “What
the hell are you shushing me for when there is literally no one out here to
hear us.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
Riley looked around, spotting nothing but a tumbleweed
rolling across the dusty, moonlit yard. “Unless you’re seeing something I
can’t, we’re the only ones stupid enough to be out here.”
“You four chuckleheads have exactly five minutes to decide
how you want to do this before I head back to the RV and leave you for the
ghosts to find,” James huffed, lugging the drum bag that contained Damien’s
kit.
“There will be no more talk of ghosts until we’re all away
from this creepy ass place, if you don’t mind,” Riley complained, trying to
imagine a setup that would convey the ominous eeriness they were hoping for
with this video.
Zakk, meanwhile, headed straight for the steps. “Okay, I
think we should set up on the porch or in the entryway since the moonlight is streaming
right though the broken windows.”
“And I’m going to suggest you keep your asses off of and out
of a potentially unstable structure before a floor gives way and sends you
idiots crashing through to the basement,” James barked, setting the drumkit down.
“And porch it is.” Zakk remarked.
“How about ground, why not stick with that, huh?” James
countered.
Looking between them both, Riley shrugged. “Maybe check the porch
first and then we’ll set up, if it’s safe.”
“Hello, have you all suddenly gone dead? Have I gone
invisible?” James growled, looking down at himself.
“Relax James, it’ll be fine. Dez will just go up and see if
it holds weight, he’s the biggest, so….” Riley began.
“Oh hell no. You wanna know if that porch will hold us all
then you take your skinny ass up there and jump on it.”
“I’ll do it,” Zakk declared, bounding up the steps. Several
jumps and the creaking of a few boards and there was still some lingering doubt
that it was truly stable.
“What if we set Damien and the drums on the porch and the
rest of us on the steps and ground in front of it. That way, you can still
capture him in the video and all of us have plenty of room to move around?”
Zakk suggested.
“Fine, but if an ER trip needs to be made tonight, then I’ll
be singing I fuckin’ told you so, all the way to the doors,” James declared as
he carried the kit up the stairs and started setting up while Zakk began
positioning the video cameras.
HOOOOO HOOOOO HOOOOO
Urgent, frantic hooting proceeded a large shape swooping skyward,
dust and the tinkle of broken glass shards drifting down from the ledge above
the doorway.
“And on that note….I’m sufficiently freaked.” Riley
muttered, staring around as everyone else calmly continued to get ready for the
video shoot. Dez even shrugged at him like nothing had just happened.
“Was just a great horned owl, judging from the size and the
hoot anyway.”
“How the hell would you know what kind of owl it was?” Riley
demanded to know.
“Koda and I did an owl walk last year. He wanted to take
pictures so he could draw shifter variants of them and I just wanted to spend
time with him, so it was win, win.”
Okay, now Riley was confused. “Shifter….variants, I don’t
get it.”
Dez opened his mouth to answer, but Damien beat him to the
bunch “It is the art of taking human and animal characteristics and blending
them to create a form of were-creature.”
“Sounds pretty cool to me,” Zakk added, settling the last
camera and tri-pod in place.
Dez was working steadily on positioning the electric violin
stand right beside his guitar one so he could switch instruments easily, even
as he continued telling them about his friend’s designs. “He’s even done some
crossover steampunk themed stuff too. If I ever have the opportunity to
introduce him to Nash I can’t even envision the unique array of creations
they’d spawn. They’ve both got this knack of blending the organic and inorganic
to create something spectacular. I’d love to have them collab on my next
tattoo.”
“I would be more interested in this were-owl drawing, as
that is something I could see having tattooed on my back among the other
feathered folk who adorn me.” Damien remarked.
“I’ll talk to Koda, see if I can get him to send me the jpgs
so you can take a look.”
“For now, how about you two stop discussing owls and get
plugged in, see what else we can scare outta the rafters,” Zakk muttered.
Dez’s response was to play a series of cords that sounded an
awful lot like a revamped intro to Bedlam and Disaster, a song they’d
been working on for the past two days. Loud, chaotic and destined to get the
moshers headbanging like it was 1991, it still needed allot of tweaking yet.
“Oh shit….”
Riley turned at the sound of frantic flapping and hit the
dirt as several bats winged it over his head, making a beeline for the
surrounding forest. Spitting out dust and grateful he hadn’t been carrying any equipment,
he turned to glare at Zakk, who’d dove a few feet away and now sat dirt
streaked and chuckling at him.
“You just had to say something about the rafters, didn’t you?”
“Look on the bright side, chances are we’ve got the place to
ourselves now,” Zakk shot back.
“Then let’s quit dicking around, get this video shot and get
out of here before something goes wrong…” James declared.
“What could possibly go….” Dez began.
