"Hey..."

A low scream spilled then as Simon, heart in throat, jumped in his seat, scaring Robert who was sitting beside him. Laurence `Lol' Tolhurst who had just come into the living room, and whose hand had unwittingly rested on Simon's shoulder, stood shocked, one hand on his knee, the other over his chest. Over and in front of Simon and Robert, the music rose in accord with the dead man, now a zombie to stalk his hapless victims in a never-ending technicolour nightmare.

"Don't *do* that!" Simon panted, half glaring at Lol. Beside him, Robert who was usually quick to note the absurdity of things, had started to snicker.

"Sorry, man," Lol had started to say, but Robert's smile had ruined any attempt at sincere contrition as his lip twitched. Suddenly they all jumped again as the telephone rang.

"What a bunch of fraidy cats..." Robert scoffed, standing to answer the call.

"Speak for yourself," Lol tossed at Robert's back.

"Hello? Yeah, hi..." Robert turned to Simon and Lol and silently mouthed `Bill' and kept talking. Bill was Chris Parry owner of Fiction records. He'd signed their group on over 4 years ago and things seemed to be going well considering the band had already been through two lineup changes.

"Where? Okay...right. Thanks, bye Bill." Robert hung up and faced his friends with an odd smile. Lol knew that smile.

"Well?"

"We've got a gig."

"No shit, Robert," Simon said, *"Where at?"*

Robert's smile turned more odd as he looked past them to the television still playing out its carnage imagery. "New Orleans. Two weeks," watching as the implication of the news hit them.

Simon started. "Two weeks, that's..."

"Halloween," Lol finished. The three boys stared at the television screen, then back at each other in a few spaces of silence before they burst out laughing.

* * *

Two weeks later, Simon was pacing backstage at the Lakefront Arena and he wasn't laughing. Just yesterday, hours after they'd arrived at New Orleans, Robert and Lol had disappeared. A roadie walking by, paused on his way to the stage. He had overheard Robert and Lol talking about wanting to investigate some of the stranger shops in town. "They tried to find you," the roadie added, "but couldn't." Simon nodded his thanks.

`Like fuck they did,' Simon had thought.

Tension had been running high in the group for the past several months. Robert had been pushing himself during recording sessions for the new album, Pornography, and they--they had followed; immersed in a musical vortex fueled by a manic concoction of drugs and alcohol, all blending into a crackling, microcosmic orgy of bleak savagery. Something was bound to crack with the intensity, and maybe this was it, Simon thought. It didn't help that everyone was fighting during the tour either, including the stage and road crew. The laughter he, Lol and Robert shared two weeks before seemed to be one of the rare times they weren't at each other about something.

Simon considered again that maybe this was it. He recalled how, a few days before the trip, Robert and Lol had gone off into hiding, promising they'd be back in time. `Bloody bastards wouldn't even tell me where they were, or what was going on.' Simon had wondered grimly whether his exclusion from their plans was a sign that he was going to get the sack. He'd thought about it some more before deciding he was doing far too much thinking. "Sod them," he'd grumbled, heading out for the nearest pub.

But that was yesterday, and when by late afternoon no-one had heard from them, he started to worry. Their show was due to start in about 3 hours and the soundcheck crew was becoming restless. Fourteen minutes later, sighs of relief were heard from the crew as Robert and Lol trundled in, smiling lazily. Simon watched as they took their places without a word, shaking his head when they looked at him expectantly, and strapped on his black bass guitar.

Replacing his bass on the stand 25 minutes later, Simon approached Robert and Lol. He stopped short however, when he caught the first whiff of alcohol (too much, even for him), incense, and something else he couldn't quite define, reeking from them.

"Hey, Simon," Lol smiled, "where've you been? We were looking for you, you should've been with us. We found this great shop behind some old cemetary just full of voodoo-type shit--"

"What, and come back stinking like you two?" Simon tried to joke, wondering what they had gotten into, but he was still in a poor mood for having been left out. Robert looked up from replacing his guitar, surprised at the comment.

"We smell?" Robert asked, sniffing the sleeve of his long jacket. He looked to Lol for confirmation. Lol sniffed at the lapel of his shirt and shrugged, clearly puzzled.

"Guess we should go...take a bath?"

