Kiss & Hell (The Last Casket Book 2)

by Wallen, Jack

  The Last Casket

  Kiss & Hell

  By Jack Wallen

  Copyright © 2015

  Published by Autumnal Press

  This book is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise noted, names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously (unless otherwise noted). Any resemblance to actual locales, events or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without express permission from the author. Please do not participate or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Edited by

  Sara Marian

  Beta Readers

  Pheebz Jackson

  Katie Wooten

  Alina Maria Ionescu

  Britta Victoria

  Proof Readers

  Karen Dziegiel

  Pheebz Jackson

  Giles Batchelor

  All lyrics (minus the “Zombie King”) written (and copyrighted) by Kitty In A Casket and printed with permission.

  The members of Kitty In A Casket appear in The Last Casket series with permission.

  Once again I must raise a devil-horn salute to the members of Kitty In A Casket for making The Last Casket series possible. As a long-time fan of their music, it is truly an honor to be able to bring them to life on the printed page. This book was released simultaneously with KIAC’s album of the same name – Kiss & Hell. I highly recommend you buy and wear it out as you read words that follow.

  With that said…let’s rock.

  prologue | kiss kiss you’re dead

  Kitty stared across the table, her cards held close. She whispered to Billy, hoping to trip his concentration, “It started out like a story ‘bout Wonderland. Any given moment, hell could rise from the darkness and threaten to take you down.”

  Billy glared and said, “We are the cats and demons protecting and rocking The Last Casket.”

  Kitty replied, her voice still a whisper. “We were bad-ass and cool enough to survive the nightmare.”

  Billy continued, “Everyone loves Kitty In A Casket.”

  “If not, they’d be shown the fucking door,” Kitty responded.

  “I fold,” Billy said, his voice pure disappointment. He tossed his cards to the table. The members of Kitty in a Casket were long overdue for a break from performing at Toque’s bar and apocalyptic refuge, The Last Casket. It wasn’t always easy being the band to beat in the middle of a nightmare landscape.

  Kitty squealed with delight. “Oh, hell yeah, Baby the Bat. You see this pile of candy bars? It’s all Kitty’s now. Meow. Come to mama, sweet treats.” She leaned over and planted a kiss on Billy’s forehead as the door to the bar crashed open.

  Mike Machine stumbled in, his hands covering his mouth and blood spewing from between his fingers. He briefly removed his hands and cried out in agony.

  “Holy shit, Mike!” Kitty bounded to his side. “What the hell happened?”

  Mike removed his hands a second time. His lips were ruined, the meat clinging for dear life by a thread of flesh. When he spoke, his words were mangled, but intelligible.

  “I kissed her. I thought she was just in costume for the show.”

  “Who, Mike?” Tom demanded.

  Mike cried out again. Another fountain of blood slipped the seal of his fingers. He stumbled with a moan. Kitty went to aid the drummer before Billy grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

  “Don’t,” Billy whispered into Kitty’s ear.

  Kitty jerked her arm away. “Can’t you see he’s…”

  “A zombie!” Mike shouted. “I kissed a zombie! I thought we were playing a game of Kiss and…hell!” A gush of blood splashed from Mike’s mouth.

  “Oh, fuck!” Todd Flash jumped onto the stage.

  Kitty held up her hand and approached Mike. “It’s gonna be okay, Mike.”

  “The fuck it is.” Mike’s voice trembled. “The bitch bit through my lips. That means one goddamn thing, Kitty…one goddamn thing!”

  Kitty drew in closer, her steps and stance cautious. “What’s that, Mike?”

  “I’m infected, that’s what!” Mike cried out in fear. “Son of a bitch.”

  Billy stepped in and spoke with authority. “Dude, you gotta go. We can’t have you hanging out here, waiting for you to start rockin’ the zombie stomp.”

  Mike hung his head in defeat and nodded. “I know, Billy. I know.” Mike took a step toward Billy before falling to his knees, screaming for mercy.

