The sound of the wind was drowned out by the sound of the teeming crowd queued outside the massive concert hall; the line stretching out and down the street, into the darkened park and seemingly off into the dry shadows. The sun had only been down for an hour or so, leaving the concrete and brick of the buildings and sidewalk still pleasantly warm. Hundreds of people filled the air with the white noise of a myriad of conversation, insults and laughter. Nearby a poster, pulled free of its redbrick mooring was caught in the breeze and tumbled down the road. One young man dressed in a black suit and his hair draped in front of his eyes quickly stepped out of his place in the line to snatch it and dart back to the footpath, where his friends jeered and bargained with him for the slip of smooth paper.
Further ahead a group of Goth girls chatted amicably; the brightness of their conversation and voices clashing with the dark tones of their torn clothes and black makeup. In front of them more people, dressed in drab colors would glance back at them with a disdainful expression. There was a thin haze of cigarette smoke in places; and people anxious for the night's entertainment to begin were checking watches and sighing in loud, exaggerated huffs of air that misted slightly in the dry cool autumn air. Those closest to the doors of the venue were heckling the quintet of bored, muscular men standing in front of the large double doors that led into the opulently decorated hall; while others were chanting a single word over and over.
Moonlight. Moonlight. Moonlight.
"This is an utter fucking freak show," the manager of the hall muttered through clenched teeth as he looked at the CCTV camera feed in front of him. "I haven't seen this many limp-dicked losers in one place since we went to Cincinnati for the holidays with the inlaws, you know?"
"Hey, my wife's from Cincinnati," one of the bouncers in the room quipped; his tone jovial but still with a hint of warning.
"I didn't know you liked your women with cock Frank but keep it outta my place hey?" the manager replied, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Aw don't worry you fat bastard, you know I love you."
Frank snorted and stuck his head out of the window. Below him the queue of concertgoers wound out like a thick black ribbon that snaked its way into the darkness of the evening; studded with shiny steel and the stink of cigarettes and cologne reaching high enough to make him pull his head back in with a scowl.
"Seriously Moretti, what the fuck are you thinking? This many goth motherfuckers in one place? You'll be lucky if they don't fuckin' trash the place."
Blake Moretti turned and shrugged before running a hand through his greasy black hair. "Like I care. This place is a fucking dump anyway. I mean have you seen it lately? Looks like it was built for drag queens in the middle of the fall of fuckin' Rome. They're welcome to rip the joint apart and piss on the rubble for all I care because we're making so much money after this one gig and hey, it's getting ripped apart tomorrow anyway!"
He grinned and picked up the phone next to the small black-and-white TV set. "I think I might take a good long vacation away from the old nag. And you can buy something nice for your wife with the limp dick, hey?"
Frank shook his head, a half-smile in place. "Yeah, you do whatever man. I'mma head downstairs and start getting the stage muscle geared up. This is gonna be a long night, I hope you know that."
"For two-ten a head for a full house that can hold four and a half thousand limp-dicks and this dump gets demolished afterwards; plus the band only wants ten large? The night's not gonna be nearly as long as the bender I've got planned for afterwards." He dialed a couple of numbers into the phone's keypad, connecting him through into the PA speaker inside the foyer; where another four bouncers waited and a handful of nervous-looking attendants behind plate glass were setting up cash registers. "All right guys, a few more minutes than the doors are opening. After this we're getting beer and pizza and wishing this joint all the best for the dozers tomorrow. So get ready hey?"
There were half-hearted cheers from some of the staff. Outside the throng of concertgoers began to cheer and stomp their feet as the ones close enough to the door to hear the PA passed back the announcement.
Moretti put the phone down and cracked his knuckles irritably. "Jesus they're not even in the door and listen to them. I'm almost a-fuckin-fraid that they'll smash the place down before the show even starts."
"Told you this would end well for everybody," a mocking voice said behind him.
