KING DIAMOND...House Of God...Album/Werewolf Story

[bloodrayne]

The songs on this entire album, form one long, really wicked story (Werewolf/Demon)...I know it's a lot to read...But, I honestly believe that you guys will really like it...Give it a chance, okay?...If you REALLY don't want to read it ALL, at LEAST read the last song: "This Place Is Terrible"...

I also know that it will be moved, I'm just putting it here so that everyone can see it...

The Trees Have Eyes

I'd been riding hard most of the night, wooded ravines on a mountain side
My horse was getting tired... and so was I
Up there the moon was full, down here darkness ruled
The trees grew so much higher than they were meant to
In what is known as "The Devil's Hide"
I knew I was not alone, and it was not that crazy moon above
Oh no... I could feel the trees have eyes
I used to know this road so well, many a time I was here before
But now it seemed so different, the road was no more
I was lost, I stopped and looked around
I had this eerie feeling, that I was being watched
The trees have eyes, watching me
Then the sound I didn't wanna hear, howling at the moon
Eyes I didn't wanna see, I should have turned around
So much louder, the howling was chilling my bones
One wolf grown to a dozen, and here I was alone
Yellow eyes... they were everywhere... yellow eyes... as I prepared to die
Suddenly there she was, in a halo of light
Suddenly there she was, silvery black and white
The bluest magical eyes staring right into mine
Never ever had I seen in a wolf, such a beautiful beast
In what is known as "The Devil's Hide"
I knew I was not alone, and it was not that crazy moon above
Oh no...I could feel the trees have eyes

Follow the Wolf

The morning slowly came, my life about to end
Then the wind would change, all but one had left
The angelic wolf had stayed, without a word she said
Follow me, follow the wolf
And so i followed the wolf, up the wooded mountain side
Close to the top... she suddenly stopped
Sun to the East, man and beast
Just two silhouettes... in a landscape never to forget
Like dark decaying teeth, I saw the village beneath
A few and distant roads all leading away from here
Nobody in the streets... decay
I must follow the wolf again, I must follow her till the end
The Wolf had turned around, facing higher ground
And there it was... The House of God
In awe I looked as time had stopped
Follow me
I had never seen a church like this before
"This Place is terrible" inscribed above the door
Like dark decaying teeth, I saw the church within
A few distant thoughts, inviting me in to sin
Nobody in the church... decay
Shrouded in a gloomy light, as if my final night
I wonder if God was ever here
Or did he turn away in fear, did he turn away in fear?

House of God

Once inside, everything would change before my eyes
No more decay
Glorious beauty had taken its place
But in horror... I watched as the wolf... began it's skin to shed
I grabbed a silver crucifix expecting evil to be next
To the floor it fell, the crucifix, the wolf was no more a beast
Instead a lady only dreams can create
Creeping deep into the heart I never had
"I'll love you forever... never leave"
It was love at first sight, in true love there is no wrong or right
I didn't care from where she came, just her name... Angel
Then a kiss, soft and warm, my love, am I really not alone?
Nights of heavenly sin, in the House of God, I found... true love
"I'll love you forever... never leave"
Angel... Angel... Angel... Angel where are you now?

Black Devil

There he was that little man, sitting by the altar... Black Devil
Carved in stone so dark and cold... Black Devil
Help me, Help me, cause I don't know what's going on
It was the early morning of the seventh day
I had been making love to Angel in every single way
The sun was peeking through a window high above
That's when I saw her kiss the little devil on his head
Black Devil... if you could only speak... Black Devil
What do you see when you're looking at me?
There he was that little man, fingers spread like claws... Black Devil
I wonder what it is he knows... Black Devil
When I look around, this church on holy ground
There are things within, that should have never been
Why two pulpits in a place like this?
One facing to the East, the other to the West
One of the guilded canopies have gargoyles in the sun
And on the other canopy I see demons having fun
Black Devil always near, why don't you want me here?
I can feel your hate in my soul, I wonder what it is you know
Black Devil... what's going on?

