Horrorbook

by A. R. Braun

  Dave pinned her with his eyes, imagining himself a vampire able to control her. “Give me your number and I’ll scrawl down my address.”

  Lolli looked at him a while longer as if to say, “Why do you have to control me?” Then she grabbed a napkin and dug a pen from her black leather, studded purse. Lolli wrote her number down and slid the napkin his way. “Here.”

  Dave snickered, grabbing a napkin and writing down his address.

  Lolli frowned. “Something funny?”

  Dave shook his head while writing. “No, it’s just that you look like such a dangerous gothic chick, and here you live with your mom and don’t date.” He handed her the napkin while rubbing her back gingerly. “See, having a life doesn’t hurt a bit.” Then he chuckled.

  Lolli giggled. “You’re crazy.”

  Dave nodded slowly while taking his hand off her back, looking in those hazel eyes he wanted to swim in for the rest of the night. “Crazy for you.” Then he picked up her hand and kissed its backside.

  Lolli looked down at her hand, then back at him. She didn’t seem able to breathe. Lolli smiled without showing teeth. “Don’t take no for an answer, do ya?”

  “Not when a girl’s as pretty as you,” Dave whispered in her ear while inhaling her sharp, perfumed scent. He hadn’t let go of her hand.

  Dave earned a toothy smile. “Call me,” Lolli chirped like a schoolgirl.

  With that she pulled her hand away gingerly and left.

  Damn, I’m good.

  At the crack of 1:00 p.m., Dave woke on Saturday with a smile, and why not? He and Lolli had talked on the phone for three hours after the coffee shop experience. He’d even manipulated her into phone sex. Dave eagerly anticipated the real thing, which he knew his lord, the Prince of Darkness, would bring forth soon. After a shit, shower and shave, Dave dressed and headed out front, waiting for his band to show up. He lit a joint he’d rolled with a cig’ tube and a cigarette-making device in case any cops decided to cruise by. At two o’clock, the familiar box-shaped black van rolled up. Dave threw his long, shoulder-length hair out of his eyes and stroked his black goatee. It’s lay down the law time, but take it slow, don’t freak them out. Eventually, because I’m their leader, they’ll comply. At least they’d better, or I’ll kick all their asses, right here and right now.

  Luke Hiro, the other guitarist, sported black hair halfway down his back, plus a longer goatee than Dave’s. He hopped out. Luke walked around to the back of the van and opened it. The driver, Mangy Jack, a strapping young lad with glasses, blonde hair just below the shoulders, a beard, and a moustache, hopped out next after killing the engine. He played bass for Dogmorfmocion. Then the side door slid open with creaking protest, and Dirty Bloodletter, a man with huge muscles, a shaved head and a blonde goatee, jumped onto the ground and slammed the door shut. He was the drummer. Luke and Mangy looked like eating was a suggestion, not a requirement, as Dave did.

  Luke snapped his head up wolfishly as he caught Dave eyeballing them and strolling toward them. “Dave, help us lug this shit, will ya?”

  “Dave’s not here, man,” Dave said in his best Tommy Chong voice. Everyone laughed. Dave looked Dirty over. “Blond chin pubes now?”

  Dirty shrugged, not much of a talker. “What of it?”

  Dave chuckled and grabbed an amp. Everyone grabbed something—instruments, drums or equipment—and they hauled the bulk toward the house. It took a half hour before everything was set up.

  Luke looked up at Dave after plugging in his guitar. “I thought of a new riff last night. I think it’s better than the one you have for ‘Psychic Vampire’.”

  Dave blew air out of his nose. “I’ll be the judge of that. Lay it down.”

  Luke pounded out an un-hearty, two-chord rhythm that reminded Dave of Six Feet Under’s early days, when Allen West was the guitarist.

  That was awful. Dave nodded. “Pretty sweet! I think we’ll stick with mine, though.”

  Luke threw his hands up. “What the fuck?” He eyed the other two. “What did you guys think?”

  Take control of the situation. Dave stuck his hand out before the others could chime in. “I’m not sayin it’s not a tight riff, I’m just sayin it would be better as a bridge, or maybe it deserves its own song. ‘Psychic Vampire’ has to capture the weakness of the vamp, and then blast the weakness away at the middle and at the end.” Dave looked everyone over. “Am I right or am I right?”