Simon's brows knit together in surprise. `They must be fucking pulling my leg', he thought. He looked to see if any of the roadies noticed just how weird Lol and Robert were being, but he could only see that they all wisely kept a good smelling distance away.

"Yeah..." Robert agreed with Lol, "hey, should be a good show tonight," Robert said enthused. He took hold of Lol's arm, excusing themselves to clean up. Simon watched them leave, shaking his head again. It was as though all the months of tension had simply dissipated, not that it wasn't a good thing, but not likely the way he knew those two. No, something else was going on. And that smell; Simon made a face, waving an arm to dispel the lingering stink that still floated, much to the amusement of the road crew. There was definately something strange about that smell, he couldn't help but wonder. It nagged at him for a few minutes before he thought he knew.

It wasn't just some odd kind of incense, but more subtle and somehow insidious. It was the smell of damp earth from ancient crypts and dead flesh, and it seemed to seep through their clothes right into their very skin. Simon rolled his eyes, the idea of Robert and Lol, mucking about in the many New Orleans cemetaries didn't seem entirely too farfetched. As he went to join a couple of guys for a pre-show dinner, he silently hoped Robert and Lol would smell far better for the show.

* * *

"It's only a dream" Simon chanted to himself. He was pacing in backstage, in a laughably small room the promoters had the nerve to call a dressing room. Weird things were happening; had happened, he corrected himself. Mighty. Weird. Occasionally he would stop pacing, his eyes darting to the chair jammed under the doorknob, his thoughts going back to the show and the events that led him to this:

The show had gone through well enough, although Simon had thought that both Robert and Lol seemed to be playing a bit more slowly than they had at soundcheck. Playing, and moving more slowly, almost unco-ordinated. The crowd didn't seem to notice, or mind if they did. What surprised Simon more though, was that even if Robert had forgotten to tell him about the changes, he'd also apparently forgotten to inform the sound technician. Simon had watched half bemused, as the tech having recovered from his surprise, worked quickly to adjust to the slower tempo. At least Robert and Lol had bathed, although Simon wondered how well: the smell he'd smelled on them earlier, was still present, dispite their change of clothing, almost entrenched in his nose, much to his dismay.

Then, somewhere near the end of the show, during the hypnotic hazy throb of `A Short Term Effect,' when the low lights were weaving on stage, Robert had stopped playing. When Simon looked to him, Robert had indicated with a rolling gesture that he was to continue playing. So he had, with a semblance of pretense to the crowd as though this had been expected. Robert had pulled Lol from his seat and then, hand in hand, with only the slow bass moaning, they'd started to dance. They moved clumsily, their arms jerking at every other turn, their faces a pasty leer in the weaving lights. Simon had felt chills riding up his spine, but the crowd had cheered on their theatrical antics, after all, it was Halloween.

After the show, Simon had gone backstage, assuming that Robert and Lol had been following behind. But when he'd turned around, he found himself alone; the long narrow hall stretching, his footfalls echoing behind him. He'd gone down into the lounge set up by the PR for a lager, and had found most of it and the red wine Robert liked, missing. Popping the cap off a bottle, he'd sipped at the cold brew, but drinking alone after a show wasn't much fun. So taking a second bottle, Simon had opened the door in time to see the lights flickering up and down the hallway. The lights stayed on, but the constant flicker had made the lights crackle on his face and on the walls as he walked back. From somewhere up above, he'd heard odd groaning sounds, shouting, and a couple of times a high pitched scream that had his hair standing on end.

Ascending the stairs that led back to the main hall, a roadie was lying prone, something dark red pooled under his shoulder. Shocked, Simon had reached out, jerking back at the last moment and nearly dropping his lager, at a sound like grinding metal against the concrete stairwell. It had only been an empty bottle, precariously placed, tipped over and rolling to rest at the corner. Peering ahead, Simon could see several of the missing bottles of wine and lager. Simon had chastised himself, it had only been red wine. And the sounds...well, someone had most likely put on a tape of monster sounds and bought the drinks upstairs earlier.