"Fucking Christ!" Moretti snarled, jumping back as Fern laughed to herself while he glared at her angrily. "And just how fucking long have you been standing there?"
"Not toooo long. Aww, you're not angwy at me awe you?" Fern said, her voice simpering like a child's as she pouted at him; leaning forward to show off maximum cleavage.
"With a rack like that I can't stay angry at you for long but man I'll be glad when you and your band of misfits get the fuck out of my sight," Moretti grumbled. "You little shits better be ready, we've got plenty of people ready to rip your heads off and play dodgeball with them if you can't give them what they paid for."
"Oh, I promised that wouldn't be a problem," Fern said batting her eyes at him in a lurid display of faux reproach. "I puh-romised you you'd make lots of money from this, re-mem-ber?"
"Not to mention the amount of cash we've already hauled in," added another voice, stepping into the light to reveal itself as a lanky red-haired man in a torn gray tuxedo. "We only had to mention we would be playing here at our last concert and your silly little hall sold out before you'd stuck up a single poster. So let's play nice shall we?"
Moretti scratched his arm subconsciously through the sweaty Armani sleeve. The band's spokesman Fargo was a scary looking guy. He'd seen countless musicians bent over on all kinds of fun drugs before but Fargo always seemed dangerously lucid every time they'd spoken. It was his eyes - they were always dead still when they should have been dancing.
The tall man stretched and flipped his long hair to the side with a quick jerk of his head; momentarily creating a slash of artificial crimson in the dim room. "Anyway, what do you care? You're going to make more money than you could count on both hands, as promised." He stepped forward with a pointed grin, causing Moretti to reactively take a step back. Fargo raised both palms in a supplicating gesture. "Jack and Spike are done with the sound check, Fern's got you wrapped around her pinkie finger and the Bossman's nearly ready to bring the house down. Life is good tonight Blake, enjoy it while it's around to be enjoyed hey?"
He winked and walked from the room. Fern whistled at him as he walked away before giving Moretti a bored look and following after him.
"So tell me something bossman, why are we playing in this shithole again?" Fargo called through the green room door. "Aside from the money of course. Gotta say I love money. Mmm-good, money. Do you like money?"
There was a mechanical sound like an old typewriter clacking, then silence. Fargo laughed. "Course you fucking love money. And drugs, and groupies, and Fern and all the fuckin' terror we cause hey?"
The door opened. "There's many things I love Fargo, but I think perhaps I'm of slightly different calibre to your good self. I'm in this mostly for me."
"And the tail," Fargo grinned.
"Yes alright, and the tail. Shall we?"
The lobby was utterly overrun. The crowd was inside now; waving tickets and fistfuls of money in the air. Others were being waved through by the apathetic-looking hired muscle as people filtered through to fill the large hall. Already the pit in front of the stage area that had been designated as the mosh pit was filled with jeering, shouting people. People were standing and jumping on the few seats that were on the floor.
Moon! Moon! Moon! Moon!
"Sounds like they're ready, bossman," Fern chuckled darkly. One slender arm wrapped in pink and black fabric picked idly at the strings of her guitar. "Whaddaya reckon, should I shut them up?"
"Brilliant suggestion, my dear Fern," came a voice from above the stage. Fern grinned wickedly through purple-painted lips and plucked several strings. A high wail burst from the speakers and wavered as Fern wavered one foot on the effects pedal in front of her. The crowd on the other side of the thick projection screen roared.
"Everyone ready?" Fargo called. Fern jerked a thumb at her chest in mock exasperation, making Fargo groan."Okay they're very nice, now is everyone besides pumpkin jugs ready?" A rumble from behind the drumkit and a sarcastic laugh from the other side of the stage told him everything was.
"Excellent. Bossman, you heard 'em" Fargo called up towards the catwalk.
In the tangle of steel rafters and lights, a white-gloved hand tensed and relaxed in a strange jerking movement before reaching up and touching a small mike button that had been inexplicably been placed up there. "Everything's ready," the band's final member said silkily. "Hit the lights and projection, if you would?"
