Dark Side Encounter

Dark Side Encounter by Dean Carroll

Gary Fullerton showered and dressed for his night on the town, 'Consuming Impulse' by Pestilence blasted out of his stereo speakers. He was going into the city with his mate and engage in a good old heavy moshing session.
"Turn that bloody racket down" barked his step-father from the bottom of the stairs. Gary emerged from the bathroom a toothbrush protruding from his mouth. "What's that!" barked Gary.
"Turn that fuckin shit off. I can hardly hear myself think" Martin said acidly, his head banging from the afternoon drinking session he had at his local.
Gary rushed into his bedroom to turn down the stereo, giving Martin a Nazi style salute when he wasn't looking.
Gary loved his music fast and noisy, especially death and black metal but he still had affection for the old thrash oldies. His bedroom was adorned with posters of his favourites. Morbid Angel; Obituary; Napalm Death and Hate Eternal filled every part of the walls. He also had an eclectic selection of Compact Discs with tasteful names like Carcass, Decrepit Birth and Vomitory.
Drying his long flowing hair which he'd grown since leaving school three years ago, he dressed in an Entombed t-shirt and black skin tight jeans. He put on his black bikers leather jacket and battle jacket- an old denim jacket with the sleeves shorn, adorned with dozens of patches, which he wore over his leather.

Gary had been unemployed for nearing on six months since he was made redundant at the local warehouse where he was an operative. Now with his money spent his step father was constantly on Gary's back to find employment.

Looking in the mirror Gary was satisfied with his attire and clomped downstairs in his doctor martins, and entered the living room, where his mother was busily watching Coronation Street while his stepfather was reading the paper.
His mother looked up from the telly. "Going anywhere nice?" she said meekly.
"Just into town mum" Gary said smiling. Martin gave Him a look of derision.
"Letting the state pay for your beer aye sonny!" said Martin sarcastically.
Gary looked at Martin filthily "Like your afternoon sessions at the Dog and Duck eh Martin" Gary said cockily.
Martin went ballistic and drunkenly leapt at Gary, a half bottle of whisky falling over on the carpet.
"Listen you long haired freak. Don't you think I'm entitled to my vices" he spat at Gary tugging him roughly by the hair. "I didn't spend fifteen years in the army for a toe rag like you to put me down." Martin spat.
"Can you two please calm down" said Gary's mother who quivered with fear.
"He's a bum and your too bloody soft Bella." He bellowed back at her
"A spell in the forces will sort him out" He spat, having hold of Gary's hair
"Tell you what asshole, I want your hair cut by next week and in a job, or you don't set foot in this house. Got it lad!" Martin shouted sharply into his ear.
Gary submitted to Martin and nodded meekly, producing a wry grin to emerge on Martins face.
"You know the score lad." he said releasing his grip on Gary's hair, Gary picked his head up and accepting defeat bitterly, obeyed him, his nerves filled with hateful rage.
Martin sat down again and retrieved his newspaper, while Bella cleaned up the overturned whisky at his feet, Gary full of aggression left the house slamming the door behind him.

It was one of many encounters with his bastard of a stepfather, but he had never placed an ultimatum on him before. Lighting up a cigarette, he harshly inhaled it, needing something to relax his frayed nerves.
His mother had found it hard to cope with life. Gary's father had grown tired of Bellas clinginess and left when Gary was a baby, never to return.
After countless relationships that broke up violently she met Martin, falling instantly for his squaddie charm. After being a courting couple for two months they got married and after a while quickly noticed her desperation and submissiveness, and saw the traits as ideal assets, to which to control her by.
Treating her like his lap dog, he mentally controlled her and attempted to turn her against her son.
But the mother son bond was too great and Bella resisted Martins pressure She had resisted her husbands demands. Such as the time when a social worker turned up at Bellas home, ready to take the fourteen year old Gary into care, after being caught pot smoking in school.
Bella though resisted her husband's bullying and defended Gary against Martins constant labelling of her son as a juvenile delinquent. Time and time again Bella had stuck up for Gary through his formative years.