Simon stopped pacing again, and resumed. He should have seen it, he cursed. But he hadn't, especially what had happened next:

He'd reached the main hall only to find it eerily silent, most of the lights out as well, and remembered thinking, `Halloween party or not, this is too weird.' He'd called out Robert's name, then Lol's. Hearing nothing in response, he'd walked towards the stage, and stumbled over something soft but solid.

* * *

In another room offstage, Lol walked in, munching happily. Robert was lounging on a sofa resting, a leg propped on the cushions. In the corner lay two youngsters, fans who had snuck their way backstage.

"Hey, you want some?" Lol held out a large open mason jar. Floating inside the amber coloured liquid were what appeared to be more than a dozen severed fingers. Robert walked over and peered in, sniffing at the contents.

"What's this?"

"Pickled fingers," Lol told him impressively.

Robert eyed him sceptically, but Lol just grinned. "It's not really pickled, man...it's lager. I'm calling it Lol's `Cured' fingers," he chuckled as Robert rolled his eyes.

"What's in the other one?" Robert indicated the second jar tucked under Lol's arm.

"Oh," Lol put both jars down on the table. "This," he patted the 2nd jar almost fondly, "is red wine...`cause I know you like it."

"That sounds alright."

"Yeah," Lol was obviously pleased, "you have a choice of goth flavoured or non-goth flavoured."

* * *

He had been thrown off balance, Simon recalled: he fell, sending the bottle of lager in his hand to a flying crash against the stage speakers. Crawling to his hands and knees, Simon found what he had tripped over: a young male concert goer and already dead drunk by the looks of it. But the lad's lack of response regardless of how drunk he might have been, had made Simon stop short. Simon had shaken the boy, and then, suddenly feeling as though time had slowed even as his heart quickened, Simon had turned the body over, and the eyes that had looked back, were so very dead.

Robert's hand was mid-way into the jar when his head swiveled at the sound of a bottle smashing somewhere outside the room. He took his hand out, licking at the wine dripping from his fingers. He looked at Lol, "let's go and see what that's all about, shall we?" he said, heading for the door.

Simon never heard them come out from the room backstage. Time had snapped back into reality, and swallowing hard at the sour taste of lager in his throat, Simon had backed away, running back downstairs. He'd skidded on the concrete by the prone roadie, the sound of blood, not red wine he realised, squelched thick and wet under his boots. He didn't stop running until he had reached the small dressing room, jamming the nearest chair under the knob.

* * *

`Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,' Simon was definately freaking out now. `What's going on?' Then rolling his eyes, "of course I fucking know what's going on! There are two people up there, dead is what," he muttered. He stopped pacing again, struck. "Robert! And Lol...I don't even know if they're okay." He thought of having to pass by the bodies again, then took a deep breath. They were his best friends, he had to find them.

Upstairs, Robert and Lol looked around the dimmed stage. It had been easy after most of the crowd diminished, and the stage set taken away, to lock the arena down. The small hoard of fans that had managed to make their way backstage were only too eager to stay for a party. It was such a shame, Robert had said to Lol, that none of them had been lively enough to last.

They were about to turn back when Robert's ears pricked up at the soft sound of crying. Following the sound to the edge of the stage, he pushed aside the mass of curtain and smiled at the young girl cowering there.

"Please...don't hurt me," she plead tearfully. She'd been hiding when the screaming first began, when she came across the first body, too frightened and unsure of what to do. The curtains suffocated her, but she'd stayed, with her hands held over her ears and her eyes half shut. It wasn't enough though, and the groaning screams had reverberated in her head long after they'd stopped. Strong hands wrapped around her thin shoulders and she screamed now, panicked.

"Shhh...it's okay, you're safe, love."

The girl felt herself hauled close against a firm chest, the voice above her rumbled soothing words until they penetrated her panic-fogged brain. If her nose hadn't gotten so stuffed from crying, she would've reeled at the stench of decay. Still shaking, she looked up.

"Robert...?" She whispered, staring, star-struck awe overtaking her fear. "What's going on--"

"Yes, it's me," Robert said cutting her off. "I don't know, but quick, come with me." Robert started to lead the girl offstage, but she stopped.

"No, not backstage," she shuddered, thinking of the screams.

"No, we'll go...downstairs," Robert assured her. "The dressing room's down there and probably safe." She stopped again.

"Where's Simon?"

