Whispers - Volume 2: A Second Collection

by Stuart Keane

  "Bethesda, Bethesda, Bethesda!"

  The crowd were chanting. The general buzz of the crowd was unnerving, loud and chaotic. People knew they were in for a show. Geist stepped aside and let Hunter go first as per their normal routine. Hunter, Zhang, Lobes and Geist.

  Hunter emerged on stage and stepped behind his custom drum kit. He tapped the cymbal to check its status. He juggled two drumsticks in his hands. The crowd started cheering. "Hunter, Hunter, Hunter!" He lowered his rump onto the stool and checked everything was in place. He held up his drumsticks to an electric roar from the fans.

  Zhang came next, holding two guitars, a Gibson EDS-1275 Double Neck and a Jackson Corey Beaulieu USA Signature KV6. He held them aloft as he made his way to the far end of the stage. "You still got it! You still got it! You still got it!" Zhang nodded to the crowd and tossed them a couple of blue plectrums from his pocket.

  Lobes walked onto the stage holding his Ibanez PGB1L 5 String Bass and stopped near the entrance. He looked over at Zhang and Hunter and nodded in appreciation. He gazed out over the crowd in awe. Despite the eighty-seven thousand in attendance, this was the third largest crowd Bethesda had ever played. Nothing would ever top the ninety-eight thousand at Barcelona's Nou Camp several summers ago. Scanning the crowd, he noticed several circle pits and a couple of people moshing.

  Finally, Geist walked onto the stage with his purple microphone in hand. He started clapping his hands over his head, the thuds reverberating through the mic. The crowd started clapping in unison; a deafening roar filled the congested field in Reading.

  Geist placed the mic to his mouth. "Hello, Reading. Are you fucking ready?"

  A deep-throated roar was the response, the word 'yes' turned into a primal, guttural howl of vehemence.

  "Before we get started, this is a very fucking special show for us today. As you know, this is our swan song, our final live performance. After today, Bethesda is no more. It's sad to say but we're all getting a little fucking old to keep doing this with you guys, as fun as it is. So help us make this show special. We have … nearly three hours to fuck you people up. We have a show we've never done for you guys before. Are you with me?"

  "YES!"

  “Are you fucking with me, Reading!"

  "YES"

  "This song … is one of our classics."

  At that precise second, Lobes started playing a bass line on his guitar. It was low, melodic and entrancing. The crowd cheered and then fell into silent focus, listening and admiring the sound of Lobes’ majestic fingers. He repeated the tune. People started swaying, eyes staring intently, possessed.

  An eerie silence fell over the Reading crowd.

  Geist spoke. "Before the song though, where's that cunt, James McAteer?"

  The crowd started whispering to themselves, eyes still focused on the stage. Lobes glanced over at Geist, concern on his face. He continued the bass line. Nothing happened for a few minutes. "Where's that cunt, James McAteer. The cunt off the TV, the one who’s stageside … ah, there he is."

  James McAteer, a tall, muscular man, walked onto the stage. Dressed in a sharp, three-piece suit and made up for TV with concealer, fake-tan and hairspray, the man crossed the stage. The crowd booed him loudly. The hatred ignited when he waved back, unsettled by the staring eyes. He stepped up to Geist and smiled awkwardly. Under his breath, he said, "What're you doing? You’re live on TV."

  Lobes continued the bass line. The crowd stared intently.

  "Hey, Reading. This paparazzi piece of shit just said we're live on TV. What do you say to that?"

  "Fuck you, James, fuck you, James, fuck you, James."

  The voices seemed controlled, sentient. Not loud, not low, but balanced, in sync. All eyes were still staring forward. Lobes smiled.

  James's awkward smile turned to one of serious concern as the sinister, controlled hatred spewed forth from the Reading faithful. James tried to walk away from Geist. "Oh no you don’t. You ain't going anywhere." He pushed the man forward.

  Geist viciously head-butted James. A resounding crack echoed around the stage. The journalist stumbled and hit the stage face first. His torso slammed the ground and he groaned. The singer kicked James in the face, blood spattered across the stage. James crawled away. "Wha … what … are … you …?"

  Another kick, another spurt of blood. James moved to the edge of the stage.

  The bass line continued. The crowd were feverish now. Geist smirked.