On his way to his friends he encountered a gang of six teenagers, one trying to keep control of a staffie, the dogs owner pulling desperately on the leash, arms covered in crude tattoos. As Gary passed, one of the gang stared at him cockily and did a sarcastic version of a fretwank on a guitar. Gary stared down at him, not in the mood for trouble off a bunch of local scallies.
While he passed, the group began singing 'Bat out of Hell' and shouting hippy chick, while Gary went on his way.


Gary arrived at Eamon's house ten minutes later, and walked up the path through a well-tended garden. Red roses and crocuses grew in borders, the scent of the fauna uplifting. At the door he rang the bell and a well presented elderly woman answered. Her attire befitted the upkeep of her home.
"Evening Mrs Keane" Gary said smiling.
Meanwhile Eamon was rushing around finding his jacket.
"Off to the rock club?" said Eamon grandmother smiling. Eamon was too busy searching the house.
"You'll misplace your head one of these days" giggled Mrs Keane. Gary laughed along with the joke.


Eamon had lived with his grandmother since he was fifteen, having lost his parents and eight year old sister in a motorway accident four years ago. Gary had been friends with Eamon since high school, and Eamon had introduced Gary to heavy metal music one day when he gave him a compilation of Metallica and Slayer songs in third grade. Having been unaccustomed to thrash music, Gary initially found it hard to get into, but after half a dozen listens he was hooked. Now Gary and Eamon were thick as thieves, and shared their taste in music.


After a five minute wait, in which Eamon had torn half the house apart, found his jacket wedged down the settee. Finally organised Eamon kissed his gran and left the house.
Eamon had a steady job as an apprentice welder, and was on a good earner, much so that he was generous with his money, especially when it came to buying Gary his beer. Gary had promised to compensate him when he had steady employment, he couldn't afford a bean on the dole.
At the bus stop, Eamon took out a packet of cigarettes, and extracted a reefer, sparking it up and took a choking blast of it, the cannabis gradually mellowing him out. Having smoked half the joint he passed it onto Gary who wanted something to take his mind off his predicament with his stepfather. Taking a hit the skunkweed gradually gave his mood a lift, smoking the joint to the roach.
By the time the spliff was smoked the bus had arrived. Embarking the two friends climbed upstairs where a young courting couple sat at the front, their legs stretched onto the front window. Eamon and Gary went to the back of the bus, stretching their feet across the back seat, Gary handed Eamon a cigarette and they smoked it while Gary told him about Martins ultimatum. Eamon listened attentively while Gary explained it, shaking his head.
"The bastards out of order Gaz" he said angrily, understanding Gary's predicament. Gary explained he'd threatened him with being chucked out, if he didn't conform, Eamon smiled thinly.
"Tell you what." Said Eamon "I'll have a word with my gran, and you can stop on her settee, If push comes to shove." He offered. Gary smiled meekly and said he would give it some thought. They remained silent for the rest of the journey in quiet contemplation.


The bus pulled into Bexford town centre, and the pair alighted, the summer night was drawing in, and the surrounding pubs and bars were filling up. As Gary and Eamon walked up the road, Eamon sparked up another joint, and they joined the melee of club goers.
There were a mix of rock fans in procession to 'Dexies', nu-metal fans dressed in baggy pants that hung off their arse, Deftones and Korn t-shirts draped over their backs. Goths dressed in dark trench jackets, their lips rouged black like a corpse. Punks and crusties congregated dressed in combat jackets that clearly needed washing, one of them with a mangey mongrel on a piece of string, drinking a cheap bottle of cider. But in vast numbers were the traditional metallers, long hair flowing loosely around their shoulders. Denim and biker jackets, with patches or painted on band names. Gary felt in his element every time he went to Dexies.
Arriving outside the club, they queued up, eyeing up the rock chicks, who seemed to be younger than them. The glam rock women were the most attractive Gary ogled over them, but they were usually accompanied by their boyfriends, who dressed in their tasselled leather jackets and flashy clothes, cosmetics smeared on their faces. Gary hated these 'posers' nicknaming them 'chicks with dicks.'
Finally it came to Gary and Eamons turn to enter the club.
A couple in front attempted to enter, dressed up like as if were going to a wedding. A stocky tattooed doorman that looked like a hells angel, casually pointed to a notice on the front of the entrance, detailing the dress code. Turning them away Gary and Eamon approached the entrance. As they were about to enter, the doorman stared suspiciously at Eamon.
"Not carrying any wacky baccy on your person?" the biker type guy said sternly. Eamon tried to look composed and casually shook his head.
"No mate!" he said calmly. The bouncer stared with piercing eyes, his expression unflinching.
"Mind me doing a search sonny" said the man. Gary looked concernedly at Eamon, who felt his body sheen in cold sweat.
"Er! Sure" stuttered Eamon, aware he had a quarter of an ounce of skunk secreted down his sock. The man looked coldly at Eamon, who began to quietly tremor, for seconds which seemed like all eternity.
Finally boring of his little game, the doorman let the two of them inside, not before Eamon felt like passing out. At the ticket office, Gary paid his tenner admission and entered the club.
The club was dark when they entered, the tables began to fill up. Gary sat in an alcove while Eamon went to the bar to order the drinks. Gary looked around the club noticing old faces of who he acknowledged with a nod.
A few girls were on the dance floor, having an early dance. 'Black Hole Sun' by Soundgarden was playing on the turntable. Gary looked at his watch. It was just gone half past eight, just another sixty minutes till the thrash hour.