Robert's gaze met Lol's in surprise. They'd forgotten about Simon.

"I'll look for him. He's safe, I'm sure," Lol said. Robert nodded, leading the girl away.

* * *

Simon had taken a few steps outside the hall when he stopped, thinking of Robert and Lol's odd behaviour. What if they were responsible for what was happening? "No, there's got to be a good explaination for all that," he said, shaking his head. He took another step and stopped again. `But what if there isn't?' Simon couldn't say the words out loud, because saying them would make it too real. `What if something had happened last night, they'd taken something they shouldn't have, and they've gone mad? Just, *what if?*'

Simon gulped, leaning against the wall, his eyes closed against the sickly yellow lights flickering up and down the hall. He wished he were anywhere but here, wished that none of this was happening, and that he wasn't thinking of Lol and Robert, what he suspected. Deep in thought, he almost hadn't heard the footsteps. Softly at first, then echoing louder as they came closer, until it seemed as though the sound was almost upon him. Simon edged back into the room, trying with shaking hands, to put the chair back under the door knob, but he was too late, they were here. Simon backed away as the knob turned, and felt the poking knob of another door just behind the one he faced. A closet. He turned the knob and slid inside just as the front door opened.

"Oh Robert," the girl sighed as they entered the room, "I feel so safe with you." She wore a black dress with carefully tattered black tights and black shoes, her short black-dyed hair waved softly about her face. Her dark tracks of tears had been wiped with Robert's hankerchief, which she now clutched in one hand, her other hand wrapped around Robert's arm. She was barely 17 years old, but knew she could pass for 19 or 20.

Unnerved, Simon had knelt to sit on the closet floor, not trusting himself to stand on shaky legs. His head snapped up at the sound of a hand on the knob of the closet door. He didn't even have time to hold the door shut.

"Please, don't leave my side," Simon heard the girl say.

Robert had spied the closet door, opening it when she pulled him back. Simon sank back, as the doorknob was released and the door swung almost closed, the catch tapping against the frame instead. Staring at the sliver of grey light that came through, Simon felt as though his life was dependant on it not getting any wider. Conversely, he knew he was going to feel like a right idiot if things were not as they seemed. `However,' he thought, `it's better than being dead.' Simon listened to the girl and Robert on the other side of the door.

The girl's fears had almost completely faded in Robert's presence, and the knowledge that she was completely alone with him, made her feel bold again. "You saved me...how can I ever thank you?" She pressed herself up against him in a way that made clear just how she wanted to thank him.

Dispite his fears, Simon almost grinned at the girl's syrupy voice.

"I've got someone in my life," Robert said, but he edged a bit closer, drawn by the lure of her fresh young flesh.

The girl pouted, lowering her eyelids as she looked at him. "I can make you forget her."

A pair of blue-grey eyes gleamed. In the closet, Simon incredulously heard Robert answer, "and I can make you forget about everything else."

The girl, too star-struck, and too pleased with herself to notice the sudden absence of light in Robert's eyes, leaned in with a smile of happy triumph. She placed a small hand on his chest in imitation of every romantic story she'd ever read. She'd dreamt of this, never really thinking it would happen, but now...she shivered in nervous anticipation, he would be her first.

Simon breathed as quietly as he could, but it was hot inside the tiny closet, and he could feel his left leg starting to cramp. He was carefully trying to re-adjust his position when he heard the girl's sharp gasp.

Robert held the girl at the scruff of her neck like a dog, a handful of her hair in his grasp. He lowered his mouth to her neck and sniffed delicately at the scent of vanilla. It was nice, but not as nice as the scent of...Simon. Robert's eyes flickered briefly across the room to the closet, the corner of his mouth turned up in a cold smile. Turning his attention back, he extended a tongue to slowly lave the girl from collarbone to the tip of her ear.

Simon heard the girl gasp again, not in surprise this time, but in youthful excitement.

"Oh, Robert..." she moaned softly. "Oh, your hands are cold." The sound of fabric rustled, and Simon hoped it wasn't what he was thinking.

"Robert, I've wanted you for so long..."

Simon blinked away the sweat rolling into his eyes and shifted ever so slightly. He heard nothing but soft moans for a while, then the girl's tentative words, "Wha--what are you doing?"