The Pact

Outside the leaves are slowly falling from the trees
Black clouds are moving in, a storm is coming on
Inside the confessional, Angel and I are playing games
I'm acting the priest, and she is the sinner of all my dreams...
Dreams, dreams, turn into a nightmare
A sudden change on her face, her smile is gone without a trace
"Nothing... nothing is forever", she said
"So many things are wrong in here, so many times I've lived in fear
A year ago... I signed a sacred pact, and if you love me so will you"
Then she told me of the Pact, her tears were not an act
And they were not alone, all my dreams... shattered to the bone
I fell to my knees in prayer... but ohhh this is Hell
The Pact is so powerful, it leaves you no way out
Unless within a year, someone else will sign it in blood
Someone to take your place, to guard this evil church
Another wolf to roam the hills, another wolf... in for the kill
"Nothing... nothing is forever", she said
If i sign it now, Angel will be free to go
She must leave without her memory, no more a wolf, but as a lady
And if I don't, then in seven days she will die before my very eyes
Either way... I'll never see her again
If i sign then I must stay, and only leave as a wolf for prey
"A year ago... I signed a sacred Pact"
And now I'm signing it for you

Goodbye

So many tears in my eyes, I have to look away
How can I say the word, that never should be said
I lay my broken heart to rest, and so I set you free
I wish you only the best... even if it's not with me
Fly away...
Beautiful angel Fly away to better things

Just a Shadow

Again I'm so alone, the wine is pouring down
No one to share with, no one to care with
The only light in my life
Comes from the candlelight, black candles left behind
As I'm sitting through the night
I'm so cold and dark inside
Angel, your memory will haunt me till the day I die
Just a shadow, a shadow of a man
The eyes of statues standing along the nave
They seem to follow my every move, every tear I shed
I am no longer living, but I am still not dead
I'm somewhere in between, I am of the unseen
Must we have the other side, just to feel alive?
Oh I wonder what would be had we not created me
The eyes of statues standing along the nave
They seem to follow my every move
They drive me insane
Surrounded by darkness in this cold church of thine
I try to remember, all that once was mine
I don't know what tomorrow will bring
But if life is so divine, how come I suffer so in mine?
I lived a lifetime of sorrow and hate, up until the other day
That's when I left this sick old world behind
Oh how love can make you blind

Help!!!

Help... help... can anybody help me now?
Help... help... my mind is lying on the ground
I don't know, I just don't know if I'm still alive
I see the sun, the sun is up again, another day of just the same
I'm slowly going mad, emptiness is all I have
In the mirrors on the walls, with the crosses standing tall
I see misery take another hold of me
I'm hanging on to a memory... I'm hanging on to myself
The wine is turning sour, I'm longing for my final hour
Never to be free, cursed for eternity
I'm hanging on to a memory... I'm hanging on to me
Be it God or Satan, whoever you are
You're hiding in the shadows
You cursed me with the Devil's mark
Help... help... I'm slowly going mad
Help... help... emptiness is all I have
I smash the mirrors... the mirrors on the wall
I have to smash them all before they crush my soul
Help... blood... I'm bleeding now, Help... I'm bleeding bad
I'm bleeding on the floor
Help... help...
I can't take this anymore

Passage to Hell

What was that sound?
I slowly turn around, something moved
A void of darkness in the floor, where the altar stood
I move a little closer, cause I cannot see from where I stand
Blood still running down my arm, from all the cuts in my hands
I must enter the unholy cell
I must enter a passage to Hell
Someone is ringing the bell
But there is only me, there is no one else
I think I hear a voice from deep within the hole
I wonder who could be in there, the strong smell of old
I can barely see the stairs below
Stairs on which I know my feet must go

Okay...It doesn't all fit, so I am going to put the last 2 songs (The end of the story) in the next post...

[bloodrayne]