  "This song …"

  James rolled over and stood up, surveying the crowd. All eyes were on him.

  "… is called …"

  James began to cry. He felt urine spraying his right thigh. A low murmur emitted from the rabid fans. James tried to back off but ran straight into Geist.

  "… 'Fuck my Corpse'."

  Geist swung a foot out and punted James in the stomach. The singer bowled forward, shoving the man back off the stage. The impact sent the journalist flying across the security cordon, clearing the security guards, and into the rabid crowd. Mid-flight, his legs hit the barrier, flipping him over onto his back. The people moved aside for the journalist who hit the abolished grass with a hard, dusty crunch.

  Bethesda launched into 'Fuck My Corpse'. The bass line continued and overlapped with ferocious but melodic drumming, intricate guitar solos and Geist's barbed wire vocals. James fumbled to his feet and looked around him.

  "… days are dark, vehement, fucking depressing …"

  James was in the middle of an idle mosh pit. Several fans stood around him, circling him. Their eyes were focused, intense, evil. Their fists were clenching and unclenching. He brushed the dirt off his legs and shirt and straightened his tie.

  "… no girl wants me, no girl needs me, why do I try? ..."

  James laughed nervously. "Now, I don’t want any …"

  One girl, wearing spiked boots and an orange boiler suit lunged forward and slammed her ring-clad fist into James's face. He buckled and screamed in agony. A second fist struck him in the back of the head with a wet crack and a third destroyed his nose. Blood erupted from his face. A fourth strike, this time an elbow, broke his jaw; teeth shattered and dropped from his already swelling mouth.

  "… why don’t I just end it all, slit my wrists and die …"

  A swift knee broke three ribs. Three people, also wearing spiked boots, kicked him in the balls at the same time, the impact rupturing his scrotum, tearing his foreskin and splitting his urethra. James spat blood, moaning in white-hot agony. His body went into shutdown. Pink sputum spooled from his broken mouth.

  "… it'll give me a chance, respite; maybe a necro will dig me up …"

  A giant of a man, six-foot-five and twenty-four stone, leapt into the air and superman punched James in the face. His neck snapped, killing him instantly. The broken body collapsed to the ground.

  They weren’t finished.

  To the melodic yet brutal sounds of 'Fuck My Corpse', the attackers proceeded to tear James apart. The mutilation was lost in the flow of the heavy metal that possessed the throngs of people. A leg flew up in the air with a squelch and smacked an uncaring rocker in the back of his head. The blood slathered his pink Mohawk. He continued moshing and drinking his Stella, focused on the music.

  "… at least in the ground I won't need a fucking prenup …"

  An arm ended up trampled and minced beneath the throng of the mosh pit. Bones cracked, fingers snapped. A naked man sporting a throbbing erection gripped James's torso, found the arsehole and tried to fuck it with pure, unaltered bloodlust. His engorged penis slapped against the dead buttocks. He smiled in arousal.

  An old woman in a bikini lifted James's decapitated head from the mush that was his body and starting thrusting it into her crotch. Blood and bile smeared her soiled bottoms. She climaxed within seconds, falling to her knees. She collected a discarded flagpole from the ground, kissed the dead face and impaled the head through the ear.

  "… rigor mortis is an issue, a curse. If you fuck me, use some
torque …"

  As the head was hoisted into the air, it made its way through the crowd, from person to person. Every relay action emitted a stoic cheer from the possessed crowd.

  "… don’t buy me dinner first, no foreplay, just fuck my corpseeeee …"

  Cheers filled the field as the head made its way across the sea of people, dripping blood and viscera on the fans. Some looked up and opened their mouths, swallowing the gore. A few were lost in sexual ecstasy as they rubbed the gore all over their sweaty, half-naked bodies.

  Bethesda finished 'Fuck My Corpse'.

  The crowd cheered, rabid and wild.

  "Oh my fucking God, Reading!"

  Lobes laughed, pointing at the impaled head. Geist noticed, swallowed a mouthful of water, and raised the mic back to his mouth. "Seems our journalist friend lost his head. Did you like that song, Reading?"

  "Yes."

  Once again, the voices were controlled and balanced.