  Tom scrambled for his stand-up bass and released the bat he’d mounted to the back side…just in case. The Louisville Slugger hummed a dangerous tune as he swung it before him. “Get the fuck out, Mike, or I’ll bash your pre-zombie skull in.”

  “Christ, Tom,” Kitty spat. “Too soon.”

  The band glared at Tom. He raised his hands and asked, “What?”

  Mike cried out again; this time a guttural moan rose from the depth of his bowels. He grabbed his stomach and folded in half. “It hurts.”

  Billy snatched the weapon from Tom and approached Mike, bat first. He knelt beside his friend and whispered in his ear. “Mike, you understand what’s happening?”

  Mike hesitantly nodded.

  Billy continued. “You know you’ve gotta go, right?”

  Nothing.

  “Don’t do this, Mike. You’re only making it harder on us all.”

  Slowly, Mike acknowledged his understanding. He stood on shaking legs, cried out in pain, and approached the stage. Kitty, Tom, and Todd scrambled out of his way. He reached his drums and grabbed his sticks with trembling hands. When he turned back to face the band, the blood on his face was streaked with tears.

  Without another word, Mike stumbled out of The Last Casket, Kitty’s sobs his only soundtrack.

  one | max van angst

  666 Hours later

  The screen flickered to life, black and white video dancing on the dingy white sheet strung across the back wall. The film? Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror. Max Schreck stood in the doorway…an iconic pose that would fill the heart of any generation with dread. The actor glided across the screen as if carried by the wings of a million bats.

  “This movie sucks,” Todd Flash shouted.

  “What?” squealed Kitty. “This is history. You’re watching one of the first and greatest horror films ever made.”

  “Are we watching the same movie, Kitty? Because what I’m seeing is a piece of melodramatic sludge.”

  Pillows rained down from above. Todd snatched one and tossed it back at his attacker. “Throw the whole damn couch if you like, the film still sucks.”

  Without warning, the lights sprang to life. Toque, the bar owner and the band’s ex-Canadian patron saint, stepped in front of the makeshift screen, his hands on his head. “How can you possibly have an ounce of disdain for this film? Nosferatu was so far ahead of its time…in every way.”

  “Wrong.” Todd Flash stood, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Explain yourself,” Toque challenged.

  “Although I agree the film’s visuals are freakin’ spectacular—given the time period, there is something fundamentally wrong with Murnau’s vision. Even with the nightmarish imagery, the effect is completely ruined by the cheesy music.”

  Toque tossed his hands in the air.

  “Hear me out, Toque-man,” Todd insisted. “Imagine that same film scored by, say, Giacchino or Christopher Young. That film would be hall of fame material.”

  Billy the Bat jumped to his feet. “Better yet, what if we scor
ed that bastard?”

  Toque clapped his hands together. “That would be brilliant.”

  Kitty leaped to Billy’s side and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Oh, Billy, you sure know how to make a girl swoon.”

  Before anyone had a chance to comment on the flirtatious overtures, Tom Mooner was at his bass and walking a wicked-thick scale up and down. He nodded to Toque. “Fire the film back up; let’s see if we can make the Schreck man creep for real.”

  Todd Flash howled, picked up his guitar, and joined Tom.

  Toque dimmed the lights, returned to the projector, and brought the screen back to life. Todd turned and began improvising licks to fit Nosferatu’s movements.

  Billy the Bat joined them onstage and wailed a melodic minor solo as Todd suspended note after note. The clash of tones made for a perfect soundtrack to the film. Finally, Kitty hopped up on the stage, grabbed her mic, and worked her own special flavor of magic.

  I’m at a place you don’t wanna be

  No one can save me, they end up in history

  An endless hunger, a burning sensation inside

  Is slowly eating me up alive

  What you see

  What you don’t get

  I want it

  I need it oh so bad

  Bloodlust

  I can’t get enough

  I want your taste inside of me

  Bloodlust

  I can’t make it stop

  I’m stuck in bittersweet tragedy

  Kitty fell silent. Like they were entering an epic rock video, the bandmates joined in, following her lead.