After a ten minute wait, Eamon emerged from the bar carrying two cans of strongbow cider, which they chinked together. They then relaxed eyeing up the talent in the club. A young girl dressed up snazzy in designer pants, her blonde hair styled like Gwen Stefani, noticed Gary and Eamon staring at her, she gave them a dirty look when she looked down at their attire- dirty ripped jeans and leather.
The two friends remained silent and relaxed, listening to the music and taking in the atmosphere. It wasn't till the first chords of 'Angel of Death' rung from the speakers that they leapt from their seats.
While all the soft rockers fled the dance floor, a multitude of thrashers emerged head banging and slam dancing to the Slayer song. Gary was whipped into a frenzy as all his favourites were played. 'Slaves of Pain' by Sepultura came on followed by 'Infecting the Crypts' by Suffocation. As the aural onslaught continued from the speakers, Gary noticed a figure on the dance floor, having never seen him before, the lad seemed to exude energy and presence.
Dressed in a Dark Throne t-shirt with a silver pentagram hanging from around his neck, the bloke headbanged like there was no tomorrow. The mans black hair whipped around frantically,his head pummeling up and down in a wild frenzy, which inspired the rest of the crowd. Staring intently at the man, Gary saw his features, which seemed to swim from young to elderly in front of him. The more he stared at the man the more his features changed. Putting it down to a trick of the flashing lights, it wasn't until the end of 'Into the Crypt of Rays' by Celtic Frost played, that the thrash hour ended. Gary realised he'd been headbanging for a full hour. He had a splitting headache and a neck that felt like a lead weight hung from it when he staggered back to Eamon in the corner alcove.
"I thought you were about to pass out" said Eamon noticing the bewildered looking Gary. Gary sat exhausted on the seat, taking a large quaff of his cider.
"I thought your brains were about to come out of your ears" joked Eamon.
Gary was too preoccupied looking around for the stranger in the club. He finally saw the mysterious figure sitting alone, hunched over a table.
"Whose that guy over there?" he asked Eamon pointing him out.
Eamon looked over and grimaced "I dunno. I've never seen him before" said Eamon confusedly. He noticed Gary's sudden interest.
"You're not turning fruity on me are you Gaz?" he joked.
Gary was too preoccupied looking at the bloke to hear him.
As if in a trance, he grabbed his drink and walked across the crowded dance floor to the other guy sat hunched over his drink. Confused at his behaviour, Eamon grabbed their jackets and drink and followed him.
Stopping in front of the man, Gary reached out his hand and introduced his self, the man looked up and shook it. Meanwhile Eamon stood behind Gary unsure what to do with himself.
"Hi!" said the man to the two friends he took his biker jacket off the chairs and let them sit down. He introduced himself as Luke.
Luke seemed to be quite young, only a few years older than Gary, but his eyes seemed old, as if they had witnessed a lot and possessed wisdom of the world.
Gary sent Eamon off to the bar, while he engaged in conversation with Luke. The man offered Eamon a tenner to pay for the drinks, smiling thinly he sloped off to get served.
They talked about music, discovering that they possessed the same music tastes, black and death metal. They began discussing the Norweigan Black Metal scene at length, about the murder of Euronymous of Mayhem, which was a large story in extreme metal circles. Luke explained he knew someone he traded tapes with, had known Varg Vikernes who it turned out later was the killer and the main perpetrator of dozens of church burnings throughout Norway.
Meanwhile Eamon returned with two cans of cider and a bottle of Newcastle Brown for Luke and sat quietly beside Gary while they talked.
Eamon was unsure of the man, he seemed too precocious for his age in the way he talked, which was flowery and elaborate, coming off as somewhat pretentious to him, but unwilling to offend him he listened in to what he and Gary were discussing.
Gary talked about all things music discovering that Luke owned his own record shop in south Bexford, selling obscure metal releases. He boasted that he possessed many rarities from around the world like Taiwan and Singapore. Luke listed some of the groups, most of which Gary had never heard of.
Gary and Luke talked into the early hours, Gary explaining about his background and his relationship with his step father. Meanwhile Eamon sat silently, bored and frustrated, looking longingly at his watch, while the club gradually emptied. It wasn't until the disc jockey played a Justin Beiber record and the lights were turned on, that the remaining club goers knew the night was over and time to make tracks. As Gary left the club with Eamon, Luke pulled Gary to one side and handed him a compact disc. Luke explained he had formed his own band called Bludgeoned and had recorded his own demo, a one man recording done in a black metal style. Gary stared at the cover. It shown a primitive looking drawing of Jesus Christ on the cross being disembowelled by a Roman centurion.
"I named it Crucified Brutally! Crucified Well" he giggled. He let Gary keep the copy, who promised to give it a listen. Eamon was becoming weary and wanted to get home. Saying his goodbyes Gary promised to keep in touch and he and Eamon went out into the night.