The roar of the crowd grew as the lights dimmed and went out; and on the screen that stretched across the stage showed a perfect overhead view of a forest far below, and a moon in the night sky above. A high-pitched guitar riff began to play through the speakers that had been set up throughout the venue as on the screen the camera panned upwards to stare at the moon for a moment. The sound of wind could be heard, before the faint ringing scream of some otherworldly creature could be heard as the moon blurred and grew until it encompassed the entire screen. Maniacal laughter burst through the speakers, warping and echoing as other voices joined it in a dissonant explosion of violent glee as the screen was suddenly ripped apart from the inside.
Bright blood-red lights bathed the stage, showing Fern and a heavily-pierced man in a ruined straitjacket standing back to back, side-on to the crowd as it erupted into raucous cheers and screams. Fern pursed her lips in a mocking air kiss at the crowd and slid her hand suggestively down the neck of her guitar; drawing an electric scream from the instrument. More lights snapped on; glaring white spears of light exposing a heavily-built bald man behind a drumkit and Fargo leaning casually on a large synthesizer. The drummer smashed both fists down on the cymbals once as the mass of writhing people howled.
There was a surprised shout, and people began pointing upwards above the stage. One last light flared into life; violently outlining a spiderlike figure dangling upside down from the rafters. The figure flung its arms out to form a cross as the bellow of the crowd reached horrifying crescendo. Dissonant laughter rang out again as the creature swung its legs down and one arm up to point towards the ceiling; descending as if some kind of ghastly Mary Poppins floating on a nonexistent breeze. Its arms were too long; easily several feet, as were its legs as if it'd been stretched like a child's toy. Its face was devoid of any human features, smooth and blank and white like a mannequin's. An almost regal suit of gray pinstripes hung from its unnatural frame; a twisted mockery of class, complete with a dark pork pie hat sat atop its head.
It stood for a moment in this position, bathing in the tempest of sound before reaching over one shoulder with an arm that was far too long to be human and bent in one place too many, to pull out a handheld microphone.
"Such raucous sound!" the beastly figure gleefully shrieked into the microphone. Its voice reverberated and echoed with strange sounds; it was the source of the dissonant laughter. "Muuuusic to my very ears," it giggled. The roar of the crowd swelled with adulation.
"We... well, you know quiiite well who we are," it said. "We are the beautiful dead, the onnnne thing that will always make your night just that-" The figure chuckled before continuing, "-little bit more unpleasant."
Fern laughed before switching on her own hands-free mike. "But you love us anyway, don't you?" as the sea of people yelled and screamed their approval.
"Of course they do, my dear," the stretched man laughed, garnering amused laughter from most of the crowd. "I mean, what's not to like?"
The hall filled with turbulent, wild laughter. "We are Mourning Moon," the creature giggled, the twin distortions turning it into a near-hellish roll of contemptuous laughter. "Let me show you around. This delicious-looking creature before you is our beautiful Fern..."
Fern laughed and leered at the crowd. "The walking nightmare of metal detectors everywhere behind me and a horrible excuse for a man, our good friend Spike..."
The bassist grinned through pierced lips. "And everybody knows Fargo already, especially the ladies in here?"
Laughter rolled onto the stage. Fargo put out his tongue in a lascivious lick at the thin air amidst riotous hoots from innumerable female voices before his own boomed out into the far-from-empty space, "And our not-so-gentle giant on the drums, Jack the Nimble! And of course.."
The crowd burst into more cheers and shouting as the drummer stabbed his middle finger towards the ceiling; as the spindly creature at the front of the stage raised the microphone to where its face should be.
"And I am of course your dear companion, the reason for all of your troubles..."
The thousands of voices of the crowd could be heard clearly even through its own cacophony. The creature laughed quietly into its microphone before daintily readjusting its hat with one spindly arm, like a parody of all that comprises a gentleman.
"Well of course I am... I am yours, your Mister Moonlight."