Catacomb

Down into the dark I go, armed with just a candle and then my soul
Cryptic messages written on the floor
Rats are nibbling at my feet, I send one off to nevermore
Too much darkness, spiders on my eyes
Webs are hanging from my thighs, the fatter ones must die
I see shadows walking straight and tall
I don't know how they move, dancing on the walls
Presence of fear, a presence so near
I wonder what could be so powerful beyond the dark
Human bones... in little chambers all along the narrow halls
Catacomb, death over life... Catacomb, am I here to die?
I see a light, I push some bones aside
Down into the dark I go, another chamber, a chamber with a glow
Could this be a doorway to another world?
Or darkness playing tricks, with my little mind?
The virgin Mary is standing tall
A full size figure carved in wood up against the wall
Her face is peeling from all the years gone by
Is it just a statue, or is it what I'm looking for?
I break her face and see another one instead
The mummy's face appears as the bandages they fall
Dried out face with hate upon me gaze
How grotesque... the mummy wears a crown of thorns
From the empty sockets where its eyes should be
An entity of light is pouring out towards me
And then the sound... Jesus Christ,what have they done to you?
I'm running for my life, I'm running from the night
But it's so hard to breathe, the stench down here is much too much
Satan help me, help me God
Help me anyone, anyone who hears my cry of fear
Cold winds from far beyond the dark
Chasing through the catacomb and breathing down my neck
Human bones... in little chambers all along the narrow halls
Catacomb, death over life... Catacomb, am I here to die?
I know I'm here to die

This Place is Terrible

I'm back in the church... night has taken over
I'm breathing hard... in the dark
Through the hole in the floor, I hear the winds from the catacomb
Here it comes, out of the hole, a magnificent light
Blinding the entire church
Contorted faces and bodies too, powerful entity floating high above
I was no more scared of dying, but I was terrified of knowing the truth
I don't want to, but I have to... I have to know who you are
"You have entered where no human must go
You have seen the lie... the lie about the cross"
I am many... We are One, THE HIGHEST
You'll never know why We kept Him here
The one who did not die on the cross
Could it be We kept Him away from God... so that he may never walk
Never walk the Earth again?"
"Or could it be that We've kept Him... safe from YOU
So you may never try to do again what... you did back then?
I guess it all depends on who you are
I guess it all depends on who you really are"
"God and Satan are just puppets on OUR strings
Creating conflicts in your little human minds, keeping US alive
It doesn't matter who or what you think We are
It only matters that you know We are
God, The Devil, good and evil, We're all that and so much more"
"Live this life the best you can, and leave the rest to US"
But I can't... I won't be one that feeds an unknown God
Show to mankind that You really exist
And then explain to us the meaning of chaos
Give us reason to persist, to go on living through this Hell on Earth
All I want is peace of mind from all you non existing Gods
I bet that not even You will ever understand the truth
Cause YOU are nothing but a puppet on even higher strings
Your unholy eyes, I wanna sew them shut
Oh you meaningless little God, and so I choose death over you
Up up the grey cold stairs, up into the tower of Hell
With a rope in my hand, I'm searching for the unknown land
FATHER OF THE UNIVERSE, here I come.. THIS PLACE IS TERRIBLE


So...IF you read it...What do you think?...I think it should be a movie...I LOVE this story:cool:

[Arioch]

I know a few albums that do this continuous story idea...its pretty cool, i always like that shit...

NIN - The Downward Spiral
Manson's - Antichrist Superstar
Pink Floyd - The Wall

All great albums/stories

[Stingy Jack]

I liked that story as well! Very cool. Hey .... is there a copyright issue involved here? I have read a couple of stories that I would like to share with people at this site, but I am worried about getting sued for copyright infringement.

[Arioch]

I liked that story as well! Very cool. Hey .... is there a copyright issue involved here? I have read a couple of stories that I would like to share with people at this site, but I am worried about getting sued for copyright infringement.

As long as you don't say its YOUR work, your fine. Dont worry about that...

[Stingy Jack]

Originally posted by Arioch
As long as you don't say its YOUR work, your fine. Dont worry about that...

No, I don't plagiarise (I'm an English teacher!) ... just, you know ... thought the magazine I posted the stories from would get pissed because that's allowing folks to read their material for free. You know? Kind of like pirated movies, only it's for fiction.

[Arioch]

What are the odds of those magazines lookin in this thread?

[Stingy Jack]

Okay, here's a short story from the current issue of Cemetery Dance (#49). It's the best story in this issue, so far (I haven't read them all.)

Misdirection
by
Tony Richards

He is coming towards me now, his dark and unreflective eyes fixed upon mine.
And there doesn't seem to be a thing that I can do about it . . . .