On the night bus home, Eamon remained deathlly quiet, while Gary rambled on about what he and Luke were discussing. After a while Gary realised Eamon had taken the huff, and suddenly felt guilty about ignoring him the majority of the night. By the time they got off the bus, Eamon walked on in front of Gary.
"Hey Eamon, you're walking to fast" Gary said, catching up with him. At his side, Gary asked Eamon if he fancied a couple of joints, Eamon gave him a disappointed expression, too pissed off to bother with him, and walked up the path to his grandmothers.
"See you around." Eamon mumbled as he turned the key to the door. Gary stood at the bottom of the path, feeling slightly pissed. Deciding to walk on, he'd kiss and make up with him tomorrow, he decided.
As he walked along the road to his mothers, the estate was quiet, only a breeze in the air blowing the odd drink can, creating any semblance of noise.
Hoping that Martin and his mum were in bed, he turned the door key, and crept into the house. Turning on the living room light, he found the place quiet. Still feeling slightly pissed from the cider, Gary went to his bedroom, and felt sleepy, but felt the compact disc digging inside his inside pocket, as if it was making him aware to listen to the demo.
Taking the case from his jacket, he examined it looking again at the blasphemous drawing on the front cover. He slipped the disc into his stereo, and lay on the bed, listening to it.
The demo started with a backward message, which gradually faded to the background, with a raw guitar coming into prominence. A slow droning sounding drumbeat came into the fold, giving the song an ambience. In the background the backward message continued to be inaudible. The whole sound was like a primitive sounding Burzum recording except with backward messages read out like lyrics, instead of vocals.
Gary felt his head swimming as he listened to the disc, as he felt the music probing his sub-conscious. His eyes felt heavy as the dark ambience of the music sent him into a deep sleep like a lullaby.