  “What gives, Kitty?” Billy asked.

  Without a word, Kitty pointed to the drum kit. The throne behind the bass drum had sat empty since the departure of Mike Machine.

  “Fuck,” Tom huffed, and slapped the strings of his bass.

  Behind the deflated band, Nosferatu continued on, drummer or not.

  “That song could really rock,” a strange voice called out from the shadows.

  Billy scrambled for the bat and stepped in front of Kitty; who, in turn, shoved him aside and said, “I can take care of myself, ya goon.” She added with a whisper, “But thank you, sweet cheeks.”

  Billy blushed.

  In the dark, no one can see you blush, Billy thought.

  “Who’s out there?” Toque called.

  From the entryway, a tall, slender young man appeared. Even with his boy-next-door good looks, there was still a thick, Danzig-esque air hovering over him.

  “The name’s Angst. Max van Angst,” the stranger replied.

  “What did you mean by could really rock?” Billy snarled.

  Max ventured nearer the band. “It’s missing a little something, don’t you think?”

  Billy drew in close enough to Max to size him up. “Our tunes miss nothing.”

  Max tilted his head slightly to the side and raised an eyebrow. “If you say so.” Max turned on his heels and walked away.

  “Hold up there, Mr. Angst,” Billy said with the slightest force. “I wanna know what you really think.”

  Max froze in place, his back to the band. Sticking out of the pocket of his black skinny jeans was a pair of ebony Artbeat Rock drumsticks. Like lightning bolts, Max’ hands snatched the sticks from his pocket and drilled out a perfect four-four beat on the nearby bar. Still facing away from Kitty and company, Max said, “Rock isn’t rock without its beat. You wanna soundtrack the apocalypse, you’ve gotta have someone capable of forcing order down the throat of chaos. That’s me…that’s Max van Angst.”

  Max paradiddle flam-flam’d, tossed a stick into the air, spun on his heels, and caught the rod of carbon behind his back. He again tilted his head, only this time with a sarcastic smile swiped across his lips. “You wanna seriously rock, you need me.”

  Kitty drew in close to Billy and whispered, “What do you think?”

  Billy returned the whisper. “What I think is that if this guy thinks he can…”

  “I know I can.”

  Billy snapped his head toward Max. “How did you…”

  “I know–crazy, right?” Max answered. “Most drummers tend to be a bit weak in the ears. I take exquisite care of my instrument.” Max’s head ticked. “I’m a professional.” He winked.

  Billy turned back to his fellow bandmates. One by one, they nodded his way. When he returned his gaze to Max, he said, “We’ll give you one shot to prove you’re worthy of rockin’ with Kitty In A Casket. You blow it, you hit the road. Deal?”

  Max nodded. “Deal.”

  Before being instructed, Max made his way to the stage and took his place on the drum kit throne.

  Kitty heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, that just looks odd.”

  “Sorry?” Max replied.

  “Oh, God, I didn’t mean it like that. I just…oh, never mind. Let’s fucking get this party started. Eins, zwie, drei, vier.”

  The band returned to the top of the song they’d only just improvised. This time, however, Max van Angst guided them through the ebb and flow of the tune with a beat as steady as Mother Nature’s own rhythm. He added subtle flourishes, but nothing too showy…just enough to prove his worth. As they navigated the song, every instrument melded together to create a perfect wholeness. Minus Angst, they’d played together for so long, they could predict one another’s next move with amazing agility. With the addition of Angst, there was a fresh dread to the tune.

  When the song came to a close, Kitty jumped into the air and squealed with delight. She landed with the grace of her namesake and turned on her heels to address the band.

  “I think I speak for everyone when I say ‘hell yeah’, Max van Angst,” Kitty proclaimed with two fists’ worth of devil horns punched skyward.