*********

I have heard that the population of Edinburgh, Scotland, pretty much doubles during the first three and a half weeks of August, the even has become so renowned.
The Edinburgh Fesitval. Drama. Dance. Art. Cinema. And jazz. The largest cultural gathering in the world. Sixteen hundred different shows running throughout it on a staggered rotation that begins about midday and can go on till well past midnight.
And the city's population doubles, like a sponge taking on too much water.
Visitors arrive from Europe, North America, Australia, New Zealand and Japan. Even the smallest, pokiest of guesthouses responds by upping its rates. People who have spare rooms in their homes will rent them out for the duration, to take up the overflow.
We had hired an apartment to ourselves for the two weeks that we were staying. Were up from London, mostly here to see the Fringe -- what the Americans passing by us now might call 'off-Broadway'. Small productions starring nobody you'd ever heard of. Stand-up comics ranging from the brilliant to the banal. Avant-garde dance-troupes ... that kind of thing.
You could keep the bigger shows. The Festival, for us, was an exploration, a mental adventure.
There was myself. There was my girlfriend, Cassie, who I'd only been with for two months, but with whom I was deeply in love. There was her best friend, Miranda. And there were my closest pair of pals from college days, Big Ritch and pensive Daniel.
College had, in fact, only ended for the five of us a year ago. And this ... ? It was like going back and doing the fun parts all over again, just better.
We were into our fourth day. Were sitting almost literally in the shadow of the Castle, at an open-air cafe on the Royal Mile, taking a very late, rather quiet, somewhat hung-over breakfast. The bars in the modernistic Dome complex stay open till three in the morning, and the time passes almost without your noticing if you get chatting with some other crowd.
And .... perhaps we had chosen the wrong location, considering the state that we were in. But almost all that doubled population seemed to be walking past us now. A lot of people were clutching programmes. But there were more than just civilians out here this late in the morning.
Actors were moving amongst the flow of normal people, advertising their shows in various and novel ways. They were going past us dressed as hobos, penguins, sexy robots. Angels. I think Genghis Khan. On top of which, a fire-juggler was working the crowd in one direction, and a pair of buskers with full black-tie and cellos in the other.
We hadn't exactly chosen somewhere quiet, in other words. But -- just the same as every other day we'd been here -- the atmosphere started to unfect us before too long, and we forgot how tired we were.
We began to discuss what we were going to give a try today. There was obviously a long potential list, and we'd been taking in a bare minimum of four shows daily since we'd got here. Seen a good and solid play abuot an unemployed steel-worker being pushed over the edge. Another flimsier but striking one about the war against the Taliban. Five stand-up comics. A mime show that had rendered everybody quite speechless with boredom. And an astonishing visual-arts piece by a modern-dance collective from St. Petersburg, all weird lighting, dry ice, and luminous props.
So we went through the programme again, turning over the alternatives.
All the while we did this, the pile of flyers on our table grew. And if you've never been to the Festival before, that probably requires some explanation.
Sixteen hundred shows, all vying for the visitor's attention. There are posters everywhere, placed illegally or otherwise. There are banners. There are t-shirts. There are teh actors out plugging their own events. But most of all, there are the flyers. Printed handbills, mostly on thin cardboard. Everybody hands them out, pushing them towards you as you walk along the street, or simply slapping them down by your elbow if you're sitting at a table.
If you ever find yourself in Edinburgh without a bed for the night, you can at least make yourself a decent mattress, you get given so many of the things.
We took a casual, sideways notice of them as they tumbled down in front of us, one after the other.
'You, Myself, and Me, a one-woman show about the underlying grief of personal relationships.'
'An Hour with Kevin Morrison, brilliant stand-up humor by Tasmania's finest new comedian.'
'The Trap, a harrowing new drama by Igor Zetermelelian.'
'Carry On Forever, a tribute to Sid James.'
None appealed, certainly not this early in the day, though Daniel tried to claim that he had actually heard of Igor Zetermelelian.
Cassie started nuzzling my neck after a while, and so didn't see it when ... what seemed to be a disembodied shadow suddenly loomed out of the crowd. Hovered over me, so closely that he genuinely made me flinch. Dropped a glossy, almost wholly black handbill next to my coffee up. Then disappeared again.
It took my weary brain a few seconds to figure out what had just happened. It had been a man, dressed from head to tow in black. In what had to be some kind of cat-suit, with gloves and a full-head mask. Too weird.
But I picked up the flyer.
Cassie's head came back up -- she was obviously wondering why I'd flinched. And then she looked at the thing as well.
"Here's a peculiar one," she murmured. "I can barely read it."
As I'd said, it was almost entirely black. But there was tiny, spidery red printing on it, the lettering so narrow that you had to squint to decipher it even in bright daylight. As though some wounded insect, bleeding profusely for a bug, had dragged itself across the pasteboard.
"Chopper," I read slowly out. "An entertainer with a difference. Pleasance Below at one o'clock."
Exactly what difference was nowhere explained.
"Intriguing presentation though," Ritch pointed out. Was he referring to the flyer, or the way that its distributor had been dressed, or both? With Ritch, you never could be quite sure. "Aren't we here for something different? We could always check it out."