The music dripped slowly into his sub conscious as he slept. The vocals were a series of backward messages, but somehow in his stupor Gary could interpret them .As the music played he could feel himself being drawn into a dark room, lit only by crimson candles that lined the perimeter of the room.
In the centre was a pentagram crudely drawn on the dusty floor, surrounded by six hooded figures baying and calling a mantra, their faces darkly hidden.
In the centre of the pentagram hunched a young figure, stark naked except for a necklace of teeth and several pentagrams and inverted crosses that hung from his neck. The figure was crosslegged with his head hunched a long mane of hair covering the figures face.
As Gary walked into the centre of the room, the chanting became louder. Walking into the pentagram, Gary sat down and placed a hand on the figures shoulder, instantly the figures head sprung up, and Gary was instantly repulsed by the half rotten face of Luke, the left side of his face intact while the right was decayed, leathery skin peeling from his face, his protruding eye socket empty.
Gary stepped in revulsion back as hundreds of insects purged forth from his mouth. Masses of grubs and giant writhing maggots sprang from the rotten orifice
Gary looked on in revulsion as the brethren surrounding the corrupted Luke began laughing incessantly, the hoods exposing dead looking figures, their features decaying. He looked back at the figure of Luke. In unimaginable terror Gary saw a rotten and corrupted face of Martin gibbering insanely back at him.


Gary leapt off the bed in shock, chilled and panic striken, a cold sweat covered his back. He looked around to recover his bearings and realised he was back in the safety and sanctuary of his bedroom. He stared at the alarm clock, it read half past four a.m. He could see dawn breaking through his curtains.
Looking to the stereo, the demo had finished playing. Curious to find out what, if anything caused the nightmare, he replayed the disc, the backward messages played again but didn't register the same impact on him, than when he first played it. In fact the demo sounded average, a blatant rip off of other bands. Removing the disc from his system, he stored the disc in its case and stored it away with his other CD collection, probably to be forgotten.
Feeling tired Gary decided to catch up on his rest for a few hours, and see if Eamon fancied doing something later. Taking off his sweaty t-shirt he hunkered beneath the duvet and drifted off.

*--*--*

Gary was dozing dreamlessly when Bella called Martin to wake up for his breakfast from the kitchen. Gary slept absently knowing that he was allowed to sleep on till eleven at weekends, much to the chagrin of Martin, who wanted Gary up early to instil some self-discipline. Sometimes Gary thought Martin had thought himself out as a potential field marshal rather than a humble sergeant.
As Gary slept on, he could faintly hear his mother tramping up the stairs to the bedroom, to wake up her husband. Calling his name repeatedly, he could faintly hear her calling him, it was only when she stood at his side of the bed, that Gary was woken by a piercing scream.
In an instant Gary was awake and leapt from the bed, to see what was wrong. Rushing into the bedroom, he saw her shaking in despair, staring stonily at the body of Martin.
Gary grabbed his mother and escorted her out of the bedroom, looking back at the contorted features of Martin. His pale blue lips twisted like he had stared into the pits of hell.
"Come downstairs mum" he said holding her.
Bella was pale as marble, looking distant in shock. Taking her to the kitchen, Gary filled the kettle, and while it boiled, phoned the emergency services, while Bella sat down. With an ambulance and police officer on the way, the kettle boiled and he poured it into two cups, his hands jittery. He then went to the medicine cupboard, and poured out one of her valiums to take with the drink.
While Bella stared out of the window, Gary felt somehow upbeat that he was rid of his bastard of a stepfather, but felt sorry for his mother.



While Bella devastated and heartbroken sat in stony silence, a police car and ambulance pulled up.
Seeing a stocky built police officer walk up the rubbish strewn path, he saw neighbours outside their front doors or twitching curtains. Opening the door the officer and his female assistant entered the house, while the ambulance waited outside.
Gary shown the officer up the stairs while the young assistant, took details off his mother. The police officer entered the bedroom, where the now rigor-mortified body of Martin lay, the expression on his face looked like he was looking glaringly at the sergeant, begging for mercy.
Satisfied enough that the death was due to natural causes, the sergeant allowed the ambulance to take away the body, while Bella was looked after by her next door neighbour.


Feeling lonely, Gary phoned Eamon, who began slightly offhand with Gary over last night, but his demeanour changed when Gary spilled the beans.
"Martins dead!" gasped Eamon.
"He could'nt have been over fifty could he?" said Eamon too shocked for words.
"Forty seven to be exact." replied Gary. Gary never felt anything for the bastard so Eamons concern was lost on him, but he still couldn't fathom how he could have heart problems at Martins age, he drank, but he never smoked and he ate sensibly. Eamon said he would go over to his home and keep him company. Accepting the offer, Eamon said his goodbyes, while he replaced the receiver.