“Don’t say it, don’t even think it…just get set up and
sing!” Riley snapped, to which Dez, that shit, smirked, gave him a mock salute,
set up his mic, and shredded out a scathing riff accompanied with impromptu
lyrics.
Shambling shadows on a hazy night
Bats and birds, afraid, take flight
Full moon clashing with a rumbling storm
What could go wrong! What could go wrong!
Lightning crackles, electricity hums
Fusing Damien to those silver drums
Macabre stature of hair, metal and char
Have I gone too far, have I gone too far?
“Yes!” all of them bellowed back, laughing as Dez feigned a
mock bow. One thing had come from discovering their new singer. The band was
having fun and laughing again, which was better than six months ago, or even a
year before Wade had quit.
Fuckin’ Wade.
But at least now Riley could look around at the smiling
faces of his bandmates and for the first time feel like Wade had actually done
them all a favor.
“How in the hell do you intend to perform in those?”
Riley’s question jarred Dez out of the intense concentration
it was taking to apply the dark gray stripes over the purple-pink face paint he’d
applied to match the dark purple, pink and black shimmering streaks he’d dyed
through his hair. Glancing down at himself, Dez raised an eyebrow, uncertain of
exactly what Riley was going on about now.
“You’ll need to be more specific. By those do you mean the
chain and fur covered biker boots, the purple contacts, or this top, which I
was certain was going to be way too tight, but damn, Damien was right, it’s
perfect and leads just the right effect.”
Riley huffed out another of his long-suffering sighs, the
ones Dez understood to mean he thought someone was an idiot, but didn’t want so
say the words. “Take your pick.”
“In that case, the answer to your question is, with ease,
considering I’ve worn similar costumes for performances in the past and never had
an issue. I know my limitations and I know what works for me, so relax Riley
and worry about getting into your own costume. We’ve got less than thirty
minutes before we go on.”
“Considering my costume is literally a top hat and some face
paint, I think I’m good.”
“We’re seriously going to have to dock you some originality
points tonight,” Dez told him, turning back to his makeup pallet.
“Wait…is that a tail?”
“What’s it look like.”
“A tail.”
“Well, there ya go.”
Another sigh, this one deeper and heavier than before. “Oh
great, something else for you and Zakk to risk tripping over. What did you do,
compare notes before you went costume shopping?”
“We might have.”
“Please do us all a favor and don’t get too enthusiastic out
there, we do not need to end this performance with half the band in traction.”
“Duly noted.”
“Just tell me this, why the Cheshire Cat?”
“Cause you threatened to drop dead of a heart attack if any
of us came out dressed as clowns, remember?”
“How the hell does that lead to you in stripes and Zakk a
steampunk Cowardly Lion?”
“Well…ummm.”
“Just spit it out so I can go threaten whoever’s dumbass
idea it was.”
“It was sort of a misinterpretation of an idea.”
“Do tell.”
Dez pursed his lips, applied purple lipstick and winked in
the mirror.
“No, seriously, please enlighten me how it came to be that
you and Zakk are going to be prancing around with potential tripping hazards
attached to your backsides.”
“So, what had happened was…after the whole no clown thing,
since Zakk and I were planning to do the Creepy Pasta twisted killer clown
motif, we got some ideas from Damien. He suggested we go as gothic characters
with chains and tails and everything and well…”
Dez knew he was blushing and was just happy Riley wouldn’t
be able to tell beneath the paint.
“You two interpreted it as those kinds of tails instead of a
style of coat jacket.” Riley remarked dryly.
“In all fairness, he didn’t specify.”
“Uh, huh. For the record, I would just like to point out
that a demented clown shouldn’t even be a Halloween costume ya fuckin’ sadist.
That’s fuckin’ sick is what it is. Normal people do not find scaring the ever
lovin’ shit outta others by leaping outta the woodwork with a pointy nose and
bloody smile.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m neither normal nor sane.
Besides, what’s the fun of Halloween if you can’t scare someone.”
“I’m going to remember that you said that.”
“Okay.”
“And before this night is over, I’m going to scare the hell
outta you.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“I heard you.”
“Good, cause…”
“Riley…two things,” Dez remarked, cutting him off.
“What?”
“I don’t scare easily and I wouldn’t turn around if I was
you.”
“Oh for fucks sake, you wanna talk about a lack of
originality!” Riley grumbled, turning to come face to face with their roadie,
James, dressed head to toe in the very same demented ass clown costume Dez had intended
to wear. Leaping backwards, Riley proceeded to trip over the very tail he’d
been warning Dez about, crab walking backwards until he was clutching Dez’s leg
as he and James laughed uproariously.
“Oh my god, that was too perfect,” Zakk replied from the
doorway, video camera in hand from where he’d no doubt recorded the whole
thing. “We are so uploading that to social media.”
