Psychobilly Massacre Part III

   I continued " Well, you know that fellow, Gabe was his name, the fellow who was all 'constitution this' and 'this is morally wrong, that'  when you came into town, the one you dragged to death as a sign of dominance, very effective mind you, sure got an eye for the dramatic, well dontcha know, he was the neighborhoods loveable drug dealer, mostly weeds and mushrooms and the like, but he stashed a bit of cocaine for special occasions, and, well what better occasion is there then making friends with the new masters of your destiny, so whadda ya say, wanna go get some of the good stuff? share a little of your one pot meth, move past those little pesky differences which make us appear as prey in your eyes?"


One of the piercing encrusted tattooed maniacs began grunting, smacking his chest and leaping about me as the others began to hoot and holler in support until, lighting fast, Casey Jones shovel flashed in front of him, nicking his neck and stopping what was sure to end in ritual dismemberment, which included the ancestral clamps, chains, hooks and the sacred Youtube video upload, no sane man knows the darkness that lies between adorable kittens misjudging their playful jumps and Sponge Bob clips, and no good man would want to.


"Forgive my savage brothers, they get so excited when they hear about the 'Good stuff', you wouldn't deny them a little excitement at its mention, do lead on, the night is growing dark and the evil of man is filling the shadows. Let us go find 'the stash' and spend the night in artificial stimulation till the sun banishes the cruel demons that haunt us all during our daily apocalypse" he said as he lowered his shovel and the human jackal slumped back in a grunting sigh of relief.


He seemed a little too well spoken, a little to put together, perhaps there was a caste system to these bizarre marauders, some creative leading class which organized themes and dealt with "the fuzz." I didn't dwell on it, things could go sour again at any moment, and then its all clamps, hooks, chains and digital recording equipment. I took them to Gabe's former domicile, the upper levels gutted by fire and it reeked of piss, shit and booze and as we moved past the unhinged front door another sickly sweet scent assaulted my senses. Gabe's torso with its one remaining arm had been placed on a crude shrine made of beer bottles, cinder blocks and the shattered remains of his once magnificent entertainment system. A doll's face had been stretch over his pulverized features and his arm less left side was draped, cape like, in a blue tarp, candles still burned about the shrine attesting to recent traffic to this macabre yet sacred site, though with the sun setting those who had come to pray had vanished.


I came to the basement door, hidden in a hallway closet and defeated it locking system with various permutations of four, two and zero. The comfortable basement chill den was just as I remembered it,  with its assorted jars of plants, fungus, pills,powders and blotters, the walls covered in musically themed posters and tripped out scenes of anthropomorphised suns and animals. I cracked one of the many glow sticks around me to illuminate this festive bounty for guests as they shuffled past me, their chemical hunger almost palpable...