With Martin out of the picture, Eamon and Gary had free run of the house and sat in Gary's bedroom sharing a bottle of vodka and a half ounce chunk of cannabis to 'drown' sorrows, though it felt more like a celebratory piss up to Gary. Bella rang the house at five, saying she would be staying at her sisters overnight. Gary told her to take it easy and come back whenever she was ready.
With the house empty, they were both hungry at six O'clock and decided to phone for a take away. An hour later they were tucking into honey glazed spare ribs, spring rolls and beef chop suey and chips. With chip papers and aluminium cartons littering the bedroom. They lay back on the bed bloated but satiated with food and drink.
The conversation then reverted to the previous night. Gary apologised again for being such an ignorant asshole for leaving him out of the conversation with Luke, and shown Eamon the demo he'd been given. Examining the grisly cover, he opened the case to read the song titles. The demo consisted of four songs-Defiling the Virgin Mary; Father Hector the Molester; Jesus the Damnation and the title track Crucified Brutally! Crucified Well!
Grinning at the profanity of the song titles, Gary let Eamon take the disc home and give it a listen. Soon it was getting dark, and the evening sun was setting.
Eamon decided to call it a night, and make his way home. With the temperature dropping, Eamon told him to take it easy and went off into the night.


That night with his mother out of the house, Gary raided the drinks cabinet. While pouring a generous shot of Martins scotch, he raised a glass to a photo of him hanging on the wall.
"Hope hells not too hot for you." Gary sniggered, knocking back the firey liquid down in one, deciding to start on the Jack Daniels next.


Eamon felt worn out from the day, and decided to say good night to his gran before retreating up to bed. Not before lighting up a joint to relax him. As he lay back on the bed he felt the CD in his jeans pocket. Taking out the demo, he opened the case and placed the disc on the music system and lay back to relax.


The intro of the demo sent Eamon off into a daze like a sweet lullaby. It sounded similar to many other' calm before the storm' effects from his album collection, a distinct way of deluding the listener into a false state of security by having a sweet sounding beginning, before suddenly ending suddenly in a barrage of riffing. Eamon slept as ambient riffing played over a repetitive drum beat. The next thing he heard was a series of subliminal chants, which he slowly translated in his subconscious.
Eamon could feel himself entering a dark forbidding room which smelt of candlewax and sulphur. Around a pentagram sat cross legged cloaked figures chanting in deep hollow voices, their faces hidden. In the centre of the pentagram sat a slender naked figure, its body drenched in sweat, a long mane of hair covering it's face.
Eamon felt drawn to the figure as the music played in his head. The mystery being appeared to be chanting to the music in Eamons head. Sitting in front of the figure, he lifted the persons head, to stare unflinchingly into the rotting face of Gary, half his face eaten away, by maggots and cockroaches, that poured from his cheek, and from the stinking rotting orifice of his mouth.
Eamon recoiled in horror at the grim appearance of his friend.
Silently screaming, he looked to the brethren of worshippers surrounding him to make sense of this horror, but was surrounded by a circle of rotting corpses cackling insanely at his plight. Wishing to get away from this madness he tried to stand but was drawn again to the decaying figure that had transformed into caricature of his grandmother her pleasant and defined features corrupted by decay.
Unable to take no more he shook himself from this nightmare, back to the sanctuary of his bedroom, where he looked around at the familiar surroundings.



Eamon sat up, his face covered in a glistening sheen of sweat, pale and cold as a glacier. Shaking he got out of bed and went onto the landing to check his grans room. Opening the door quietly, he could hear the soft purr of her sleeping. Relieved that it was just a nightmare, he returned to his bedroom and took the disc out of his stereo system, and lit a cigarette, smoking it to the filter, before getting back into bed and getting some rest. Feeling mentally exhausted he shut his eyes and retreated into a deep sleep.