Simon frowned. `No, Robert wouldn't...'

"Ow, oh please, not so hard...please, Rob--"

Simon heard the girl's plea taper off on a short scream, and by the sounds of scuffling, knew she was struggling against Robert. Shocked and angry, Simon struggled to sit up on cramped legs when he heard the the girl scream again in utter terror, and then the crunch and snap of what sounded like bone breaking. `No...no, that can't be,' Simon thought, his own fears had risen with the girl's. The sound had been sickeningly loud in the room and the only thing that made his blood run colder was the wet gurgle coming from the girl, rattling briefly, then a dull thud as her body hit the floor.

Simon shrank back against the wall, not daring to move, a hand against his mouth, trying not to scream. Tears ran through his fingers as he sat shaking, hardly able to comprehend what he'd just heard, knowing it was too late to help the poor girl. He heard Robert move, the front door opened and closed, then it was silent once again.

After a few minutes, Simon unwound his legs, wincing at the pain. He stood up carefully, leaning heavily against the wall until the feeling came back in his legs. He was close to the exit, he thought. He would leave, and then...what? Simon didn't know, but he would get out first and think about it later. He opened the door and stepped out, then reared back in sudden, renewed shock. The room was not empty, the door hadn't opened because Robert left, Simon realised numbly as he looked into the cold smiling faces of Robert and Lol.

* * *

"About time you joined the party," Lol said, but Simon wasn't looking at him. He stared instead at the person who was supposed to be his best friend, Robert, and at the blood smeared across Robert's mouth in sick parody of the lipstick he'd taken to wearing. Unwilling, but unable to stop himself, Simon looked down at the dead girl, his stomach churning. What he saw made him bolt suddenly, only to be grasped by two pairs of strong hands. Simon struggled, kicking out to no avail; Robert and Lol wouldn't feel it, however hard he kicked or hit.

"Fucking bastards," Simon panted, his terror lending him strength. "Bastards..." There had been pieces of the girl missing. It really could not seem possible, but Simon had seen it, saw the blood on Robert's mouth, that girl's blood. He struggled to break free, but they were strong, had gotten stronger with whatever they had become. Simon nearly choked on the stench, stronger now, like rotted meat. If he ever got out of this, he knew he would never touch meat again.

"Simon, we only want you to join us," Robert said.

"No," Simon gasped. He felt Lol holding him still, felt Robert's hands grip his head, Robert's nails scratching painfully. He couldn't move and knew he was going to die. Simon felt the sharp points of Robert's canines sink into his skull, and made one last futile attempt to break free, the first scream tearing from his throat.

* * *

Simon awoke with a start, spraying sweat as he sat up. The sight of Robert sitting on the edge of the bed, nearly had him jumping out of his skin, but for Robert's gentle hand on his shoulder. They were in their hotel room, in New Orleans.

"Are you alright?" Robert asked just as Lol walked in. Simon looked at them, sagging back in relief. They looked fine, everything was normal.

"Yeah, I think so," Simon breathed.

"Must've been some dream, pal," Lol smiled. Simon smiled back.

"Yeah, some dream." Simon agreed. He pushed back the sheets, muttering about needing a beer. Stepping past Lol, he glanced in the mirror and saw a glistening patch of brain matter, visible through his dark hair...

* * *

Simon jolted awake, panting. Neither Robert nor Lol were there. He sat up, running shaking hands over his chest and head. He was alive...and himself. Simon remembered the show the night before, he'd only been dreaming. He started to slide back down in bed, freezing in horror. Sitting atop the dresser table on the opposite wall in front of the bed, was a mason jar half full of floating fingers. A whimper rose in Simon's throat.

* * *

Robert frowned as he looked at Simon tossing in bed, various sounds of distress clearly evident on his friend's face. He took a step into the room, to wake Simon from his sleep when Lol walked up.

"What's going on?" Lol asked. Robert shook his head.

"I was just about to go wake him," Robert explained, "he's having a bad dream, I think."

"Mmmm..." Lol said thoughtfully, fishing something out of the jar he held. He offered it to Robert.

"Pickle?"

********************

Danse Macabre - by Camille Saint-Saens 19th-20th century composer. (c) 2000 tangerine