  Geist walked over to Hunter and whispered something to him. Hunter nodded. Geist turned back to the crowd. "Now, before our next song, I want to do a little Q&A. As you know, Bethesda prefer not to partake in interviews often. Once for Metal Hammer, yes, but otherwise we're a secretive bunch. Therefore, before we go, we thought we'd pick some lucky people to ask us anything they want. It can be whatever you wish. Now, I'm not involved in this. Zhang, you go first."

  Zhang walked to the edge of the stage and glanced out. He flicked one of the strings on his guitar and for a second, the eyes of the crowd became unfocused. Zhang pointed into the crowd. "You, there. Yes, the blonde-haired woman with the Annihilator t-shirt. Come up here, please."

  The blonde girl made her way through the crowd and hopped the security barrier. Finding the steps, she walked onto the stage and approached Geist. "Now, what's your name, honey?"

  "Megan."

  "Where are you from?"

  "Right here in Reading!"

  The crowd erupted in a primitive roar, the unfocused eyes granted momentary freedom.

  "What's your question?"

  "Well …" The woman removed her shirt and threw it into the crowd. It fell short and landed in the security cordon. She was naked bar a black pair of panties. Her small breasts were paler than her body, a result of tanning in a bikini, and her nipples were erect. She stepped closer to Geist. "My question is this … can I fuck your brains out?"

  Geist laughed. "Bold, to the point, I like it … and yes, of course. But can I make a suggestion?"

  "You can do whatever you want … put it anywhere …" The woman sucked her finger.

  "Can you wait until the end of the Q&A; it'll only take a few minutes?

  "I suppose."

  Geist stroked the woman's chin. "Then I will really fuck your brains out. Trust me. I won’t stop until they're covering the stage."

  The woman stepped behind Geist and sat on the floor. Her hand started touching her naked, sweaty body. Geist stared for a few seconds and turned back to the crowd.

  "Lobes, your turn, mate. Pick one."

  Lobes searched the crowd and saw a man playing on his iPhone. He looked bored and inconvenienced. "There, I pick the fucker who thinks the Internet is better than our final performance."

  The person didn’t look up. Until he was poked by his neighbour. Once he noticed, he shook his head and waved his hands. No thanks. His neighbours grabbed him and thrust him up onto the crowd who surfed him to the front against his wishes He slipped over the security barrier and stopped, petrified. Inches from the steps, he paused. Geist beckoned to him. "C'mon, young man, don’t be shy. You're about to make history."

  The man walked onto the stage and passed Lobes, who gave him a disdainful glance. He walked to Geist and smiled at the near-naked woman on the stage. Her hand was now in her panties and she was groaning. She removed two slippery fingers from inside her and waved at the newcomer. The man stopped, clearly aroused by the sight. Geist tapped him on the shoulder to obtain his attention. "What's your name?"

  "K … Kyle."

  "Where are you from?"

  "Scotland."

  "Where's your fucking kilt? Only joking. What's your question?"

  "Erm … I'm not sure if I should ask it." Kyle took a step back from the singer.

  "We're all grown-ups here. Fire away."

  "Well …" The man stepped away from Geist again. "I think you suck, where do you get off ripping off great bands like Slayer and Cannibal Corpse and even, in part, Sabbath?"

  An unsettled ooooohhhhh snaked across the crowd.

  "Those singers and bands are far superior. What gives you the fucking right?" Kyle stepped away completely, smug and satisfied that he'd got to punk one of the world's biggest bands in their biggest performance. He folded his arms and waited.

  Geist laughed. "That’s your opinion and you're entitled to it, but I take offence to saying we mimic great bands like the ones you mentioned. We don’t rip anybody off. In fact, I was speaking to my friend Hunter before. What did you say, Hunter?"

  Hunter tapped his kick pedal and doubled kicked his bass drums.

  Kyle Scott's head exploded in a cacophony of brains, skull, blood and sinew.

  The crowd roared.

  One eyeball slapped the woman on the stage, who was close to orgasm now. The eyeball rolled down her chest, leaving a trail of goo, and fell into her panties, behind her masturbating hand. Her hand squished the eyeball, spraying her naval with yellow optic fluid. She didn’t notice.

  Blood spattered the floor and skin slapped and congealed against the Marshall amps positioned on the stage. Geist, smothered in the viscera and gore, licked his lips and grinned, his white teeth stark against the shades of claret that coated his face. He flicked his arm and excess blood slapped the floor before him. He repeated the action, this time flicking the blood into the crowd.