  One by one, the band members nodded their approval. Billy the Bat made the motion last; when he finally capitulated, Kitty squealed again.

  “You want the job, Angst, it’s all yours.”

  Max nodded slowly, the look on his face cooler than cool. Nary a muscle twitched or budged. He reached one of his sticks out and tapped a quick four-bar rhythm on his high hat as a crooked smile eased across his face.

  “I take it that means you want the gig?”

  Max nodded. “What’s it pay?”

  Billy laughed. “That’s rich, Angst. It pays a roof over your head and food in your gut. How’s that for riches beyond your wildest imagination?”

  “I’d say…” Max paused. “You’ve got yourself a drummer.”

  In celebration, Todd Flash ripped off a riff so bad-ass, everyone stopped whatever celebratory moments they were having to take notice. Todd ended with a power chord and a kick.

  “Am I to assume the band’s name is Kitty In A Casket?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “And I suppose she’s Kitty?”

  “That’d be a fairly safe assumption, considering she’s the only chick in the band.”

  A sideways grin inched its way across Max’s face. “That she is.”

  Billy slammed his open hand down on the crash cymbal and growled at Max.

  “What’d I do?” Max asked.

  “She’s mine, Angst. I wouldn’t advise getting any strange notions caught in your thought meat that you might be able to woo Kitty from this cat.”

  Max tossed his hands in the air. “No harm, no foul, right? We’re cool. Kitty and the Bat are one. I can dig that chilli.”

  Billy nodded slowly and then, after an elongated moment of tension, stuck out his hand for Max to shake. As soon as the flesh of their palms met, the tension in the room eased away. The band released a sigh of relief and, one by one, made their way to the drummer for congratulations.

  All the while, behind them on the screen, Nosferatu approached an unsuspecting woman.

  Billy was the last to offer his appreciation. When he did, he spoke with a cooler-than-usual tone. “Our next gig is this weekend. You’ll need to get up to speed before then. We’ve got CDs of everything, so you can either play a
long with those or drag us in for a rehearsal. Either way, you’ve gotta be ready to nail the shit out of our entire catalog come Friday.”

  Max nodded. “I’m good with that. I’m a pro…I can play anything from AC/DC to Zeppelin. And we’re talking horror punk…it’s in my blood.”

  Nosferatu sunk his teeth into the fair maiden’s neck.

  “Oh, my God,” Tom shouted. “Max van Angst and Max Schreck. Do you know how much that rocks?”

  Everyone shook their heads. Max was about to reply to Tom when Kitty held up a hand to silence him. Kitty whispered to Max, “Don’t get that one started.”

  Max nodded.

  Kitty laughed.

  Toque returned to the room, holding two six-packs before him. “I couldn’t help but overhear. This moment calls for a spot of booze, don’t ya think?”

  “Every moment calls for that, my friend,” Billy answered.

  The band cheered and guzzled.

  “Yes, please,” Max stated.

  “Yes, please, what?” asked Toque.

  “Yes, please, I may have another.”

  Everyone laughed. Max stared around the room. “What’s so funny?”

  “Are you as think as you drunk you are?” Todd Flash asked.

  Everyone booed.

  Todd raised his hands in defense against the wave of disapproval. “Oh, come on, it’s a classic.”

  Kitty turned to Toque. “Big Daddy-O, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Is there any chance we could get maybe a zombie film to play behind us for the next show?”

  Toque closed his eyes and bit his lower lip. “Don’t ya think that might be in poor taste?”

  Kitty shook her head and unscrewed the cap off another beer. “We can’t keep forcing the monsters back into the closet, Toque. They’re out there…everywhere. To deny they exist is a lie, and to take this whole pain in the ass so seriously is to neglect one very basic need of humanity.”

  “And that would be?” Toque asked.

  “Laughter. If we can entertain the patrons of The Last Casket with music and a bit of tongue-in-cheek humor, we’ve done more for them than a battalion of soldiers and a host of biochemists could do.”