****************

"He's one of those extreme circus types," the young Australian woman at the Pleasance Courtyard box-office informed us. "You know, nails up the nose, juggling with chainsaws, that sort of thing."
Cassie's friend Miranda looked a little dubious at the sound of that. Not Cassie herself, though. She may look sweet and petite, but she's actually quite a hardy little cookie. Ritch and Daniel began to take more interest too.
"Today's his first show," the woman added. Which was odd, since we were halfway through the Festival. "The act who had his slot was forced to drop out yesterday -- death in the family, something along those lines."
"Isn't that unusual?" Cassie asked her. "I mean, letting someone else take over at so late a stage?"
"I wouldn't know, I'm afraid. This is my first time here."
The Pleasance Courtyard, like the nearby Dome, is a student building most of the year round and converted to theaters during August. Unlike the Dome though, it's an old and disorderly structure, somewhat reminiscent of those sprawling and quadrangled farmhouses Napoleon used to fight battles around. The cobbled area at its heart was filled with people taking a drink and enjoying the sunshine between shows. Others disappeared inside to have lunch at the bistro, or stood in line at the various doorways, tickets in their hands.
"Oh, I practically forgot," the woman added. "It's two tickets for the price of one, just for today."
Which was a pretty standard Festical gambit to attract a good audience.
It decided us, though.
It was our first time in the Pleasance Below, and it turned out to be one of the smaller of the dozen or so theaters in the complex. Subterranean, obviously. The seating descending at a forty-five degree angle. Dark. Stuffy too, on a warm day like today. There was air-conditioning at the nearby Pleasance Cavern, but apparently no such luxury here.
And the place was almost full. At the Fringe, so heavily attended by backpackers and students, cut-price tickets do it every time. Miranda, Cassie and myself squeezed into three folding-chairs halfway up, I took the aisle seat on account of my long legs. Daniel and Ritch found places in the row behind me.
We just had time to settle down before the usher closed the door, a spotlight came on.
And the show began.

*************

(to be continued in next post)

[Stingy Jack]