  Everyone thought for a second. Come on, peanut brains. Then they nodded and agreed.

  Luke raised his eyebrows and a light came into his eyes. “The riff deserves its own song, huh?”

  Yeah, so I can reject it. “I think so. You know what? Why don’t you write the whole song yourself.”

  Luke smiled. “No shit?”

  Yeah, and politicians are honest. “Would I shit you? You’re my favorite turd!”

  Everyone roared with laughter.

  “I agree,” Mangy said, “but work on it a little more, Lucas. It needs every little nuance and much more depth.”

  Dave pointed at Luke. “And don’t forget a progressive solo.”

  Luke smiled, looking flushed.

  Mangy smiled also. “Definitely progressive, perhaps slow it down a bit, give the drummer a break.”

  Dirty attempted a laugh. “Much appreciated.”

  “No, no gay death and roll,” Dave said to Luke. “Keep it brutal.”

  Mangy frowned and Dirty sighed.

  Eyes wide while nodding, Luke said, “Can do.”

  Someone pounded on the garage door like a bear. Dave jumped. His band laughed at him and he allowed it. Keep the lackeys happy.

  Luke smiled. “Too much acid in your breakfast cereal, bro’?”

  Dave chuckled. Assholes. He walked over and pulled up the garage door.

  Lolli smiled at him, her eyes like a zombie’s because she wore contacts to make her pupils tiny dots. “Hi, dear.” She hugged him, which put him in a lusty haze.

  “Hey, babe.” Dave didn’t want to break embrace, but Lolli pulled away.

  “Looks like we’ve got a hot gate-crasher!” Luke cried.

  Luke and Dirty whistled.

  Lolli’s eyes surveyed the band while she smiled. Then she pinned Dave with her zombie eyes again and held her hands out, palms-up. “You gonna let me watch you jam, or what?”

  “Invite her in, dude!” Luke roared. Mangy and Dirty laughed.

  Dave shook his head, trying to blast himself out of his comatose state. “Uh, yeah, come in and have a seat.”

  Lolli gave him the devil horn sign with her fingers. “Rock on, motherfucker!” She grabbed a bar stool sitting by some tools and sat, her lovely legs crossed and showing. She wore a black T-shirt with an arrow saying I’M WITH SATAN and black short-shorts. Lolli licked her lips.

  Dirty smiled at Dave with a look that said, “You devil, you.”

  Luke stared at her. “Nice.”

  “This is my girl, Lolli,” Dave said.

  Mangy waved at her. “Nice to meet you, Lolli.”

  Dirty simply raised his hand.

  Luke put his guitar on his stand, walked over and bent down to shake with her. “I’m Luke Hiro, and if you ever get tired of this mug over here . . .” He pointed his thumb at Dave.

  “Down, boy,” Dave said.

  Everyone laughed. Luke walked back over and picked up his guitar, slinging the strap around his shoulder.

  “All right, let’s impress my girlfriend with our killer skills,” Dave said, picking up his guitar.

  Although the other members of the band were Lolli’s age, they sounded fifteen and messed up the songs while they swigged beer and smoked crack, which Dave refused when offered. Dave suggested they work out the two-chord song Luke thought of, which pleased Luke immensely. It took three hours to slug out four songs. Lolli had banged her head to all of it as if they’d been playing an open air festival in Norway. When they were done, she kicked her leg, making Dave flush as his cock began to snake int
o an erection. His thoughts returned to the band.

  God, my band sucks. “All right, let’s take a break.”

  Luke banged his guitar down quickly. “A-one-two-three-four, gimme a break, gimme a break—”

  Dave shook his head. “Shut up, dude.”

  Everyone followed Dave into the house after he moved Lolli in with his hand on her back. Dave cranked up his small air conditioner. The band filled the black leather couch riddled with cigarette burns while Lolli sat on Dave’s lap after he crashed in the stained, brown leather easy chair. Dave immediately got wood. Luke, knowing where the liquor waited, rose and grabbed a bottle of whiskey out of the kitchen cupboard, walking back in with five shot glasses. Everyone but Dave cheered.

  Dave sighed, shaking his head. “Help yourself, butt-munch.”

  Luke laughed while pouring. “Only if it’s Lolli’s butt.”

  Lolli let out a shrill laugh.

