From darkness he was borne unto our mortal realm to conquer souls of all unsavory manner. And sell T-shirts. Photo from .
Woe to you, sad reader, for this is the eerie tale of the Blackest of the Black and the diminutive demon who did call together an unholy alliance to travel across the land. Know you that this gathering of the damned has only one goal: to spread the wailing sounds of the Wicked One, gathering more followers and thusly more purchasers of his trinkets (most pre-shrunk with tour dates on the back).
Upon our small mountain village, this occurred on the first moon following All Hallows Eve. Many of our youthful minions — clad in all the colors of darkness that the villainous dresser Hot Topic doth provide — did descend upon the sepulchral confines of the this Saturday night. Doomed forever, they were witness to what did transpire in the cavernous crypt on Colfax Avenue and I the teller of this tale did narrowly escape with my soul.
Following a procession of lesser demons, the giant skulled moniker of headlining beast Danzig appeared as backdrop to the stage. His toadies did tune the evil instruments and fluff the crowd, encouraging them to chant his name. “Dan-Zig! Dan-Zig! Dan-Zig!” they warned, for he would not manifest otherwise.
Apparently pleased by the beckoning cries, the lights did dim and a processional did sound; he was coming. An unearthly death rattle then began: “Skin Carver” would be his greeting to the mass. He was jet black of mane and mesh of shirt and though later in his years and now thick of midsection as well as arms, he was still strong of voice. For the first of his howls did cause the lost souls to thrash themselves into frenzied acceptance. Was he to succeed so easily in converting our helpless village to his darkened ways?
Indeed, he was a tricky one, this Pitch. He would win the approval of long-standing followers among the crowd with familiar incantations such as “Twist of Cain,” “Am I Demon,” “Tired of Being Alive,” “Her Black Wings,” “Left Hand Black” and “How The Gods Kill” — all performed chronologically from his many books of spells published over the past 20 years. Even I, the skeptic, wary of tales of terror spit forth in the mind-numbing key of E, did find myself bending toward his will.
And there were the young men who had already succumbed, for they circled shirtless around the hellish pit that sprung forth in the center of the cabal. They proudly groped and wrestled one another’s muscular bodies, proclaiming their strength and devotion to the Dark Lord as though they could not repress their true identities further.
It was then, in a sight that I could not believe, that a follower, enrobed and bearded as the Lord Jesus Christ did appear in the pit. Was he to save us all?
Danzig saw this as well, and he did laugh, “Is that Jesus I see in the pit?” He then mocked, “Welcome aboard Jesus!” and launched into his treatise “Brand New God.” He sang out to the Christian visage, helpless in the fiery, swirling pit, “Where will you run to? Won’t take too long. I’ve come to get you.”
I too, became further captured as the slithering tones of “Lilin” wrapped its devilish notes around my thoughts. If I were to break free it must be due to a failure on his part. Fortunate was I then that his proclamations “Black Mass” and “Black Angel, White Angel” fell flat upon my ears. Not wanting to give up on my soul so easily, the malevolent misfit did try to win me back with the words of warning in “Mother.” But I had heard this spell often, thus it could not work its black magic upon me. For the others, I fear they were lost. I must leave them and escape, my soul and my sanity intact.
Danzig then left the stage to regain his strength, but did then re-manifest in a final effort to claim me with the slow, seductive rhythms of “She Rides.” I stopped and swayed as I heard its call. I looked at my watch, the witching hour approached!
Confident that he would have me at midnight, Danzig launched into “Dirty Black Summer,” but I, upon hearing the lyric, “No summer in the winter time,” did realize its hollow offerings. Thus, I gathered my senses and quickly exited the venue into the blackened night where the early air of November did greet me and refresh my emboldened spirit. For Danzig claimed many that night, but mine would not be one.
Edgar Allen Behrenhausen is a Denver writer, musician and spooky Reverb contributor.