Without preamble -- I didn't even notice the curtains at the back of the small stage move -- the same figure who's first handed me the flyer stepped into the concentrated pool of light. At least, I must assume it was the same figure. No sure way of telling, really. It could have been pretty much anyone, dressed like that.
It was thin black cloth, the costume he was wearing. Like a ninja out of old Japan.
Not a scrap of flesh showed. There were two small holes cut for the eyes. But oddly, I could detect no glint from them, even in the bright stage lighting.
Ninjas used to wear black gauze there, I remembered, to prevent that happening and betraying them. And was that what this man had used? I was too far away to be sure.
Something else was glinting though. Behind him, to the left, against the black drapes at the rear, I could just make out a random pile of objects. And ... maybe it was the spotlight which had brought them into dim relief, because I hadn't noticed them before. Miscellaneous shapes. Some large. all inter-twisted. I struggled to make them out.
Was that ... a circular saw?
Was that ... a pair of bolt-cutters?
Was that a scimitar?
Was that an axe?
Chopper said nothing. Made no introduction. Gave no bow. Simply reached down his waist and -- wholly unexpectedly -- yanked the top half of his costume off. The gloves remained in place, and the mask. But we all now found ourselves looking at a braod, well-defined chest.
I was so bound up with details, I've forgotten to describe him -- so far as you can describe anybody dressed the way he was. He had to be somewhere between five-seven and five-nine. Wide-shouldered but with terribly small feet. Short legs for a man of his height, so that his build looked almost like an old-time spinning top. His whole frame extremely muscular, compact. The build of a man who has been doing the right workout for an awfully long time.
His skin gleamed faintly in the spotlight. It had to be pretty hot down there.
No way of determining his age -- but none of the thick hair on his chest had greyed-out; I could see that much.
And no way of telling what his face was like, of course.
He just took a backward step towards the pile of objects I had recently become aware of. Reached down towards it without even looking. His hand came back clutching the circular saw.
He switched it on. Its buzzing filled the theater and Miranda gave a jerk.
And then he proceeded to shave his chest with it.
Miranda buried her face in her hands, along with several other members of the audience. And Cassie? She gripped my arm a little tighter, but was chuckling between clenched teeth. Most of the crowd seemed caught between those two reactions -- revulsion and fright at what they were now seeing, but amusement too.
It was a trick. It simply had to be. No flecks of blood appeared. And the curly hairs didn't seem to be ripped out in any way.
I found myself trying to figure out how it was done. Probably, his chest was already shaven. These were false ones, lightly stuck on. And when he moved the saw across them, they simply got knocked loose.
Bizarre, though. He was getting the bright, spinning blade awfully close to his skin. Or perhaps that was just another trick, one of perspective and angle.
He finally switched it off and put it down to limited applause.
During the course of the next twenty minutes, he continued by doing the following things.
He shaved his armpits with the scimitar.
He closed the blades of the bolt-cutters -- it turned out he had two of them -- around his covered earlobes and then walked around with them depending as though they were jewellery.
He produced a length of chain, attached it to a hook that was lowered from the ceiling, and then hanged himself with it, apparently with no damage or discomfort.
Then he started driving nine-inch nails right through the palms of his gloved hands. He didn't use a hammer. Simply forced them through himself.
No one got up and left, although a few, like Miranda, now had their heads almost buried in their laps. Cassie was clutching onto me extremely tightly by this time -- something I was not ungrateful for -- but smiling stiffly all the same.
"I wonder how on earth he does it?"
Fake blood? Obviously. Trick nails with rubber tips? I still couldn't work out how he'd hanged himself without the aid of a protective collar, but was certain of one thing. This was essentially no different from an old-fashioned magician with a pack of cards, a hat, a rabbit.
Props and misdirection -- that was all.
Startling. But just a show.
Ritch, ever the cynic, leant across my shoulder at that point and murmured, "'Entertainer with a difference' eh? I've seen this kind of act at least half a dozen times before."
And ... I could have sworn that Chopper glanced up, right in our direction, as he said it.
I almost felt him grin beneath that flimsy mask, although I couldn't see it.
He stopped what he was doing. Simply walked to the front edge of the stage. And -- for the first time since he had appeared -- began to address us.