  “Cut it out,” Dave warned. He reached over, grabbed the remote and played a tape of head-banger videos from a music channel he paid an extra package fee for. DevilDriver banged out “Not All Who Wander Are Lost.”

  Lolli stared at the band while kicking her leg again, which Dave assumed to be an imitation of sex. He was actually close to climaxing. Then Dave came to himself, focusing, for now, on the band. It’s time to lay it on ‘em.

  Lolli craned her neck to look Dave in the eyes and kissed him. She licked her lips again. “So, are you guys a witch’s coven?”

  That’s my girl. Beat me to the punch. I don’t know how to break it to these idiots.

  The guys’ heads snapped her way and then Dave’s way.

  “No, but I’m glad you brought that up.” Dave drained his shot glass, and Luke rose to pour him another. “Dudes, I think it’s time we took Dogmorfmocion to the next level.”

  Mangy furrowed his brow. “You mean worship the devil?” His eyes worried.

  Dave drained another shot and then cleared his throat. “You don’t wanna just be a hype band, do you?”

  Luke eyeballed Dave with great fascination in his eyes. “You wanna worship Satan, too, huh?”

  “Does the Pope shit in the woods?” Dave held his hands out, palms-up. “How else do you think we’ll succeed? Fame and fortune, they’re the devil’s to give. I hate to say this, but you guys could play faster. And guess who’s gonna give you that power?” That’s it, reel them in. I know how to control these morons. Tempt them with the rewards they’re not getting.

  Mangy perked up, sticking his head out. “Yes, actually, Robert Johnson sold his soul at the crossroads for fame, fortune, and street-babies. Is that what you’re suggesting?”

  Dirty hissed and shook his head. “Douche bag.”

  Mangy slapped his own jeans. “Can I help it if I’m educated? Somebody in this band’s got to be in college.”

  Lolli raised her hand. “I’m in college.”

  Mangy pointed at her. “Good for you.”

  “So, anyway,” Luke continued, as if no one else had spoken, “we’d have to take a human sacrifice, right?”

  Dave shook his head. “Don’t know about all that. I’ve got LaVey’s Bible, and it’s not about being a criminal.”

  Mangy chuckled. “I know, right?”

  “The black mass,” Dave continued, “is meant to blaspheme what’s revered by society. In the Dark Ages, that was the Catholic Mass. But everyone knows most American Christians aren’t serious, so the respected institutions we need to defile today are rock, rap and prescription drugs. It’s more of a ‘Hail me’ kind of a thing. We are gods, we decide who we’ll be, and our birthdays are the biggest Sabbats—or holidays—of the year.”

  Mangy nodded. “So, basically, we do what we want, and put ourselves on the throne of God.”

  Dave stared at him for a few seconds. He is a douche. Then Dave nodded. “Lolli, get up, I need to go get the blackened Bible and show them.”

  Lolli rose and sat on the grand piano’s bench. Dave went into the study to fetch the paperback. When he came back, he scrunched in between them on the couch and showed them the basic tenants of the “scripture” and the Sabbats.

  Luke furrowed his brow and shook his head. “No, fuck that! I’ve got Dani Filth’s black metal Bible, and it talks about criminals. Every demonic metal band has songs about murder.”

  Dave got up, holding the now-shut paperback Bible at his side while looking down on him. “Excuse fucking me?”

  Luke widened his eyes and rose to get in his face. “You said we shouldn’t be hype! You said take it to the next level!”

  Dirty rose also, crossing his arms. “Yeah, no hype.”

  “Do you fuckers wanna go to prison?” Dave asked.

  “Technically,” Mangy said, getting up, also, “Dave-o is right.”

  Thanks, douche.

  “I . . .” Mangy continued, holding his hands out, “. . . really don’t see how we’re going to be successful behind bars.”

  Dave nodded. “Exactly.”

  “We’ll be down,” Dirty forced out.

  “Yeah!” Luke put his arm around Dirty, yanking him close. “People don’t fuck with the down boys.” He turned his head to look Dirty in the eyes. “Remember how we killed the neighbor’s pets when we were kids?”

  Dirty nodded, and that’s when Dave realized he wasn’t the only manipulator in the band. He wondered why Luke hadn’t asserted himself like this before, but then again, apparently there were a lot of things he didn’t know about Luke. Dave snuck a look at Lolli, feeling as if he’d let her down. Her eyes were fascinated, scanning the band members. She rose and snatched the paperback from Dave to peruse it herself, then sat on the piano bench again.