  "If you don’t like us, why the fuck did you come? Cunt." Geist kicked the headless body off the stage. It crashed onto a press table, spewing several monitors and cables.

  Lobes started up the bass line again and, once again, the eyes of the crowd became focused.

  Geist noticed some commotion at the back of the crowd. "We'll return to the questions later on. Seems like we have company."

  The faint sound of police sirens filled the air.

  "Reading. We're on live TV. As you noticed, we just killed one of the most annoying TV personalities in existence. Now, as we believe, he was contracted to Channel Six which means his family will probably get life insurance or some shit."

  The crowd laughed a low, creepy murmur. All eyes still focused forward.

  "However, it does mean the police want to break up our party. What are we going to do?"

  Lobes upped the tempo on his bass. Zhang plucked his strings every now and then. The calm, eerie staring of the crowd changed to rabid, angry unrest. The mood of the crowd physically changed too. Geist winked at Lobes and took a step forward.

  Geist stepped over to the woman behind him. Her face contorted in orgasmic throes as she strummed away. She moaned, "Oh yes, fuck yes!" He gripped her neck, gazed into her lust-filled eyes and smiled. She took her slippery fingers from between her legs and slid them into his mouth. Geist sucked the fingers, rolling his tongue around them and the woman moaned and bucked, on the verge of orgasm. Geist slapped her and she dropped to her knees, instantly unzipping his trousers and freeing him. The singer surveyed the crowd. Raising the mic, he asked the inevitable question. "Reading, do you want to see me fuck this gal's brains out?"

  The roar was emphatic. The stage rumbled with the unison of the crowd. Geist smiled and shouted: "So be it!"

  He thrust his hips forward and the woman, covered in sweat and moaning from behind her trembling lips, took his entire throbbing cock into her mouth. He poked the back of her throat but she didn’t gag, only took him deep into her throat. Geist's eyes widened. "Whoa, looks like we have a deep throat here, ladies and gentlemen."

  The crowd roared.

  The woman's head sta
rted to bob back and forth, working Geist like a pro. Her buttocks jiggled and bobbed. Sweat dribbled down her chest, pooling between her breasts. She didn’t break stride, didn’t come up for air. Her eyes looked up, trying to seduce Geist.

  It didn’t work. "Zhang, get over here."

  The guitarist ambled over, placing his instrument on the stage. Lobes continued to pluck his bass strings across the stage. Hunter stood up behind his drum kit, placing the sticks on the floor below him. Zhang walked over to the woman who released Geist and, without looking, unzipped Zhang too. Within seconds, she has a hand on each cock, working both back and forth. She moved her mouth between them, keeping pace.

  Hunter walked over and smiled down at the scene before him. The crowd were still entertained, roaring in harmony with each thrust, each stroke. Geist raised the mic and addressed the horny woman. "Do you want me to fuck your brains out?"

  The woman nodded. Her hands didn’t lose motion, her urge to bring both men to orgasm clearly turning her on.

  "I didn’t hear you, babe. What did you say?" Geist lowered the mic.

  "Yes, fuck yes. I want to cum with all … all of you."

  Geist gripped her head and thrust it onto his engorged penis. The woman moaned again and focused on the singer, leaving Zhang alone. He formed a ring with his finger and thumb and kept himself hard. Hunter unzipped his jeans.

  Geist started to thrust hard, too hard. The woman squealed, mouth full. She tried to release him but Geist kept his hands tight on the back of her head. "You enjoying that, love?" The woman struggled, slapping his thighs, choking, wanting air. She couldn’t back away. He looked up and smile at his band mates, who all smiled back.

  Hunter stepped forward and grabbed the woman's scalp. She screamed, muffled by Geist's throbbing manhood. He started to lift and the woman thrashed again, lifting her off her knees. Her hands gripped onto Hunter's wrists, seeking freedom from the excruciating pain.

  A low, splitting noise erupted across the stage, amplified by Geist's mic. It sounded like carpet tearing, rasping, and suddenly, with a spurt of blood, the woman's scalp tore away from her skull. Gleaming white bone, smothered in red blood, was exposed to the air and the woman went limp.