***************

"Are you enjoying youselves, ladies and gents?"
A nervous laugh went up from the whole audience. Were we glad that it was merely a rhetorical question -- had it not been, then how's we have answered?
Chopper's voice was ... well, surprising is the word. Possibly the most surprising thing of this entire show thus far, so little did it match his appearance. It was medium-pitched, rather than the baritone that you might have expected. Fluid, almost silky, every word clearly enunciated. A cultured voice, one that hinted at education, maybe even breeding.
A ... gentleman's voice?
He stood a little taller.
"But, since I am a mind-reader as well as a performance artist, I can tell what some of you have running through your thoughts by now. You're thinking: 'This is all interesting enough ... '"
And I was sure he glanced at Ritch and myself again.
"... but surely nothing new.' And yes, I'll admit that I've had nothing quite unique to offer, up until this point. But how many performers of my ilk, I ask you ..."
And he spread his arms out wide theatrically, encompassing us all.
"... let the audience join in?"
There was just stunned silence for an elastic, nerveless moment.
And then? Almost everybody burst out laughing.
It wasn't a comfortable hilarity, though. You could feel the electric tension that was now spreading between us, the air becoming damp with sweat. I could have sworn the already-high temperature went up another few degrees.
'Join in'? Was that meant the way it sounded? What exactly was he going to do?
But in the very next moment, he was pointing at a tall, red-headed man in the front row.
"You, sir. Yes, you. You look like a courageous fellow."
His friends, seated around him, started chuckling and snorting.
"How would you react, I wonder, if I were to suddenly do this?"
He backtracked quickly to his pile of tools. Whipped out some kind of big stiletto, the blade around a foot long. Then suddenly burst into a sprint, leaping off the stage.
And plunged the thing directly through the center of the tall man's chest.
The women round him let out shrieks and clasped their hands to their mouths. All the male friends stiffened.
The red-headed man ... was perfectly immobile for a moment. Then pitched forwards till his head was rested on his knees.
Several people guffawed at that point. I could see why -- it was quite obvious. The guy was a 'plant', an accomplice, all the 'friends' around him actors. What was the point of this, though? I began to wonder. Where was it all leading?
While I was still trying to figure that out, Chopper returned to the stage and got an air-powered nail-gun, and then pointed at a brunette woman three rows down from myself, also on the aisle.
"You, madam? Would you like a try?"
She began shaking her head, though she was laughing at the same time.
"Oh, c'mon!" He had jumped down again. "You should at least try it once."
Quite a few people, Ritch and Daniel included, were in stitches by this time. 'Schadenfreude' is the German term for it -- pleasure or amusement at somebody else's discomfort. Even the woman's boyfriend was grinning, rubbing at her shoulder in a warm, supportive way.
And, while he was doing this, Chopper simply marched right up the stairs towards her. Held the gun at point-blank range, beside her temple.
There was a pfzzt, and then quickly a second one.
And the woman dropped sideways into her boyfriend's lap, two nails protruding from her forehead, little streaks of blood there.
Applause rang out from a few sections of the theatre. Not from me, though. I was still trying to understand where all of this was headed.
And that was when the black clad figure -- merely yards away now -- looked directly up at me.
And I finally understood what the deal was with his eyes.

********************

There was no gauze. There was nothing at all covering them. They were very small and very narrow, as tiny as I'd ever seen a pair. The irises were large, and left no room for anything else.
They were pure black, so you could not make out where they stopped and the pupil started.
And they had no lustre whatsoever.
Utterly dead eyes.
I felt chilled to the bone, gazing into them.
And then I sensed him smile again, beneath his mask.
And heard him ask me, "You, sir? How about you?"



(Concluded soon)

[Stingy Jack]

Now? He is going back onto the stage and fetching the axe from the pile. Hefting it, so that its newly-honed blade sparkles. Coming back towards me, his black gaze locked on my face.
He isn't the only one. Every single person in the theatre is staring at me now. Ritch has just reached down and given me an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Cassie is clutching my sleeve and giggleing furiously, her eyes damp and her face bright red. Miranda has her head buried in her lap again, but even she is looking at me sideways, out of just one eye.
And I keep on trying to reassure myself -- 'it's all fake, it's just a show'.
Except ... there's what I told myself before. Illusion. Misdirection. Making things seem one way when the truth is actually something else.
And ... if a madman wanted to kill people ... wanted them to let him ....
Wanted them to sit there smiling, actually going along with it, while he butchered them one by one ....
Is there a sharp, coppery smell on the theatre's air by this time? The brunette's boyfriend shaking her, starting to look concerned?
"Don't lose your head, Ian!" Daniel is chortling. Everybody laughs at that.
I could try and wrestle the axe off Chopper, for sure. Or I could get up and run -- there is a fire exit behind me, I noticed it when we first came in. But I'd be doing either thing to the incredulous hilarity of the crowd. To my friends' dismay, astonishment. To the loss of Cassie's respect, affection, and even her love.
So many eyes on me. So many smiling faces.
So I try and drive that second theory right out of my mind, and reassure myself it's just a show, even though I still can't understand its point.
He is coming towards me now, his dark and unreflective eyes fixed upon mine.
And there doesn't seem to be a thing that I can do about it ....



The end.





So.... what do you think?

[Egekrusher]

Bubbling Buttfuck Batman, that's way too long!!!

LOL, I'm at work right now I'll have to read it later.

[bloodrayne]

I knew that you guys would like this story, if you just took a couple of minutes to read it...Thanks for doing so:)