Eamon woke suddenly at dawn, it was Sunday and the suns piercing rays glared through his curtains. Eamon found the rays too bright and buried his face under the duvet, trying to catch more sleep, but he felt too alert. Feeling blinded by the sun, he placed a pair of sunglasses on his head, and went downstairs, blaming the sensitivity on an almighty hangover from the night before.
In the living room the thick curtains were still drawn, blanking out the light. In the kitchen, a teacup lay smashed on the floor and a cooling pot of tea sat lukewarm on the work surface. Increasingly concerned he picked up the large shards of the cup and carefully placed them in the bin, and then called up the stairs to his grandmother.
Hearing only a series of muffled sounds, he made his way up the stairs. At the door, he quietly knocked on the door.
"Gran are you okay in there?" he called.
"Please Eamon love, don't enter" she sobbed.
Eamon was increasingly concerned for his gran, and entered the bedroom quietly, where his gran was holding her face.
"Please don't look" she pleaded.
Eamon begged her to take her hands away, the room was dark and the air pungent and stale. Finally relenting she released her hands, and Eamon recoiled at the dark rotting skin of her face.
"I'm rotting away" she cried, but not before she stared at Eamon in terror.
"You're the same" she shuddered. "What's going on Eamon" she stammered.
Eamon stared at his grandmother in puzzlement, before running to the bathroom, to find anything that could help his gran. It was only when he stared into the bathroom mirror that he realised what she meant. Dark green coverings of mould covered his face some bursting open with puss. Eamon dropped to the floor and vomited while his gran pleaded with him to get an ambulance.

Eamon regained his composure, at the insistence of his gran and finally phoned for assistance. He waited nervously at the front door for the ambulance to arrive a scarf covering his decaying face, dark glasses protecting his eyesight. Within a matter of ten minutes a paramedic drove up to the front door to tend to his gran, who was now overcome with shock.
Placing her in the ambulance, the paramedic recommended that Eamon accompany him, but Eamon refused, explaining that he needed to do something first. The paramedic advised him to go to casualty. Eamon agreed and promised to heed the medics advice.
Promising to visit his gran soon, he rentered the house and went to his bedroom to retrieve the disc. He realised that this was the key to all the woes that had befallen him. Putting the disc in his pocket, he walked briskly to Garys.
Finally reaching Gary's house, he found the curtains drawn. Walking up to the path, an overturned wheely bin lay in the garden, the lawn strewn with rubbish, an absolute contrast to his grans spotlessness.
Knocking loudly on the door, the call was answered by a distraught looking Bella who looked longingly at Eamon.
"Come inside son" she said, allowing Eamon to enter the living room.
The room was filled with empties of whisky, vodka and dark rum. Eamon found Gary lay on a threadbare settee, a scarf wrapped tightly over his eyes.
"He's been like this since I returned this morning" she sobbed. "One day he's happy go lucky, the next he's like this. Has he taken anything?" she pleaded.
Eamon reassured her that they had taken nothing stronger than drink and weed, and that he had taken notice of any hard drugs being offered to him. Eamon told her that he needed to talk privately to Gary whose face was beginning to turn a greenish tinge, of which Gary scratched desperately at to prevent the itching.
Eamon dropped the disc on the settee at Garys head, somehow feeling the diabolic nature of the disc.
"We need to destroy it" Eamon stated blankly." But first we need to get hold of this Luke, whoever he is to prevent him making any more copies."
Gary was too ill to grasp the brevity of the situation, and lay shaking either inebriated with drink, or too scared to approach this man.
"Get up!" demanded Eamon, dragging Gary by the arm. "We've got things to do."
As Eamon and Gary prepared to leave the house, a news flash appeared on the television, showing a riot taking place in Bexford. A speeding police car shot up a city centre street, and a helicopter circled the neighbourhood. In the distance they filmed a church burning, smoke and flames burning uncontrollably as the emergency services struggled to regain control of the situation. Journalists interviewed a gang of teenagers with Black metal t-shirts, their faces rotting, listening to Bludgeoned playing on an I-phone.
Eamon and Gary looked at one another. Outside they could hear the demo playing openly from car radios that rang past, metal teenagers falling under the spell. As the summer skies began to darken with smoke the dark force of Lucifer began to usurp onto the land.

THE END

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