  Dave balled his hands into fists. “Wait. You guys did what?”

  Dirty shrugged. “It was planning; workin up to tonight.”

  Luke released Dirty and pointed at Mangy, whom Dave noticed now had fear in his eyes while he trembled.

  “Don’t argue with me, douche bag!” Luke snapped.

  Mangy just stared at him.

  Dave shook his head. “Are you guys hearing yourselves? No way. That’s crazy. I’m just talkin about invoking a deity so we can get what we want. What you guys are suggesting is an insult to every true Satanist. I’m not havin it.”

  “Guys!” Lolli cried.

  Dave looked over, seeing the band’s heads turn her way just before his did. What he saw made him gape. Lolli lay nude on the piano bench. She had a black tuft of pubic hair, and above that, not too large, not too small breasts jutted out firmly. Her creamy white skin made Dave drool.

  “Guess who’ll be the altar?” She giggled wildly while holding the open book in her left hand. “According to this Bible, you’re lookin at her!”

  Dave turned back to the guys, and they all stared at each other with thrilled eyes and open mouths.

  “Dude, seriously,” Luke breathed. “Let’s do this.”

  It’s time to take charge. Dave got so close to Luke their noses almost touched. Dave knew he could take him—he’d done it before, in grade school and in high school. “Yeah, we’ll do this.” Dave put his finger in Luke’s face. “But this is my house, my girlfriend and my band. I write ninety percent of the songs. We do this my way, or no way.”

  Luke shrugged and smirked. “Sure, man, whatever you say.”

  Top Dog’s back in control. Dave carved a pentagram into the top of his grand piano with his pocketknife—equipped with sure handle grip—that he’d bought at the new age store. He set black candles all around it, along with his silver chalice. After that, Lolli lay atop the pentagram. She was still nude and staring at the ceiling. A bootleg concert recording of “Nevermore” by Morbid Angel blasted from the stereo. Dave picked up his athame—a ritual dagger that just happened to be his grandfather’s old Nazi plunder from World War II—and walked over to the piano, smelling Lolli’s cherry vanilla perfume mixed with the enchanting scent of burning wax. When Lolli closed her eyes, Dave moved his head close to her snat
ch and smelled the wonderfully putrid odor he knew too well from his many experiences with women. His band members cheered. Dave forced himself to move his head just before her eyes opened as he readied the parchment and quill. He placed the gong to the right of the piano. He placed the scroll and pen on the end table, which he’d moved to the left of the “altar.”

  Ding-dong.

  Dave snapped his head toward the door. “What the fuck? Who in the hell could that be?”

  Mangy slapped his own forehead. “Oh, man, it’s the police, I just know it.”

  “Relax, Macie,” Luke blurted. “We haven’t done anything illegal . . . yet.”

  Dirty snickered.

  Dave frowned, looking them up and down while placing the athame on the piano. “You guys fuckin wait here. I’ll get rid of whoever it is.” Dave moved toward the door. I’ve got them right where I want them. He looked through the keyhole.

  Oh, shit.

  “Dave, open up!” Charlie, his nineteen-year-old sister cried. “I had a fight with my boyfriend and I need to stay with you for a while!”

  Dave sighed and opened the door. The cool night air wafted in, and Dave fought not to shiver, afraid he’d look like a wimp. His thin, pale sister stood there in her purple coat, looking sweet-faced as always. Charlie’s pronounced, high cheekbones and full lips stood out before him. Her brown eyes looked to him with the hope that, as always, her big brother would solve her problems. Charlie’s black hair looked unwashed, yet still clean because he could smell the geek personality. Pink tennis shoes completed the equation.

  Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Dave! Hugs!” Charlie embraced him, her form soft and smelling of cheap perfume.

  Dave pulled away after a few seconds. “Charlie, this is a bad time.”

  Charlie pushed past him. Baby sister was always so forceful, cute and hard to argue with.

  Dirty appeared at Dave’s side, slamming the door shut.

  “Sorry, Charlie,” Luke said from behind Dave.

  “What are you doing?” Charlie cried.

  Dave wheeled on them and saw Luke holding Dave’s athame at Charlie’s throat. He held her tight around the waist.

  Fuck me running.