Dez felt Riley take a deep breath, and then another, one
hand pressed to his chest as he glared up at him.
“I hate you all so hard right now,” Riley announced.
“We know.” Dez replied. “In all fairness, I did try and warn
you.”
“And for that reason, I hate you just a fragment less than
those other two, now you wanna help me up?”
“I guess, but, you might wanna get that spider off you
first.”
“Oh shit, where, where?” Riley’s hands were frantic as he
brushed and batted at his clothing until Dez’s laughed, coupled with James’ and
Zakk’s clued him in that he’d been had.
“Forget what I said. You I hate more than any of them!”
Riley replied, finally giving in and joining in the laughter.
“Look, I’m not saying hiding among the chainsaws would be a
good idea, but a running vehicle, I don’t know man, there’s something kinda
sketch about it sitting there running with no one inside or anywhere around
it,” Riley remarked. The ad on the television one that made him shake his head
every time he saw it.
“Other driver already died of a terminal overdose of
stupid,” came Dez’s flippant reply.
Riley glanced over to see him blinking sleepily, only half
watching the TV, the notebook he’d previously been jotting lyrics on, drooping
in his hand.
“And if it’s a setup?” Riley asked, grinning when Dez turned
his sleepy gaze towards him.
“Then you should be asking yourself why your paranoia didn’t
kick in before you got yourself in that situation in the first place,” Dez
grumbled, giving his head a shake that left his tousled hair in his eyes. In
Riley’s opinion, he looked downright adorable fighting sleep and fumbling
around for his pen.
Snickering, Riley glanced between Dez and their drummer,
who, from his heavy-lidded gaze, looked half asleep too. “See that right there is
why Damien wouldn’t survive a horror movie. He’d overanalyze everything to
death and end up merc’ed while debating which way to go.”
Damien didn’t crack an eye open, just flipped him off and
chucked a crumpled bit of paper in his general direction, not that it hit
anything.
“No, Damien wouldn’t have been involved in that dumpster
fire in the first place,” their drummer intoned, referring to himself in third
person. “Damien would have taken one look at the creepy ass road, said ‘oh hell
no,’ and started hitchhiking home, leaving you idiots to whatever fate had in
store for you.”
“There is that,” Riley conceded.
“Unless the person you hitch a ride from ends up being some
psycho or serial killer,” Dez remarked, rolling onto his side. “Hell, these
days you gotta be half-wackadoodle to pick up a stranger like that.”
“Sounds like you speak from experience.”
“Could be.”
“From the note of amusement in your voice, it sounds as if
there is one rather interesting story there. Dish.” Damien demanded, sitting up
a little, his entire focus on Dez, who shrugged, shy and hesitant like most
every time they asked him something personal.
“What I wanna know is if you were the wackadoodle out there
hitchhiking, or the psycho picking people up?” Riley asked.
“Oh hell no. No way I’d let a complete stranger on the back
of the bike with me. Too many things could go wrong. Between them freaking out
over a close call to those that wanna get freaky and start shoving their hands
places I don’t need ‘em to be when I’m driving, the whole concept would just be
a very, very bad idea.”
“And once again, sounds like you’re speaking from
experience.”
“Let’s just say that my first trek out on my own taught me a
whole lotta things in some of the hardest ways possible,” Dez remarked, spreading
the notebook open in front of him to put a barrier between him and them.
“That mean you hitched too?” Riley pressed, though he was
certain he already knew the answer to that.
“Let’s just say that a situation necessitated it, once, and I
found myself bailing out into a ditch from a truck going almost fifty. Any
faster and I think I’d have been too scared to do it.”
“Mind if I ask what the situation was?”
“Yeah, actually, I do,” Dez remarked, rolling from the couch
and stretching his back a little. “I’m tired and it’s not really a moment of
stupidity I wanna relive. Let’s just say that there is absolutely nothing, including
chainsaw wielding hillbillies, that could ever get me to do that again.”
And with that, he disappeared through the curtain into the
sleeping area, leaving Riley and Damien to raise an eyebrow at one another.
“Damn…now I truly wish to know what took place,” Damien
remarked.
“Think he’ll ever tell us?” Riley pondered.
“No chance in hell!” Dez bellowed, the fierceness of his
tone startling them both.
“Guess he told you,” Zakk called from the front where he’d
been keeping James company. The pair of them laughing like hyenas as the RV bounced,
hard.
“How about you two pay attention to the road before one of
us has to hike up the road looking for a farmhouse or cell phone reception, and
I’m pretty sure it won’t be Dez.”
“Believe that!” came the reply from the back, prompting
another round of laughter. It’s all fun and games until real life imitates the
movies, and a horror movie at that. With that in mind, Riley turned his
attention back to the TV in the hopes that the pair in the front would put
their focus back where it belonged…on the road.
